


The Dying Land

by Charon Spole (cascadingpoles)



Series: The Wheel Turns Anew [6]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:53:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 87
Words: 526,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25371940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascadingpoles/pseuds/Charon%20Spole
Summary: There is nowhere left to hide for Rand al’Thor. Now revealed to the world as the Dragon Reborn, he must contend with enemies known and unknown if he is to have any hope of living long enough to sacrifice himself to save those who want him dead.The only hope for the world lies in destruction, for Rand will have to climb over the powerful and the power hungry if he is to lead the Light’s forces against the Shadow.
Series: The Wheel Turns Anew [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/973617
Comments: 51
Kudos: 20





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

> This is Book 6 of a series of fan-fiction novels set seven Ages after the end of the original Wheel of Time. The Wheel has turned full-circle and the events of the Third (now Tenth) Age have begun again, though they grow increasingly different as small decisions made differently prove to have far-reaching consequences, and the reincarnations of some perhaps familiar souls from other Ages exert their influence on the Pattern.
> 
> A lot of the chapters in it are copy-pasted from The Wheel of Time so I won’t post the whole thing here, for fear of bringing trouble to the site. Instead, I’ll post the most heavily edited chapters, along with the entirely new ones, and add a link for anyone who cares to download the whole thing from Mega.
> 
> Oh, and for those that are only interested in the smut scenes, or who would prefer to avoid scenes involving certain pairings or acts, I've included a spoiler-heavy file in the Mega download that provides a summary of all sex scenes and notes which chapter they can be found in.
> 
> Full version, with map and appendix, can be found here: https://mega.nz/folder/f6xwxCpJ#ttmGrt1_ta-rA3F8TfH5TQ  
> Safer version begins on the next page. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> 2021 Edit - Several people seem to be having trouble with the Mega links, and I'm not overly sure of that site to begin with, so I put the files up on GitHub as well. Hopefully it will be less troublesome. They can be found here: https://github.com/CharonsPole/The-Wheel-Turns-Anew
> 
> * * *
> 
> With the release of this book I should announce that I'm planning to put the series on the back burner for a while. By this I do not mean that it is being abandoned by any means. Short of dying I have no intention of stopping writing this until it is finished, though even at the fastest pace that will take at least a decade.
> 
> However, there is another piece I've been thinking of writing for some time now, not a fan-fic but an original novel that I've been procrastinating over whether or not to try writing for the past year and a half. It is my intention to make writing that my New Year’s Resolution.
> 
> I will still be working on book 7, The Veil of Parting, but that other project will be my focus for now. The way it usually works for me is that I write scenes that particularly inspire me when and as they occur, and then link them together using scenes written in a more work-like fashion, during periods of free time when I get to decide between zoning out in front of the TV or making myself write something. It is the likelihood that most of those latter times will be devoted to the other book that inspires me to warn that it will probably be quite some time before book 7 is finished.

For the sake of neatness, the series proper will begin on the next page.


	2. Prophecy

The Shadow shall rise across the world, and darken every land, even to the smallest corner, and there shall be neither Light nor safety. And he who shall be born of the Dawn, born of the Maiden, according to Prophecy, he shall stretch forth his hands to catch the Shadow, and the world shall scream in the pain of salvation. All Glory be to the Creator, and to the Light, and to he who shall be born again. May the Light save us from him.

—from Commentaries on the Karaethon Cycle by Sereine dar Shamelle Motara, Counsel-Sister to Comaelle, High Queen of Jaramide (circa 325AB, the Tenth Age)


	3. From the Grave

PROLOGUE: From the Grave

He dreamt of death. It seemed he had always dreamt of death. Even before the sleep he had dreamt of it, but not like this. Not forever in silence. He dreamt, and dreamt on.

And then he dreamt no more.

It was shocking, being spat out of the Bore. Though normally agile, The Grave fell to his face on the cold, dark earth, his precious  _ sa’angreal _ clattering away from his slack grip. The impact hurt, and he cursed loudly, but even that pain was a welcome change from the eternal sleep.

The Grave was not the name he had been born with. They had called him that to mock his faith, but now he had made it his own. And the mockery of those who scorned the Great Lord and his most faithful disciple had ended in sweet, shrieking tears. The name fit him well, he thought, but it would have fit this place even better. Shayol Ghul was where death waited for the glorious day when the whole Pattern would embrace it.

Though alone, he scrabbled for and snatched up his  _ sa’angreal _ . There were not many of them left, and his fellow Chosen were ever envious of his. It was sometimes awkward, keeping it with him at all times, but he kissed one of its blades now even so. The Triple-Bladed Scythe, as its name implied, had not been designed as a keepsake. Its Maker had imagined it being taken up for a task and then put away again afterwards, but The Grave never left it far from his hand. He even slept with it.

Not that he ever wanted to sleep again now.

He looked around at the familiar madness of Shayol Ghul, with its wildly racing, strangely coloured clouds, but then frowned. It was familiar, and yet it was not. Where had these desolate cliffs come from? Shayol Ghul was situated on a tropical island, but this was certainly not that. Yet it  _ was _ Shayol Ghul. That could not be denied. His master’s power permeated this place, enough that he hesitated to touch the One Power, lest he incur the Great Lord’s wrath.

It took only a minute of standing there, alone in the desolation, before The Grave gave into temptation. None could Travel to or from Shayol Ghul without the Great Lord’s permission, but surely he would permit if of his greatest disciple. He seized  _ saidin _ ... and immediately regretted his decision.

Instead of the glorious thrill that came of having the Power flowing through him came a stomach-churning revulsion. The Grave shouted a curse, his face screwing up in disgust. It was like being sprayed with raw sewage, a feeling made all the more disgusting by the shock of it. This was not what channelling  _ saidin _ was supposed to be like. What was wrong? He could still feel the Power, hidden underneath all the filth, but getting to it required the kind of act of will that once would have been reserved for resisting its siren call.

He did manage to seize it, however, though he had to fight not to throw up while he did so. The presence of someone channelling  _ saidin _ had the effect that he’d both feared and longed for.

There were no words spoken, and no figure appeared, of course, but The Grave felt his master’s eye upon him. He was a gnat being suddenly scrutinised by the usually uncaring giant that trod the world around him. What glorious, unknowable deity but the Great Lord could make him feel like that?

He might have been reduced to a smear on the ground for his temerity. Others had been, even among the Forsaken, but The Grave spread his arms wide and waited for his master’s judgement. Death was the Great Lord’s gift to give, and one that The Grave had eagerly shared in his name over the years. He did not fear being given the same.

He was struck down, but not in the manner he had thought. Something snapped into place around him. A cage slammed shut with unnecessary force. A manacle snapped closed too tightly. It forced him back down to his knees, and made his vision swim, yet the change was immediate and welcome. That strange sewage that had covered  _ saidin _ was gone, at least for him. Untainted power coursed through him once more. It was a shield of some kind, he realised. A shield to protect him from whatever that was that he had felt so briefly? Whatever the truth of it, the Great Lord did not say. Which was as he’d expected.

His master had not denied him the use of the One Power, so The Grave attempted to Travel away from Shayol Ghul. He knew many places to which he might go, where he would find fellow worshipers, but when he spun the weave and attempted to open his gateway, nothing formed.

Scowling, he tried again. And failed again. It infuriated him. He was spinning it right. He’d

Travelled thousands of times. He knew how the damn weave worked. And he’d familiarised himself with the destination, as you had to, so what was wrong? He tried a different destination, but that gate failed to open, too. A third had the same effect. By then, The Grave was in such a fury that spittle was flying from his mouth along with his curses.

“What the fuck!?” he shouted. “Why won’t it fucking open!?”

“You are trying to Travel to somewhere that no longer exists,” a woman’s smoky voice said.

It was a familiar sound, and the amusement in it did nothing to calm his temper. He spun on her angrily, but even in his fury he could appreciate the sight she made. Essence of Youth was wearing a figure hugging red dress of almost transparent material that did great things to her already impressive figure. She looked particularly appealing in comparison to all the desolation around them. Behind her was an open gateway, its silvery lines framing a luxurious room walled with black stone. The Grave scowled at it. The weave she’d used to open her gateway was the same one he’d been trying unsuccessfully. And made of  _ saidin _ , too, of course, rather than  _ saidar _ . Changing her sex hadn’t changed that.

“Why is it working for you?” he demanded.

Essence of Youth watched him closely, ready in case it came to a fight between them. That was the way of things with the Chosen. Armed with the  _ sa’angreal _ that her dark eyes flickered enviously over, he had no doubt that he would be the victor in that fight. If she hadn’t been one of the Great Lord’s servants, he’d have killed her there and then. And maybe raped her first, too. It would be a waste not to.

“Because I’ve been free for long enough to learn new destinations,” she answered. “The world has changed. The continents themselves are no longer where they were. And there are other, perhaps greater changes, too. Do you realise how long you have been asleep? Three thousand years have passed. This language we are speaking is all but dead. They speak another now, called the Common Tongue. It is a lot simpler than our own. There is a library in Betrayer of Hope’s fortress. You can learn what you’ll need to learn there. Come.”

Sparing a brief grimace for Shayol Ghul, she stepped back through her gateway, and left it open for him to follow. He didn’t like that grimace, any more than he liked following the bitch. She was no believer. She had only joined the Great Lord because he let her indulge herself more than those self-righteous cunts who ran the Hall of the Servants would.

Stepping though the gateway, he found another of the Chosen waiting for them in the room beyond. He had no idea how far they had Travelled, of course—distance was irrelevant when it came to that weave—but the air hadn’t gotten any warmer. Or the company any better.

The Vivisectionist sat in a wheeled chair looking even more hideous than usual. He had to sit, too, for his legs were missing below the knee. One of his eyes was gone as well, and there were bloody twigs and mushrooms growing out of his old man’s skin in places.

The Grave recoiled in disgust. “What the fuck happened to you, you old shit? And where is Betrayer of Hope? The fuck would I want to see your ugly heathen face for?”

While The Vivisectionist scowled in impotent fury, Essence of Youth chuckled. “Our wise leader has been indisposed for some time,” she said as she let the gateway snap shut behind him. “So sad. Nameless One watches over his slumber, but we fear he may never awake. Ah well, life goes on.”

He glared at her. Elan Morin Tedronai might have been a smug, three-named cunt before coming to the Great Lord’s service, but he was one of the believers now. He didn’t like hearing this selfish bitch talk like that. Maybe he’d bring her to the faith after all. Permanently. “That happened to him?” he asked, hefting his scythe onto his shoulder.

“Lews Therin happened,” The Vivisectionist said eagerly. “He was so quick to judge, so full of himself, but Lews Therin got him, too. Who is useless now, hmm? I still have my work, and my genius. What does he have? Nothing!”

Essence of Youth rolled her eyes at the old man openly. “I’m still not sure if your continued survival was supposed to be a secret or not, after you let the Dragon Reborn claim the Eye of the World, but I suppose whatever Betrayer of Hope was planning hardy matters anymore.”

“The Dragon Reborn? Who is that? An apprentice of Lews Therin’s?”

She shook her head. “Not an apprentice. His reincarnation. As I said, a great deal of time has passed, and much has changed. It will take some time to tell you of it all.”

“Who gives a fuck about that?” The Grave sneered. “The Great Lord’s nemesis died, but has been reincarnated? Why isn’t he dead again!? What have you heathens been doing while I slept?”

A slow smile spread across her face. “Those are very good questions. Much better ones than which nation is richest, that’s for sure. Have I mentioned that Rand al’Thor—that is the name of Lews Therin’s reincarnation—is still a teenager, and untrained in the use of his power?”

“And yet he still lives!? Useless cunts, the lot of you! I’d have thought The Conductor of Silence at least would have been willing to do the Great Lord’s work.”

“He hasn’t been released yet,” she said, oddly unoffended by his insults, “but now that you’re here, perhaps someone can finally show us how a true servant of the Great Lord treats his enemies.”

The Vivisectionist’s smile stretched his thin skin tight across his skull. “Yes. No doubt it is what Betrayer of Hope would have wanted, too,” he said, before falling into a disgusting fit of giggles.

The Grave had no tolerance for either of them, and far less for anyone who blasphemed against the Great Lord. The Dragon’s escape from his own grave would be a very brief one. He grounded the butt of his scythe before him, the sound it made ringing off the walls of the room. It was his instrument, as he was the Great Lord’s. There was only one path before him, and it sure as fuck did not lead to some bloody library.

“Where is this boy? I will give him the Great Lord’s gift. Slowly.”

Essence of Youth’s smile lit up her face. She told him.

  
  



	4. Ruler of Rulers

CHAPTER 1: Ruler of Rulers

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Tenth Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose on the Sea of Storms. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was  _ a _ beginning.

Inland the hot night wind blew, north across the vast delta called the Fingers of the Dragon, a winding maze of waterways broad and narrow, some choked with knifegrass. Vast plains of reeds separated clusters of low islands forested with spider-rooted trees seen nowhere else. Eventually the delta gave way to its source, the River Arindrelle, the river’s great width spotted with the lights of small boats lantern-fishing. Boats and lights bobbed wildly, sudden and unexpected, and some older men muttered of evil things passing in the night. Young men laughed, but they hauled the nets more vigorously, too, eager to be home and out of the dark. The stories said evil could not cross your threshold unless you invited it in. That was what the stories said. But out in the darkness ...

The last tang of salt had vanished by the time the wind reached the great city of Tear, hard by the river, where tile-roofed inns and shops shouldered against tall, towered palaces gleaming in the moonlight. Yet no place was half so tall as the massive bulk, almost a mountain, that stretched from city’s heart to water’s edge. The Stone of Tear, fortress of legend, the oldest stronghold of mankind, erected in the last days of the Breaking of the World. While nations and empires rose and fell, were replaced and fell anew, the Stone stood. It was the rock on which armies had broken spears and swords and hearts for three thousand years. And in all that time it had never fallen to invading arms. Until now.

The streets of the city, the taverns and inns, were all but empty in the muggy darkness, people keeping cautiously within their own walls. Who held the Stone was lord of Tear, city and nation. That was the way it had always been, and the people of Tear accepted it always. By daylight they would cheer their new lord with enthusiasm as they had cheered the old; by night they huddled together, shivering despite the heat when the wind howled across their rooftops like a thousand keening mourners. Strange new hopes danced in their heads, hopes none in Tear had dared for a hundred generations, hopes mixed with fears as old as the Breaking.

The wind lashed the long, white banner catching the moon above the Stone as if trying to rip it away. Along its length marched a sinuous figure like a legged serpent, golden-maned like a lion, scaled in scarlet and gold, seeming to ride the wind. Banner of prophecy, hoped for and dreaded. Banner of the Dragon. The Dragon Reborn. Harbinger of the world’s salvation, and herald of a new Breaking to come. As if outraged at such defiance, the wind dashed itself against the hard walls of the Stone. The Dragon banner floated, unheeding in the night, awaiting greater storms.

Along the seamless stone face of the fortress the wind howled, its whispered threat bringing shivers to the backs of many of those who rested behind the narrow arrowslits that passed for windows on that stern bulk. At one such window, high on the Stone’s southern side, it paused briefly, as though struck by a curiosity, for in the room inside there was a great round table about which sat many men and women, all of experienced mien save for one, fairer and younger than the rest, on whom all eyes rested nervously.

Rand al’Thor stared down grimly at the clear, crystal sword that lay on the table before him. For all the bitter destiny that was encompassed by that sword, he preferred to look at it than at the people around him. They were such a disappointment.

He liked the idea of the table. Round and with the chairs equally spaced around it. That sent s nice message. The chairs themselves were a bit gaudy, though. Too much like thrones for his taste, with their tall backs and all those gems jammed into the wood. The Crescent Moons of Tear could be clearly seen above the heads of everyone at the table, even his own.

He caught Meilan’s eye, just for a moment, before the grey-haired man looked away and smoothed his bearded face, but Rand had seen the contempt in that look. It woke his own.

He had liked the idea of Tear as well, when he’d first heard of it, back when Moiraine brought him and his friends away from their sleepy village. Tear was a land free of the White Tower’s influence, where men and women ruled together as equals. Such a pleasant dream, for a boy who’d so often wilted under the scorn of the matriarchy.

Like many dreams, it faded fast in the cold light of reality.

The bitter truth was that the rulers of Tear were more tyrannical than those of any other nation he’d visited. Here where a man could rule, all those who were ruled cowered in fear. For a man charged with ruling now, destined to it even, a man who’d secretly hoped to prove the prejudice against men such as him unfair, it was a blow to the heart to see how badly his fellow men had done.

Bitterness made him angry. But that was good. Anger caused fear, and fear was what would keep the High Lords and High Ladies of Tear in check.

He ran his cold grey eyes across the assembled nobles, wondering which of them would be the first to try to kill him. They’d all pledged their loyalty to him, they all knew him to be the Dragon Reborn, but every man and woman of them wanted him gone. Rand had no doubt of that.

Greedy Torean with his so plain face refused to meet Rand’s eyes. So did fat Sunamon, whose sweat was not caused by heat tonight, and broad Carleon, who was nearly as well fed and whose wife sat at his right hand. Estanda’s lips became even thinner when Rand looked at her. He had heard about her already, and about the pretty woman beside her who smiled at Rand so insincerely, uncaring that her own husband was at her other side. Alteima and Tedosian were already his enemies. His people had told him that, though he could probably have guessed it himself.

Simaan’s sharp eyes did not waver under Rand’s stare, nor did the distaste in them dim. White-haired Storin was calm, greying Aracome anything but. Slender Weiramon and willowy Anaiyella looked as eager to please as could be. Rand wasn’t fooled. Gueyam scowled openly, while Maraconn and Tolmeran kept their faces under control. Scruffy Hervaci lounged in his chair, making a great show of how unconcerned he was with Rand’s ascension. Beautiful Fionnda sat with her back straight and her chin raised defiantly in a way that almost dared anyone to look at the cleavage displayed by her low-cut dress. Rand trusted none of them. He’d been to their dungeons.

When Rand’s gaze came to rest on him, Hearne tugged at his ear in that way he had, trying and failing to contain the anger he didn’t dare release on Rand. He released it on others though, even his wife and children. It was common knowledge. The man hadn’t even the decency to be ashamed, to try to hide his crime, for who could have challenged the power of a High Lord before now? Well, times had changed and these people would have to change with them. Rand was inclined to insist upon it.

There was no set number to the High Nobles, for any lord or lady of Tear who was rich and powerful enough could demand a place among them. There were fewer High Lords now than there had been before the fighting on the night Rand claimed  _ Callandor _ . If need be, there would be even fewer soon.

“It is a new day. Perhaps even the beginning of a new Age. New days and new Ages bring new laws. I will show them to you soon. I expect them to be obeyed.”

When he’d begun to speak, he’d had their attention. By the time he was done, he had their outrage.

“New laws, my Lord Dragon? Why? Burn my soul, the laws have served Tear well for a thousand years!” said Weiramon, puffing himself up like a rooster.

“Laws are the brick and mortar of civilisation. They can’t just be changed on a whim,” Meilan added, his contempt oozing into his voice as surely as it had his eyes.

“It is crazy to even try,” Hervaci dared to say.

The rest agreed with them, whether with loud voices or quiet nods. They all agreed. And why not? They all profited immensely from the laws they had written. No doubt their ancestors had written them so for exactly that reason, and to the Pit of Doom with any notion of justice. They wouldn’t profit from Rand’s laws, though. He intended to make them as fair as he could.

“All nobles are presumed innocent? It should be illegal for a commoner to even accuse a noble of murder or rape, much less hope to see a murderer or rapist punished? Anyone who is suspected of disloyalty can be arrested and tortured on a whim. Do you really think that justice!?”

He’d meant to be calm, in control, reasonable. But by the end, he was shouting. The fear on their faces gave him a moment’s pause. They knew what he was, and were right to fear him. He might wish it was otherwise, but madness and destruction were his destiny. He should fight against that. Remain calm. But the pause their fear stabbed into him fell away without leaving a mark. Why shouldn’t he be angry? Their laws were an abomination!

“There should be laws, yes,” Sunamon agreed, his gaze darting between Rand and the veiled men and woman who lurked on the edges of the room. “Laws that protect ... people.”

He meant himself, not the common folk of Tear, but Rand supposed his half-hearted support would have to do. What the watching Aiel thought of the High Nobles, or Rand himself, was impossible to judge. Their heads were wrapped in brown hoods, their faces covered by black veils, and the eyes that showed above those veils might as well have been stones for all the expression that he could see. He had been going to leave them outside, at first. None of the nobles had their guards with them, so it had felt rude to bring the Aiel. But the more he learned about these Tairens, the gladder he was of the sharp spears and hard eyes that surrounded them now.

“There will be, Sunamon. I promise it,” Rand growled. “Murderers and rapists will be hanged, no matter who their parents were, or who the parents of their victims were. We can start with that.”

The nobles exchanged looks, forgetting, in their indignation, to pretend they respected their new ruler. Maraconn sneered, Tolmeran grimaced, Hervaci snorted, and Hearne paled. While Simaan looked down his sharp nose at the commonborn youth before him who dared to say that they shouldn’t have the right to kill him whenever they pleased, Meilan exchanged meaningful looks with Gueyam and tried to do the same with Torean, but that one was too busy tugging at the collar of his coat to notice. The married pairs whispered to each other while shooting scornful looks Rand’s way. Plotting? Probably. Anaiyella giggled nervously at Fionnda, who ignored her in favour of frowning thoughtfully at the table that Storin’s fingers drummed against. And all the while, Weiramon scratched at his thinning hair in confusion.

“This is not a good time to be making such sweeping changes,” Meilan said with forced patience. “What the people need now is stability, to balance the chaos and death you brought with you. They need the firm hand that has always guided them.”

Estanda nodded. “Yes. Don’t take that away from them, my ... Lord Dragon.”

The firm hand that guided them? The boot on their necks, more like! And these people dared to imply that they should be grateful for the boot, besides!

“I’m not going to take it away from them,” Rand said through gritted teeth. A brief moment’s relief touched Estanda’s sternly handsome face, only to disappear when he continued. “I’m going to take it away from you. You can consider me the firm hand from now on, if it brings you comfort.”

“For shame! She’s a married woman,” Anaiyella said with a simpering smile. “Unlike me ...”

Fionnda sniffed. “I don’t make a habit of killing or raping, so I’m not overly concerned, save for how these things are defined, my Lord Dragon. If someone dares steal from me, am I not within my rights to take his head as payment?”

Rand frowned. He wasn’t exactly innocent of theft. There had been some desperate times in the past. And death felt like a harsh punishment for stealing, even if it had been something done for reasons other than desperation. “No. No, not for stealing. That’s too harsh a punishment for such a minor crime. Bring them to me, for now. We’ll work out the details later.”

Fionnda pursed her lips. “I see ...”

Again, the nobles exchanged those looks. The only one who didn’t show some kind of derision was Storin, and that only because he guarded his face so well. The beard and moustache that he ran his finger and thumb through were oiled and trimmed to a point, after the fashion of Tairen noblemen. And only noblemen. Storin’s was still black, which made for a striking appearance when combined with his entirely white hair. There was a hint of Cairhien about him, Rand thought, but those icy blue eyes wouldn’t have been common there at all, not from what Rand had seen.

Of course, the Tairens as a whole didn’t lend themselves at all to the easy identification that the Cairhienin had. Even in this room there were people like Sunamon and Alteima, as pale as any, while Carleon and Torean, sitting nearby, could have passed for Sea Folk if not for Carleon’s blue eyes. Aracome wasn’t quite as dark of skin as they, Fionnda not as pale as Alteima, and most of the rest were somewhere in between. Some were fat. Some were slender. Tolmeran so much so that Rand might have feared him on the brink of starvation if he hadn’t known the man was rich enough to feed a small city by himself. While black hair was most common in Tear, yellow like that of Maraconn’s wasn’t hard to find either. Even height had no standard. Anaiyella and Estanda were much the same in colouring, but Anaiyella was head and shoulders taller than the other woman. Several of the High Lords, Meilan, Weiramon and Storin, for example, were six foot or so tall, while Sunamon and Torean were nearly as short as a Theren woman.

In dress, too, they were without uniform. The men all wore those beards, true, and their coats were of a similar cut, but each man made it a point to wear distinct colours, with as much care as a Tinker for how the colours went together. The sleeves of their coats puffed out to twice the size of their arms, and were always striped in two colours, but those colours were never the same. Rand suspected it was a like the Cairhienin and their striped coats. A sign of rank, or wealth. He’d need to ask Elayne about that. He’d need to ask her a lot of things.

The women wore the stripes on the sleeves of their dresses as well, which were modestly low at the hem, and scandalously low at the neckline, and every bit as diverse as the men’s garb.

They wore a riot of colours, and were a riot of colours themselves, but it was their riotous personalities that concerned Rand.

“It will take a while to write the new laws,” he said. “Until that time I expect you to do nothing drastic without asking me first.”

“Nothing. For how long?” Alteima asked, a hint of a smirk on her lips.

He set his jaw. “As long as it takes.”

“You’d do a lot better at ruling if you’d listen to those who know how,” Hervaci sighed.

“I am!” Rand snapped. Light help him, he was. Already he’d threatened these men with death if they defied him. And the horrible truth was that he’d meant it.

He picked up  _ Callandor _ and, on impulse, drew  _ saidin _ through it. Power flooded into him, and with it came the rancid sewage of the Dark One’s taint, coating the One Power like a layer of thick oil, rotting the flesh and the minds of all those who touched it. How long before it rotted his? Would he be insane when his living body began to decompose? Or would that come first? Uncaring of Rand’s fears,  _ Callandor _ reacted to  _ saidin _ ’s presence by glowing brightly, white light filling the once translucent blade and hilt and crossguard. It shone so brightly in Rand’s grip that the men and women sitting at the table with him had to shield their eyes. Many of them pushed their chairs back, too, trying to get away from the  _ sa’angreal _ that their Stone had been built to protect, and the man who’d claimed it.

That cowed them well enough. They might think him an ignorant peasant, but they knew him to be the Dragon Reborn as well. So long as he kept reminding them of that, so long as he held  _ Callandor _ , they wouldn’t dare challenge him.

“This meeting is over,” he announced.

There were no objections. Some fled through the double doors, some stalked away. A few bid him good night: most of those with unctuous insincerity, Storin and Fionnda matter-of-factly. None lingered long in the presence of a male channeler armed with a  _ sa’angreal _ of  _ Callandor _ ’s potency, of course. And who could blame them?

Rand sat alone at the great table for some time after the nobles had left, brooding. They were at least a little bit right. He didn’t have the first clue how to rule a nation. They were even more wrong though, for he’d rather fumble his way completely than leave people like them to rule over Tear the way they had been.

He got to his feet with a sigh, and left the room without saying anything to the Aiel who fell in around him. Silence was usually the way of things between them. Pregnant silence. They wanted something from him, these familiar looking strangers from a far-off land, but they wouldn’t say what it was. He Who Comes With the Dawn, they called him. Whatever that meant.

He knew he must look out of place in their midst, striding through the Stone of Tear’s oppressive corridors. They were all in loose clothes of brown and grey, the kind that would blend in with the wasteland they called home, their heads hidden by their hoods and veils. Underneath those coverings they bore a resemblance to him. Taller than most, with pale skin, light-coloured eyes and hair that was rarely darker than the dark red of his own.

It was there that the resemblance ended, for Rand refused to dress as they did, no matter how many people told him he was Aiel by blood. His high-collared red coat fell to his knees, and was embroidered with vines and thorns in gold thread around the tail and cuffs and across the shoulders. It was Andoran in fashion, and though he did not consider himself to be Andoran any more than he did Aiel, he’d gotten used to wearing that style. Dark boots, dark breeches and a white shirt, all of fine make, completed the look. It was fancier garb than he’d have been comfortable wearing once, but he’d been a different man back then, leading a very different life. A silver ring with a large, red ruby set in it was his only concession to jewellery. The Aiel, of course, wore no such vanities, nothing that might lessen the grip, reflect light when trying to hide, or catch on something and slow them down. No doubt, they were much wiser than Rand. A lot of people were.

Despite the hour, a good many people were hurrying through the Stone’s wide corridors, a steady trickle of men and women in the black and gold of Stone servants or the livery of one House or another. Now and again a Defender or two appeared, unarmed and unarmoured, some with their black and gold coats undone. The servants bowed or curtsied to Rand if he came close, then hurried on. Most of the soldiers gave a start on seeing him. Some bowed stiffly, hand to heart, but one and all quickened their steps as if eager to be away.

For all its splendour, all the gold and fine carving and inlays, the interior of the Stone had been designed for war as much as its exterior had been. Murderholes dotted the ceiling wherever corridors crossed. Never-used arrowslits peeked into the halls at places where they might cover an entire hallway. He climbed narrow, curving staircase after narrow, curving staircase, all built into the walls or else enclosed, with more arrowslits looking down on the corridor below. None of this design had hampered the Aiel, of course, the first enemy ever to get beyond the outer wall.

The chambers he’d been given were near the top of the Stone’s western face. He reached them by way of one of those winding staircases and the long corridor that waited beyond. Several Aiel trotted ahead to open the doors at the end of the corridor, not out of exaggerated politeness, but because they wanted to make sure that no enemies waited inside.

The anteroom was a round chamber a hundred and fifty feet or more across. A hundred gilded lamps hung on golden chains from its high ceiling. Polished redstone columns made an inner ring, and the floor appeared to be one huge slab of black marble, streaked with gold. It had been the anteroom of the queen’s chambers, in the days when Tear had queens, before Artur Hawkwing put everything from the Spine of the World to the Aryth Ocean under one king. The Tairen queens had not returned when Hawkwing’s empire collapsed, and for a thousand years the only inhabitants of these apartments had been mice tracking through dust. No High Lord or High Lady had ever had enough power to dare claim them for his or her own. And none had dared deny Rand the use of them either.

A ring of fifty Defenders of the Stone stood rigidly in the middle of the room, breastplates and rimmed helmets gleaming, spears all slanted at exactly the same angle. Facing every direction as they did, they were supposed to keep all intruders from the current lord of the Stone. Their commander, a captain distinguished by two short white plumes on his helmet, held himself only a trifle less stiffly. He posed with one hand on his sword hilt and the other on his hip, self-important with his duty.

Rand thought they still had that shocked look about them, the same one that most of the Tairens had worn since the Stone fell for the first time in its long history. As if they couldn’t quite believe it had happened and weren’t really sure of what to do any more.

Or maybe it was more to do with whom the Stone had fallen to. Not shock, but the uncertainty of men who lived under a crumbling cliff and had almost managed to convince themselves it would never fall. Or at least not tonight. Not in the next hour.

The Defenders’ captain stepped forward to greet him when he arrived, and politeness forced Rand to stop. He wasn’t really sure what to think of the Defenders. They’d enforced the High Nobles’ tyrannical edicts for as long as anyone could remember, but every man of them was as commonborn as the people they’d oppressed. Why had they done it? Fear of the nobles? Enjoyment of the power it brought them? Blind loyalty? Cruelty?

The captain, a tall, dark-skinned man, bowed and saluted. “Captain Doncari Astalonia, my Lord Dragon. The Light illumine you. All has been quiet in your absence, save for the arrival of your father. He waits within.”

Rand’s heartbeat quickened. There was nothing of threat in the man’s words or expression, but the simple fact that people knew who Tam was put him in danger. Rand was sure of it. If there had been some way he could have kept his relationship with Tam—and all of his friends for that matter—a secret, he would have done it gladly. As well wish for the moon.

Fear made him curt. “I like quiet. Make sure it remains that way.” Not waiting for a response, he marched past the Defenders, his boots ringing on the marble floor.

The second line of defence waited behind the columns.

They had been standing so still that they seemed to fade into the stone, though their coats and breeches stood out here as soon as they moved. Maidens of the Spear tonight, Aiel women who had chosen a warrior’s life over the hearth. They were tall for women, and even for men, in some cases; the tallest was only a few inches shorter than he. Two held curved horn bows with arrows nocked, if not drawn. The others carried small hide bucklers and three or four short spears each—short, but with spearheads long enough to stick through a man’s body with inches to spare.

One of the taller ones, a freckled six-footer named Renay, greeted him with that rarest of things: an Aiel smile. “Did you feud with the wetlanders again, Rand al’Thor? Do not concern yourself. I have heard some of them speak well of you. Not all of the Theren clan were against you either. Even some of those who did not run with us to this place spoke in your defence.”

“That’s nice,” he said slowly, wondering briefly if she was making fun of him. Renay had been there when the Thereners, the people he’d been raised among—his people—drove him from Emond’s Field under a hail of arrows. Rand had left willingly then, not wanting to risk hurting more people than he’d already hurt. If the Tairens tried to drive him out now, would he go, or fight back?

_ Holding the Stone proves that I am who I say I am. The Stone and  _ Callandor _. I can’t afford to lose them. No matter what _ .

“What are the chiefs of Tear like?” another Maiden, Dailin, asked.

One of the Maidens who’d accompanied him lowered her veil to speak, revealing a pretty, if pouty face. She was younger than most, and her eyes were dark brown, something he hadn’t seen on an Aiel before.

“They had these real fine clothes and they are smooth all over,” she said. “So at least they are not completely worthless.”

Dailin drummed her fingers briefly upon her buckler. “Not all the wetlanders are like that. Nynaeve al’Meara and her companions are women of honour. Even you might like them, Nici.”

“I will believe it when I see it,” the pouty girl said.

Despite how annoyed he was with the High Nobles, Rand didn’t want to stand around and listen to the Aiel go on about how worthless “wetlanders” were again. “I’m tired. I don’t want any more visitors tonight,” he said. Renay nodded, and the Aiel who’d escorted him from the council chamber dispersed to join the rest of the lurking guards. Rand took hold of the rearing golden lion that made for a door handle and let himself into his new room.

A canopied bed wide enough for five of him was the centrepiece of the chamber, the pillows and sheets all in red and gold to match the draperies of scarlet silk embroidered with eagles in thread-of-gold that hung at the narrow windows, stirring slightly in a failing wind. The broad Tarabon carpet he walked across, in scrolls of scarlet and gold and blue, could have fed an entire village for months. The wood of the furnishings was ornately carved and gilded and set with precious stones, bed and chairs and benches, wardrobes and chests and washstand. The pitcher and bowl were golden Sea Folk porcelain, as thin as leaves. Almost every flat surface held more delicate Sea Folk porcelain, or else goblets and bowls and ornaments of gold worked with silver, and silver chased with gold. On the broad marble mantel over the fireplace, two silver wolves with ruby eyes tried to pull down a golden stag a good three feet tall.

It was to a wooden stand as tall as a man and just as wide, set near said mantle, that he went. As gilded and begemmed as the rest, the stand had been recently made for him, a gift from the High Nobles, intended to display  _ Callandor _ . Rand placed the crystal blade on it, and felt a deep relief to be rid of it for a while.

The man in the room looked as out of place among such gaudiness as Rand had among the Aiel. Still clad in the worn brown trousers and white shirt that he’d brought from the Theren, Tam sat in one of the chairs, reading from one of the books Rand had gathered. Those books lay wherever there was room, leather-bound, wood-bound, some tattered and still dusty from the deepest shelves of the Stone’s library. That library wasn’t as famed as the White Tower’s or Cairhien’s or Bandar Eban’s, but it held much of the knowledge that Rand had been so long denied, including several different translations of  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ , the Prophecies of the Dragon. He’d been gorging on that knowledge since the Stone fell.

Tam had closed his book at Rand’s arrival, but said nothing. He’d been doing that a lot lately. Saying nothing. Keeping his distance. Rand had to remind himself that it wasn’t because he could channel or was the Dragon Reborn. Tam had known those things before he’d come to Tear. He was a stocky man with a broad chest, solid as a boulder in a stream, though weathered by the elements. His broad face was lined, his dark hair gone mostly grey now. His eyes were still clear, though, and full of the kind of wisdom that Rand needed.

“What are you reading?”

“Tairen law,” Tam said.

“Use it for kindling,” he grunted. “It’s out of date.”

His father nodded as though he had expected that, but didn’t ask the obvious questions. Perhaps that was just as well, for Rand didn’t have the needed answers. Yet.

He took off his coat and tossed it over a chest before doing the same with his shirt. “Do you think those Defenders can be trusted? Why did they follow the High Lords?”

That got Tam’s attention. He’d been an officer in the Companions: the counterpart to the Defenders of the Stone for Tear’s great rival, Illian. He’d fought in several wars against Tear, and had to have encountered the Defenders in battle during that time. “They were trained to follow, lad. All soldiers are. Though it takes better with some than others. These Tairens ... the training starts young, if you get my meaning. You must have heard it on the streets. Every parent is quick to warn their children against speaking out and disobeying. The boys who become soldiers have already learned obedience. The ones who are chosen for the Defenders would be those who learned it best.”

That was part of what Rand wanted to change. And yet, hypocritically, he wondered if that obedience might help him just then. His lips twisted bitterly. “Will they obey  _ me _ now, or the High Lords? If it came to a fight, I mean.”

“That I can’t say,” Tam sighed. “I wouldn’t gamble on them, if I were you, but I wouldn’t throw them aside either. That would just make it more likely that they’d side with the nobles. This current situation, mixing them with the Aiel, is sensible. Less chance of both groups turning than of just one. You did well there.”

Rand shrugged uncomfortably. He didn’t think he was doing very well at all. He’d just been doing what felt right and natural, rather than what was smartest. He undid his belt and sat on the bed to remove his boots and stockings.

Tam got to his feet. There was a scabbarded sword propped against the back of his chair, Rand noticed. His father hadn’t carried one back home, but he expected it would be a permanent feature now. The fine, heron-marked blade he’d earned and then loaned to Rand was gone, destroyed at Falme when Rand had stabbed it into Ba’alzamon’s chest.

They’d found no body in the aftermath of that battle, but he hadn’t seen Ba’alzamon again since and dared to hope that the Forsaken leader had died from the wound. It would have been a worthy end to the sword, though a childish part of Rand still missed it. He still had the ruined remains, hilt and scabbard and a few melted inches of blade. Tam had said he could keep it.

His people had brought it with them to Tear, along with the rest of Rand’s possessions, those he’d left behind when he fled the Theren. They were scattered about the room now: his Theren longbow and full quiver, his makeshift armour and the sword that had once belonged to Syoman Surtir, the red eagle pin Lan had had made for him, the flute Thom had given him. With all the wealth that was suddenly at his disposal, he should probably find a way of returning those favours. But what would make a good gift, and for whom?

The torso Tam revealed, when he pulled his shirt up over his head, was dusted with hair and thickened by age but still muscular. The familiar jingle of his belt buckle being undone soon followed.

Rand shed his breeches and smallclothes and moved to lie in the middle of the bed. Fully nude now, he pulled a pillow over to rest his chest upon and casually spread his legs. He soon felt the bed move under Tam’s weight, and felt the heat of his body draw close. That solid warmth was firmly behind him, he knew. In more ways than one.

Familiar hands came to rest at either side of Rand’s head, and a familiar stiffness began poking at his hole. He relaxed on the bed, and his father’s cock slid easily inside him. Either Tam had oiled himself in anticipation, or Rand had become, over the years, the perfect sheathe for his sword, for even the initial penetration brought no pain.

Tam rode his son slowly, stirring the forbidden pleasure in them both.

After a time, Rand found himself moved to make a confession. “I don’t know what I’m doing, daddy. How am I supposed to rule a country when I can barely rule myself?” He hated how small his voice sounded, but his father just wrapped him in his arms and hugged him close, his manhood still deep inside him.

“Shhh. It’s okay, son. You don’t have to know it all right away. You have time to learn, and good people to learn from. Moiraine is not your friend, but no-one knows  _ Daes Dae’mar _ better than an Aes Sedai. I hear good things about the gleeman, Merrilin, and the Daughter-Heir seems fond of you. She’ll have been taught how to deal with nobles. Ask her advice. Uno and Lan know soldiers as well as any can. And those Aiel who came to Emond’s Field proved trustworthy. Ask them how to handle Rhuarc. You can do this, Rand. I know you can.”

Rand lay still and quiet for a time, basking in Tam’s faith and enjoying the feel of him moving inside. After a minute had passed, he whispered, “I hope you’re right.”

His father’s breath stirred his hair, as red as that of his deceased mother, when he kissed the back of his head. “I am,” he said, in the voice he used when there was to be no more arguing. The pace of his thrusts increased, and Rand settled in to take what he knew would be coming.

Tam rode him for a long time that night, until sweat misted both their bodies, the young and the old. When he finally came, it was with a sigh rather than a roar, the warm breath of his exhalation brushing Rand’s hair as his warm seed spilled in his butt, and the warm bulk of his tired body came to rest upon him. They stayed like that for a while, catching their breaths.

Tam sighed again when he rolled off to sprawl on the rich sheets, naked and learned and commanding, his thick cock shrinking visibly. His eyes drifted shut, but only for a moment. With a groan of effort, he sat up again and made to climb from the bed.

“You can stay if you want,” Rand said.

Tam shook his head. “That wouldn’t be wise, lad. This thing between us was never wise, Light forgive me. If people knew ... Well. The Dragon’s Fang on our door is the least we could expect. I’d rather no-one ever knew what we’ve been doing all these years. I’m not telling you to be quiet, mind. It’s your decision now. All of it is. But I’d rather it stayed a secret.”

He gave a little shrug. “If that’s what you want.” For his own part, Rand was past caring what people knew of his amorous escapades. The whole world now knew, or would soon know, that he was a male channeler—the Dragon Reborn, no less—and doomed to go mad and break the world. They were required to accept that terrible truth and leave him free to do what he needed to do in order to have any hope of defeating the Dark One. What difference could it make, when measured against such an enormity, if they also knew of how promiscuous he was? None at all. But there were two of them in this bed, and if Tam wanted it kept secret, then it would be kept secret.

As his father dressed, Rand used a discarded stocking to clean himself up, and then got under the silken covers. He hadn’t lied to Renay. It had been a long day, and the days to come promised to be just as long. There was so much he had to learn, and so much he had to do. And the price of failure was so very high. It made little moments of pleasure and intimacy like this all the more precious.

As suspicious as he had grown, and as tense as he so often found himself, he would have been surprised, if he was capable of it, to find that he’d already fallen asleep by the time his father doused the lamps and let himself out of the room.


	5. Rebel

CHAPTER 2: Rebel

There were advantages to being thought a friend of the Dragon Reborn. People paid more attention to you, often romantically. And the nobles who’d have turned their noses up at the idea of gambling their excess money away with you were suddenly less snobbish. Even so, as far as Mat Cauthon was concerned it would have been better by far if he’d never come anywhere near the Stone of Tear, or been reunited with his old friend Rand.

The man had turned out to be a channeler, after all. Worse! The Dragon Reborn! They’d had some good times in the past, sure, but he couldn’t be expected to put up with being killed by a lunatic using the One Power just because they’d been friends and lovers growing up. Rand had Aiel to take care of him anyway. And Moiraine and Tam looking out for him. Mat could leave at any time. And he would! Just as soon as the nobles got tired of losing all their money to him.

He slurped down the last of his soup and then tore off a bit of bread with which to wipe the bowl. The men around him, here in the guard’s mess hall, paid him no mind. They’d been uncomfortable with his presence at first, what with him being a stranger and Rand’s friend, but he’d been coming here for his meals often enough by now that they’d gotten used to him.

No-one said anything to him when he rose from the bench by the long table and sauntered away, leaving the dishes for someone else to clean up. His coat was undone, his shirt only laced halfway up, and he hadn’t bothered brushing his hair. Such were the blessings of being out from under his mother’s thumb at last.

That didn’t stop Mat from scowling when, while strolling through the Stone’s labyrinthine corridors, he spotted his cousin Imoen up ahead, looking a bit lost. She had the same brown hair and brown eyes as he did, but was half a decade younger than his eighteen years, and he’d heard some surprising rumours about her lately. He quickened his pace and caught up with her at a quiet intersection.

Imoen smiled with relief on seeing him. “Heya, Mat. It’s me, Imoen.”

He rolled his eyes. “I haven’t forgotten you, halfpint. It’s only been a year.”

“A year and a half actually,” she said, crossing her arms. “And how am I supposed to know you’d remember? You never bothered to come home with the others. And you were never the smartest of boys.”

“I’m plenty smart! Reading’s just boring, that’s all.”

“It is a bit,” Imoen allowed after a moment’s consideration. “Hey. Do you know how to get to the River Gate from here? I’m supposed to be meeting my friends. We’re going to explore the city.”

“Aren’t you a bit young for that? Tear’s a rough place,” Mat said, before wincing at his own words.  _ Blood and ashes! I’m going to become my da at this rate! _

“Don’t even start with that! Or would you like me to fill you in on how worried your parents and sisters have been since you ran away? It wasn’t pretty, let me tell you! Besides, Mom has my letter. And she taught me a thing or two ... old Imoen can stay out of trouble.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. Just to scratch though, not to straighten it or anything. “I suppose I could try to get a letter delivered to them, now that I’m free of the Aes Sedai.”

“Or you could go back and see them. We were all surprised you weren’t there, when Rand and Perrin and Anna came to help fight the Trollocs.”

Mat winced at the unspoken accusation. If he’d known there was trouble in the Theren, he’d have gone to help. Of course he would have! But he hadn’t heard anything about what was happening there until it was already sorted.

Imoen toed the floor guiltily. “But if you were being held prisoner by the Aes Sedai, then no-one could blame you for not coming. I wasn’t saying I did! You don’t blame me for leaving, do you? My parents were being such ... such ... ARGH! If you’re going back, tell them I love them will you? And tell them not to worry about little old me.”

“I’m not planning to visit Emond’s Field anytime soon. A letter should be enough,” he said, a bit stiffly. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever go back to Emond’s Field, was the truth of it. He was half-afraid he wouldn’t be able to escape again if he did. His mother could be very ... smothering.

Imoen sniffed. “And you complain about me being out and about!”

“Hey! At least I was an adult when I left! Uncle Eward and Aunt Ailys must be climbing the walls. If they heard about what you’ve been getting up to ...”

She blushed pink at that, but glared at him defiantly even so. “That’s no-one’s business but mine!”

Mat ground his teeth. How often he’d wanted to say just that to his parents, or the Wisdom, or the Women’s Circle, or ... everyone! It galled him to be the one doing the scolding, but ...  _ Blood and Ashes! She’s so much younger than he is _ . Rand and Mat had been about her age when they’d started, true, but they’d  _ both _ been that age. That made it different. Besides. She was his cousin. He was supposed to look out for her.

“He can channel, Imoen,” he said, leaning in close and lowering his voice, though Rand’s condition wasn’t a secret anymore. “He’s going to go mad, maybe kill everyone near him. Have you thought about that?”

She set her jaw stubbornly. “He’s the Dragon Reborn as well! He’s supposed to save us from the Dark One. At least, that’s what Moiraine says. Burn me! You sound like my da. He tried to drive Rand out the same as he did Moiraine, did you know that? I didn’t think you’d be such an ingrate, Mat.”

Ingrate? What bloody fool talk was that? As if it made a difference whether it was the Dragon Reborn or the Dark One that killed you. You were just as dead.

“How is not wanting to jump into a fire ungrateful? I don’t owe Rand anything, and neither do you. If you don’t want to go home, more power to you so far as I’m concerned, but you should get as far away from Rand as you can. And soon.”

She rubbed at her temples. “I’m getting a headache, listening to you. I thought I left all those boring lectures at Emond’s Field. Here’s how it is, coz, and you can like it or lump it. Rand and I are in this together, through thick and thin!”

He knew that stubborn look well. Theren women could be utter mules at times. But before he could say more, he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. The Stone of Tear wasn’t a safe place to be found talking about Rand’s mental state. Imoen, for all her youth, seemed to feel the same. She fell silent, and they both peered suspiciously down the corridor.

And it was just as well they did, for the man approaching proved to be none other than Rand himself, wearing his fancy clothes and a look of solemn resolve. Sharp-eyed Aiel surrounded him, and a knot of Defenders of the Stone marched along in their wake like a rickety cart hitched to a racehorse.

He had a girl at either side, neither of them tall enough to reach his shoulders. One had short red hair, eyes as golden as Perrin’s, and a scowl on her face. The other was smiling distractedly while studying everyone with her big green eyes, black hair bouncing against her back with every step. They were an attractive pair, and he’d seen them following Rand about often in the past few days. He was probably fucking them, too. And he wasn’t even trying to hide it from Imoen, the bastard.

“Mat. I need to speak with you,” he said, dooming Mat’s hopes of making a quick retreat. His jaw tightened when he noticed how Mat grimaced, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he looked to Imoen. “Aren’t you going out with Saeri and the others? Ragan has a squad of Shienarans waiting to escort you, with enough coin to buy whatever you want, short of a house.”

“We don’t need an escort,” she said, but she smiled as she said it, and then added, “How do I get to the River Gate from here?” Which kind of undercut her previous boast.

He looked at the two girls who’d come with him. “Merile ... Never mind. Do you know the way, Raine?”

“I stay with you. To guard,” the red-haired one said. She looked at Rand out of the corner of her strange but familiar eyes, wary despite her desire to stay with him. Mat didn’t understand it. For his part, he meant to cut this meeting as short as possible, like any sane person would!

“I hardly need guarding,” Rand said dryly. Her shoulders slumped and, perhaps feeling guilty, he leaned down and kissed her on the temple. “Go have some fun. That’s an order.”

The other one, Merile, took the now wide-eyed Raine by the hand and pulled her over to Imoen. “Don’t worry, Raine. I’ll take care of you,” she said.

Rand watched her go dubiously. “Just stay where Ragan can see you. You’ll be fine, then. One of the Defenders can show you the way to the gate,” he said. That was all he had to say, too. The Tairen officer, a lieutenant by the single white plume on his helmet, picked out a grizzled looking fellow, who saluted smartly and came forward, edging his way carefully through the Aiel and staying as far away from Rand as the corridor would permit.

“Come with me, miss,” the man said when he reached Imoen’s side.

“I’m sure you’ll be safe, Imoen. We know each other well, this man and I,” Rand said. The way the soldier blanched made it plain that he’d heard the same threat Mat had.

“Of course I will. I wasn’t worried,” said Imoen. She waved at them casually, and strolled off down the hall with the other girls, making a fine show of looking like she knew where she was going. Her Defender escort strode after her.

Mat watched Rand watch her leave. “Aren’t you a cute pair,” he scoffed, after a moment.

Cool, blue-grey eyes met his own, and did not flinch at all. “I’ve always been fond of her. And you.” Mat’s sudden fear that he’d speak of things that weren’t supposed to be talked about in public didn’t move him any more than being caught with a girl as young as Imoen had. “That’s why I came looking for you. I’m arranging a gathering of sorts. Let’s call it an informal meeting of old friends. To compare notes on all we’ve seen and done while we were apart. I’d like you join us.”

He frowned. “Doesn’t sound like much of a party.”

“It’s not that kind of gathering, Mat.”

“Well, thanks but no thanks. You guys have ... what’s the opposite of fun again? Whatever it is, you guys have it without me.”

Rand sighed. “Give us a moment,” he told the others, then took Mat by the arm and walked him away from them. He didn’t react when Mat yanked his arm free. “It’s like this, Mat,” he continued in a low voice. “I got a bit tired of everyone keeping secrets. Moiraine, you know? The way she rations any morsel of knowledge as though it’s her last bit of food. A lot of us were starting to copy her, and it got right on my nerves. So I put together this group. Handpicked people. No Moiraine. No Lan. Just folk who can be trusted. We tell each other anything that might be relevant. Where we’ve been and what we’ve done. Things we’ve learned about this place or that person, who we know to be a Darkfriend, that sort of thing. Stuff that’s important to know, in case—for example—you were to encounter one of those Darkfriends without knowing what they are. The only rule is you have to be honest. No holding back anything that might conceivably get someone else in trouble somewhere down the road. Since we go back so far, and you’re  _ ta’veren _ like me, I thought you an obvious choice to join us.”

“You want me to tell you everywhere I’ve been and everything I’ve seen and everything I’ve done?” Mat grimaced. “Not interested.”

Rand clenched his jaw again. “It’s a mutual thing. You’ll learn a lot that might help you.”

“If you know something I should know, then fill me in. But I’m not confessing, not to you or anyone else. What I’ve done is no-one’s business but mine.”

“Mat. That thing with the Darkfriends is a very real problem,” Rand said with fraying patience. “You remember how many we ran into on the road to Caemlyn, don’t you? And the Forsaken are loose besides. We’ve encountered several of them while you were off doing ... whatever it was you were doing. This is important.”

It might be. But it wasn’t important enough to get Mat to tell about his time in Tar Valon, or Joline and her damned bond, or Bayle and ...  _ Ah, burn me. I have to tell him that part, at least _ .

“I’m not joining your bloody group, Rand. You might be able to bully the High Lords but don’t bother trying it with me. I’ll give you this one for free, though,” he said, ignoring Rand’s scowl. “Sammael rules Illian now. He’s going around calling himself Lord Brend of the Council of Nine, but he’s the man in charge over there. You can bet everything you have on it, even your shiny sword. And he has one of the Seals to the Dark One’s prison with him, too.”

Rand jaw dropped. “How do you know that?”

Mat grinned. “Never you mind. You didn’t think I’ve spent the past year sitting on my hands while you went off carousing did you? Go tell your friends all about it. I have to see a girl about a dance.”

He strutted off, leaving the Dragon Reborn standing there looking stunned, and felt quite pleased with himself over that. It was a fool notion anyway. Telling all your secrets to a bunch of others, some of them strangers no doubt! You’d not catch Mat Cauthon doing something so dumb!


	6. Survivors

CHAPTER 3: Survivors

In a room more than halfway up the Stone’s southern face, Daniele Rulonir sat on the chest at the foot of her canopied bed and stirred a bowl of soup while a frown creased her brow.

Carvings of leopards and lions, stooping hawks and hunting scenes decorated all the furniture in the room from the tall wardrobe and thick bedposts to the padded bench in front of the cold marble fireplace. Some of the animals had garnet eyes.

She had tried to convince the majhere that she wanted a simple room, but she did not seem to understand. Not that she was stupid or slow. The majhere commanded an army of servants greater in numbers than the Defenders of the Stone; whoever commanded the Stone, whoever held its walls, she saw to the day-to-day matters that let everything function. But she looked at the world through Tairen eyes. Despite her plain clothes, she must be more than the young countrywoman she seemed, because commoners were never housed in the Stone—save for Defenders and servants, of course. Beyond that, she was a friend or a follower of Nynaeve, who was close to the Dragon Reborn in some way. To the majhere, that set her on a level with a Lady of the Land at the very least, if not a High Lady. She had been scandalized enough at putting Dani and Ilyena in here, without even a sitting room; she thought the woman might have fainted if she had insisted on an even plainer chamber. If there were such things short of the servants’ quarters, or the Defenders’.

It had been more on Ilyena’s account than her own that she’d sought this room, though she did prefer to keep things clean and simple, and had little liking for the gaudy, Tairen style. If they were going to be staying in the Stone for a while, she wanted it be somewhere far away from the chambers of the High Nobles. Things had happened to Ilyena there, terrible things that she wouldn’t talk about, not even with Dani. Her imagination tormented her with possibilities, each more horrifying than the last, but she refused to demand a straight answer from her pillow-friend. Ilyena would speak when she was ready. She sat at the side of the bed now, fair in all the ways that Dani was dark, her shoulders slumped and her pale yellow hair falling forward to hide her face.

“You liked fish soup back home didn’t you?” Dani said. “This might be a bit different but it’s very tasty. Try some.” She proffered the bowl and spoon to Ilyena, along with a smile that she hoped showed only kindness, and none of the worry she felt.

“Soup won’t change what happened, Dani. Don’t be a fool,” Ilyena muttered listlessly.

She swallowed her pride, and let that pass by into nothingness. “What will? Name it and I’ll do it.”

“Nothing will,” she said, so quietly that it was hard to hear her.

Dani set the bowl down on the chest. “Don’t say that. You can beat this, Ilyena, I know you can.” When the other girl didn’t respond, she reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

Ilyena jerked away from her roughly. “Don’t touch me.”

“Alright,” Dani said after an awkward moment. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Ilyena sighed. “The pain is gone. I just wish I could banish the memories of it and ... other things ... as easily.”

She could understand not wanting to be touched anymore, after what they’d suffered. Many of the other Accepted here were facing similar struggles. Their Black Ajah captors had tormented them all, raped some of them, killed others. Dani’s face still burned with humiliation when she thought of what they’d done to her. They had singled Ilyena out for especially rough treatment, for she had managed to kill one of them before they’d overwhelmed and captured her. The Black Ajah had fled for parts unknown now, but Ilyena wasn’t the only Accepted who rarely left her room these days. Ronelle was doing for her own pillow-friend Emara much what Dani was trying to do for Ilyena, while Keestis, Shimoku and Pedra were, if anything, even more isolated. Admittedly, in Pedra’s case that might be more due to a desire to avoid the horror of living in a place ruled by a male channeler, even if he was the Dragon Reborn. And who could blame her for that? Mayam had done the same at first, but she’d stopped a while back, and in recent days she had gotten almost aggressively sociable, as though she felt she had a point to prove to someone.

Dani’s ruminations were interrupted by Ilyena’s passing. She picked up the bowl, and then deposited herself in its place, solemn faced. A single spoonful of soup was downed. “That’s ... ahhhh ... better,” she said.

Dani snorted softly. “It’s supposed to be me making you feel better,” she said with a wan smile.

Her grim lover downed another spoonful without reaction. “I wish you could. But what’s done is done. All that’s left is to live with it. Somehow.” She grimaced. “Sorry. I’m supposed to be the rooster in this flock of hens, but bashed up as I am I’m not much use to anyone.”

Dani scowled at her, forgetting for a moment her need to be solicitous. “Is that how you see us? A flock of hens in need of your protection?”

Ilyena shrugged. “I killed my target. If the rest of you had done the same ...”

Dani flinched. They had been equal in numbers ... What Ilyena was implying wasn’t entirely unfair, no matter how much she hated to hear it. But that implied that what had happened afterwards was their—her—fault. She suddenly had a hard time meeting Ilyena’s eyes.

They sat together for a time, the only sound the soft slurping of soup. The room felt a little colder than it had ever been before.

She was saved by a tap on the door. She got up to answer, but paused before doing so, and turned back to the other occupant. “Do you mind if we have company?”

Ilyena shrugged dejectedly. “It doesn’t matter.”

After a moment, she sighed and opened the door. Nynaeve al’Meara was outside, the scrip she kept her herbs in already in hand, her pretty face pre-emptively set in that stubborn cast that said she expected resistance and planned to stamp right on over it.

“How is she today?” she asked without preamble.

Dani opened the door wider, to allow her entrance. “Much the same as yesterday,” she said.

Nynaeve sniffed at that, then marched right on in to stand over Ilyena, arms crossed. “A bit of moping can be allowed every once in a while, Volnicoliev, but I think the time has come for you to remember that you are a woman and not a little boy. I can brew you more teas to help you sleep—and I will!—but there’s nothing wrong with you physically. This sickness of the heart is one you’ll have to cure by yourself. Dani and I can help as best we can, but most of the work is going to have to come from you. Unless you’re too much of a mouse to try, of course.”

Dani winced, and closed the door. She wasn’t blind to the value of tough love, but Nynaeve could make the loving part really hard to see at times.

Ilyena scowled up at the woman from beneath her long fringe of hair. “Easy for you to say, al’Meara. All you got was a little whipping. What would you know of ... of anything?”

Nynaeve’s dark eyes softened. “More than you know,” she said quietly. She looked at her left hand, where a Great Serpent ring encircled the third finger. That named her an Accepted to anyone who knew the White Tower’s ways, and named her an Aes Sedai to those who did not. It seemed to hold some other meaning to Nynaeve, though, one that Dani didn’t want to guess at.

Her own ring was still in her pouch. They hadn’t done much to dissuade people from thinking them to be full Aes Sedai during their trip to Tear, but now that there were real Aes Sedai about, Dani had been careful not to imply to anyone that they were at that level. The sisters were unlikely to take well to that, and she’d been kept back long enough already due to her unremarkable strength in the One Power. Nynaeve, who was stronger than any Aes Sedai in living memory, didn’t give a single damn whether Moiraine or Alanna learned of her deception. She was luckier than she knew.

Ilyena didn’t meet the woman’s gaze for long, and that smote Dani’s heart to see. She had never seen her like this before. Ilyena was sharp of wit and of tongue, confrontational and rebellious. Dani had always been the one having to temper her aggression with some common sense. She didn’t know how to deal with this despairing and uncommunicative version of her.

“Have you heard any news today?” Dani asked Nynaeve.

“The nobles have their feathers ruffled because Rand wants to change their laws to stop them killing any commoner they please,” she answered, while rummaging in her scrip. “Even the Coplins and the Congars have more sense—and more decency!—than that lot. When he had all their torture instruments melted down, they sulked like a bunch of children who’d just had their favourite toys taken away. Nobles!”

Ilyena’s lips twitched. “And how does Elayne feel these days?” she asked.

Nynaeve’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but Dani couldn’t help but grin. That was just the sort of barb the old Ilyena would have thrown. She was still in there! “If I had to pick a word, it would be ‘distracted’,” she said, before Nynaeve could explode.

“Rand has that effect on her,” Nynaeve muttered, confirming something which hadn’t really needed confirming for Dani. She thought the Daughter-Heir was losing her mind, personally. “Rand”, as Nynaeve so casually called him, was the Dragon Reborn, and all that that entailed. Sure, he was tall, handsome, powerful, and had at least enough decency to try to put an end to the tyranny of the High Nobles, but he was still the Dragon Reborn. A woman would have to be mad to let herself get involved with him.

“Have you spoken to Moiraine and—” she began, before a loud thumping on the door interrupted her.

“Open in the name of the Lord Dragon!” a man shouted from outside.

“Oh, that boy’s head is getting far too swollen,” Nynaeve said in a low growl. She stalked past Dani and yanked open the door, to reveal a clustered group of armoured Defenders of the Stone and veiled Aiel, in the middle of which stood the man they’d just been speaking of. Dani found that a bit unnerving, him just showing up at that exact time, but Nynaeve obviously didn’t.

“What do you think you’re about, Rand al’Thor, banging on women’s doors like that?”

“I didn’t bang on anything,” he said tightly. “Can I come in?” He was already moving before Nynaeve could even nod. “Sorry about that,” he continued, after he’d closed the door behind himself. “I just asked them to take me to you. The door banging and ‘Lord Dragoning’ he did himself.”

Nynaeve sniffed. “Then you should do more to put a stop to it! I would have, if you hadn’t interrupted me.”

“I know. That’s why I did it,” he said wryly. “I’d have had to argue with you, or look weak in front of people I can’t afford to let think me so.” Al’Thor turned his attention to her and Ilyena. His eyes, when she saw them up close, made her think of a morning sky; a light blue-grey colour. His hair remained the colour of blood, which she thought much better suited to the man he was destined to become. “I won’t intrude long,” he told them. “I know you’ll want your privacy. I just need to borrow Nynaeve for a moment.”

“Everyone thinks they know more than they do,” Ilyena muttered. Despite not wanting to encourage her bitter spiral, Dani couldn’t help but agree. What could a man possibly know of what they’d endured? The understanding look that al’Thor gave her offended in a way she couldn’t quite explain, even to herself.

“Get it over with, then,” she found herself telling the Dragon Reborn, right there in the fortress he commanded. She was surprised by her own words.

He was not. “I’ll be brief. I’m gathering the Inner Circle, Nynaeve. We’ll meet at noon, in my sitting room. I thought about using the room with the big table that the High Nobles meet around, but it seemed unnecessarily insulting. They’ll get enough of that from me in the days to come without taking their fancy table as well. Could you tell Elayne for me?”

“I suppose I can do that,” she said, though she gave her braid a tug as she said it. “I would like to hear what you’ve been up since we left.”

He darted a brief look at Dani. “So long as it’s just you two who hears.”

Nynaeve sniffed. “Of course.”

Dani felt unaccountably insulted by that exclusion. She had no idea what this Inner Circle they were talking about was, and certainly didn’t want to be a part of it, but being dismissed like that still put her back up. She didn’t respond when al’Thor bid them good day and let himself out, but he didn’t bother to notice her rudeness either.

“Be still my wicked heart! Al’Thor is such a cutie! You never told me he looked like that, Dani,” Ilyena said. Dani found herself gaping at her pillow-friend, whose old smirk was back in place, if only for a moment. It wasn’t enough to hide the wariness in her big blue eyes, but it was welcome, if disconcertingly sudden, sight. “I hope you aren’t planning to leave me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would never leave you for a man, no matter how cute. And especially not the Dragon Reborn. Strange friends you keep, Nynaeve.”

“It’s a strange world we live in,” Nynaeve said absently. “Let me mix you that tea. I’ll need to finish my rounds quickly today.”

As Dani watched her work, she wondered what it was that al’Thor might have to say that would have Nynaeve so eager to rush off and meet with him. That wondering occupied her thoughts more than she liked, after Nynaeve bustled off and left her alone with Ilyena’s miserable shade. Her grandmother had been a wise woman, learned in the ways of healing, like Nynaeve. She’d have known what to do here. Dani hadn’t a clue. But Ilyena was in agony, and she couldn’t stand by and let her suffer. Not knowing what else she could do, she went and sat beside her and put her arm across her shoulders. It wasn’t much, but she’d just have to hope it would be enough.


	7. The Inner Circle Convenes

CHAPTER 4: The Inner Circle Convenes

Elayne Trakand was very conscious of her political station, here in the Stone. When she’d first arrived in Tear she had done so under an alias, but that was done with now. She was the Daughter-Heir of Andor, and the Daughter-Heir must comport herself to a certain standard. That was why she pretended not to notice the disrespectful looks that she received from the Tairens she strolled past on her way to the meeting.

She’d had to replace her wardrobe, of course, having come to Tear with a selection of plain dresses more befitting a humble Accepted than royalty. Today she wore pale blue in the Andoran style, heavily embroidered with cream thread. Her necklace and earrings were silver, but the only ring she wore was gold. With that ring—shaped like a serpent eating its own tail—on her finger, some might have thought her a member of the Blue Ajah. That was fitting enough, since she’d been thinking about politics quite a bit in recent days. It was taking the time to collate those thoughts that kept her pace so slow, certainly not any lack of interest in hearing her friends’ news. Rand was going to need all the advice he could get, and she was determined to make that advice the best she could give.

No guards stood outside the tall, double doors that led to Rand’s chambers, and no herald waited to announce her either. She made a note of that. A ruler was expected to have such things in place. It provided both a comforting familiarity to those who sought audience, and an extra level of security for the ruler herself. Or himself, she supposed, now. That was something that a lot of people were going to find very troubling, once the news of the Stone’s fall began to reach the other nations. She wondered what her mother would make of it.

Elayne tapped politely on one of the doors and let herself in. Her arrival merited suspicious looks from the Defenders of the Stone clustered in the anteroom, looks which she refused to allow to make her feel unwelcome, and looks which would have been avoided if Rand had had a herald in place as he should.

The dark and handsome Tairen captain bowed politely in response to her gracious nod, which was well and good for she was forced to ask him for directions, not knowing which of the doors that led off from the round antechamber would take her to Rand’s sitting room. The man proved less hostile than his fellow Tairens as well, and smiled disarmingly as he walked her to her destination. Doncari Astalonia, he gave his name as, at her asking. She wondered if Rand had chosen him personally, or had simply lucked into it, as was his wont.

Some faces she found a tad more familiar awaited at the door he led her to. Aviendha and Dailin had been among the Maidens of the Spear that she had met on her way to Tear, when Nynaeve had saved Dailin from a near-fatal sword wound. Though Elayne was not short, both of the Aiel women were taller than her, and their hair was a much darker shade of red than her own orange curls.

“I see you, Elayne Trakand. Your honour is mine,” said Aviendha, and Dailin echoed her.

It was an odd way to greet someone, but Elayne took it in her stride. “Fair morrows to you both. I trust your journey to Tear was a pleasant one?”

“Too pleasant. But the honour that waited at its end made it worthwhile,” said Dailin.

There was a brief rattling of spears against bucklers from the other Maidens lurking nearby, though none of them broke off their constant study of the antechamber long enough to look Elayne’s way. Aviendha’s attention had likewise gone straight back to her watch after her initial greeting. With her attention elsewhere, Elayne studied her face in a way that would have been rude had she been looking at her. Aviendha was a beautiful woman, and not at all mannish, but there was something about her that she couldn’t help but think of as masculine. Perhaps it was the height, or the stern expression her face was constantly set in. Or perhaps it was the fact that she carried her weapons with the familiar ease of one who’d killed before and would kill again without hesitation.

She’d thought Aviendha wouldn’t notice her scrutiny, but the brow she raised when she glanced Elayne’s way made it plain that she had. “Rand al’Thor has not arrived yet, but several others have gathered inside,” she said.

Blushing slightly, Elayne thanked her and reached out to turn a golden doorhandle, propitiously shaped like the lion that graced her homeland’s banner.

Rand’s sitting room was large, well lit, and richly furnished. The narrow windows with their scarlet drapes of silk provided little of that light, but the numerous clear lamps and the small fire burning under the marble mantel picked up their slack nicely. The Taraboner carpet she trod across felt pleasantly soft under her slippered feet. There was a carved and gilded table in the room, but no chairs sat near it now. They had all been moved to the middle, where they formed a rough circle. Elayne smiled. The setting might have changed, but this all felt quite familiar to her now.

Sparing a brief thought for the luxurious looking sofas that formed a semi-circle in front of the fireplace, she went and took a place with the men who had risen to their feet at her arrival.

“Lady Elayne. An honour, as always,” said one-armed Geko, bowing until his dark topknot fell forward to touch his shaved scalp.

The man beside him wore his hair in the same fashion, but was even more scarred and grizzled than Geko. Uno managed an uncharacteristically profanity-free greeting, though his mouth worked as if he’d bitten into something nasty afterwards.

Elayne smiled at them both. “It is a rare pleasure to see you both again. I had wondered if the tales of Shienaran valour and honour were exaggerated, but our journey through Falmerden and Valreis rid me of all doubts in that matter. If anything, they are told too modestly.”

They puffed up like a pair of peacocks at that. She would have sworn that Uno even blushed a little, and instantly regretted that Nynaeve had not arrived in time to see it.

The other two men in the room were less familiar to her, though she had seen them both about the Stone. The gleeman made an elegant bow as soon as she looked his way, only spoiling it with a too-elaborate flourish of that patch-covered cloak. Thom Merrilin, she’d been told his name was, though little more than that. It would be interesting to find out what he’d done to persuade Rand to invite him to join his handpicked advisors.

The last man’s presence was far from a surprise. Tam al’Thor looked nothing like his son, not in looks, colouring or body type. He was a stocky, grey-haired man, his face clean-shaven like the Shienarans’. Something about him reminded her of Lord Gareth, the Captain-General of her mother’s Queen’s Guards. She would have liked to tell herself that it was that familiar-seeming presence that made her feel so nervous at meeting him, but she knew she’d only be lying to herself if she did.

He bowed briefly to her by way of greeting but did not speak.

“It is a pleasure to meet you both. I am Elayne Trakand, Daughter-Heir of Andor, but you may call me Elayne.”

“The pleasure is all ours, I’m sure,” Merrilin said. “Rand must welcome the support of the Lion Throne, real or implied.”

She hesitated. Though privately sure that her mother would support the Dragon Reborn, she was not authorised to make any official declarations on such a weighty matter. He wasn’t wrong in his implication that people would assume support based on her presence here, of course, but the opportunity to hide her identity had already passed. She would just have to hope that she knew her mother as well as she thought.

“I am here in a private capacity, rather than in an official one, but I hope that Rand will welcome my support just the same,” she said carefully.

“I’m sure he will. Have you sent any missives to Her Grace since the Stone fell, informing her of this great change in the world?”

“I think we are getting a bit ahead of ourselves, don’t you?” Elayne said coolly.

Thom Merrilin made another one of those showy bows, murmuring his assent. She frowned at him thoughtfully. She was sure she had never seen the gleeman before his arrival in the Stone, yet even back then she had been struck by something familiar about him. Not that that was likely. Gleemen were village performers, in the main; her mother had certainly never had one at the palace in Caemlyn. The only gleemen Elayne could remember seeing had been in the villages near her mother’s country estates, and this white-haired hawk of a man had surely never been there.

Tam al’Thor cleared his throat. “I suppose I should start by thanking you both. Rand credits you with having saved his life. For that, I am in your debt.”

“He is too kind,” she said, and meant it. She couldn’t recall actually having saved his life. She’d helped out to the best of her ability, and felt she had made a worthy contribution to the cause on their journey eastward from Falme, but there was no one incident she might point to during which she could claim to have saved him.  _ More’s the pity _ . She had certainly fantasized about having done so often enough; standing over him and defending him from the enemies that had wounded him, watching over him until he woke, basking in his trust and gratitude afterwards, savouring the soft confessions he made ...

“It was nothing really,” Merrilin said grandly, “just a trifling matter of a stray Myrddraal in need of being taught the error of its ways.”

His words might be as humble as his garb but he was not a humble man at all, she decided. That familiarity tickled at Elayne’s mind again. Before she realized what she was doing, she reached up and tugged at one of his long white moustaches. He gave a start, and she clapped both hands to her mouth, flushing crimson. “Forgive me. I ... I seemed to remember doing that before. I mean ... I am sorry.”  _ Light, why did I do that? He must think me an imbecile _ .

“I ... would remember,” he said, very stiffly.

She hoped he was not affronted. It was hard to tell from his expression. Men could be offended when they should be amused, and amused when they should be offended. If they were going to be working together, they would need to get along.

Rand’s father was looking askance at her now. That was all she needed.

She didn’t turn at the sound of the door opening, preferring to take a few moments to breathe deeply and try to will the colour from her face.

“...wouldn’t agree to the terms. I don’t think he trusts me anymore,” a man’s familiar voice was saying. He sounded sad.

“It’s probably for the best. You know how much of a scoundrel he is. I wouldn’t trust him to make his own bed, much less keep the kind of secrets that we hold,” said Nynaeve. Elayne didn’t need to look to know she would be tugging lightly on her braid as she said it.

“Mat’s not that bad,” Rand sighed. “It’s mostly just tough talk. Well. Until it isn’t.”

She looked at them then. Nynaeve was still stubbornly insisting on her “good Theren woollens”, while Rand once again wore the red and gold and black combination that he favoured, his coat being still of Andoran cut rather than the Tairen style that she’d half-expected him to adopt. She approved of cut and colouring both. They could not have looked more different, yet they were both far more than pleasing to the eye.

Their words had been pleasing to her, too. “Master Cauthon will not be joining us, then? Good. I am sure you both know him better than I do but I must admit to having felt a degree of trepidation at the thought of his being invited into this group. Some people are simply lacking in the character needed for a counsel of this import.”

“I’m glad you two are happy about it,” Rand muttered sourly. “Thom. Thanks for coming.”

The gleeman harrumphed. “Thank you for not being foolish enough to come see me in person, but sending an Aiel was only slightly more subtle. It’s as much as my head is worth for people to know I’m associating with you, boy.”

“I know Urien. He can be trusted. I think.”

“Perhaps he can, perhaps he cannot. It’s the people who saw me speak to him and what they made of it that concern me. Getting here unnoticed was no easy matter either.”

Rand didn’t bristle at the criticism; he just closed his eyes for a moment, thought it over, and then nodded tiredly. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m new to all this. Do you want me to warn people that if they attack you I’ll kill them all?”

Tam al’Thor stirred, a frown further creasing his face, while Nynaeve muttered her own disapproval. Merrilin smoothed his moustaches and studied Rand for a moment before responding. “That would just make certain they knew of our acquaintance. There is still a chance that they thought the Aielman was just visiting. Gleemen are among the few kinds of people who are allowed to enter the Aiel Waste, after all.”

Uno nodded. “Gleemen, peddlers and Tinkers. Cairhienin once, but not anymore that’s for bloody sure. That Tinker girl might know why they get in, but I flamin’ don’t. She coming?”

“Merile? Ah, no. I don’t think she’s really a secrets kind of person,” Rand said, while scrubbing his hand through his hair embarrassedly.

Elayne’s lips tightened. She’d heard the rumours, and that was not the squirming of an innocent man. Had it been too much to hope that he wouldn’t have met someone while they were apart? Should she have made her feelings known to him back then? And would it have made any difference if she had?

“I’d ask why you’d ever get involved with a woman you can’t trust to be here, but it would be like asking a waterfall why it keeps jumping off a perfectly good cliff. Men will be men,” Nynaeve said with a scornful shake of her head.

“Being suited to a group like this isn’t the only measure of a person’s worth, Nynaeve,” Rand said. “Merile’s as pure of heart as any girl you’re ever likely to meet. You’d probably end up liking her if you spent any time in her company. She’s hard not to like.”

Nynaeve sniffed, but Elayne interrupted before she could start an argument. “Will anyone else be joining us?” she asked. It was nice, what he’d said, but she didn’t like hearing him say it about another girl.

“There’s only Loial left. The others are ... No. Best to do it all at once.” Suddenly solemn, Rand went and took a seat in the circle, one chosen at random from what she could tell. The other men returned to their seats as well, leaving her and Nynaeve alone.

Elayne went to her and lowered her voice to a whisper. “How are the rest of the Accepted coping this morning?”

“About as well as could be expected, after the disaster I led them into,” Nynaeve whispered back.

“You mustn’t blame yourself. We all knew what we were getting into.” When the other woman just frowned stubbornly instead of responding, she spoke on. “What will you tell them about what happened?”

After a quick glance in the men’s direction, Nynaeve took her by the arm and walked her farther away from the chairs. “The names and descriptions of the Black Ajah, and what we know of the  _ ter’angreal _ they stole. No-one but us needs to know anything more than that.”

Elayne nodded vigorously. “What happened in that dungeon should never be spoken of outside of our circle. But I think the Amyrlin’s inability to trust any of the Aes Sedai in the Tower is also relevant, and that we should give our impressions of our fellow hunters. Rand will be wondering whether they are trustworthy or not. Oh, and I must tell him about the ring Verin gave me.”

“Just make sure you don’t mention anything private,” Nynaeve said, with spots of colour in her cheeks that could as easily have been caused by anger as something else.

“I won’t. Our initial agreement specifically precluded the need to speak of such things.”

A loud knock on the door heralded Loial’s arrival. For once, he didn’t have to duck his head while entering a room. The Ogier’s almost-but-not-quite human features were set in what she had come to recognise as contrition. “Am I late? I wasn’t expecting the meeting to start so soon.”

A warm grin from Rand was his answer. “You know how hasty we humans get, Loial. Sorry to rush you.”

The two women followed Loial as he made his way across the room, though they could not match the Ogier’s huge strides. “Tam’s a sensible sort, for a man,” Nynaeve said quietly. “It’s just as well he came to Tear. Rand will need him, I think.”

“And Thom Merrilin?” Elayne asked. “I think we can trust him. I don’t know why, but I do.”

“He’s an interfering old busybody who thinks he’s much smarter than he is. And he’s proven himself a good friend in the past.”

She hid her mouth behind her hand. “I see.”

Loial claimed the seat to Rand’s left, and Uno was already sitting at his right, the two of them combining to thwart her intentions. Perforce, Elayne sat beside Merrilin, who watched her warily, perhaps fearing she was going to pull on his moustache again. She avoided his eye.  _ What came over me? It was the strangest of things. _

Once Nynaeve had taken her seat, Rand cleared his throat. “Thom, Father, welcome to the Inner Circle. I’ve already explained the rules to you, and I’m taking your presence as your promise to follow them.”

“Mistake number one,” Merrilin interrupted in a sonorous voice. “Insist on the oath; don’t just assume people will act as though it was sworn. Otherwise you leave people who might otherwise have stayed true the chance to talk themselves into betrayal.”

Rand looked at his father with an entirely understandable degree of discomfort. “That’s certainly one way of looking at it, Thom. And it’s just the kind of advice I was hoping you could give me.”

The gleeman spread his hands expansively. “My travels have taken me all over Valgarda. You might say I’ve learned a thing or two in that time.”

Nynaeve sniffed, and Elayne was a little surprised that his boasting didn’t inspire a similar reaction from her.  _ Why do I feel as though I already know him? _

“You’ll have noticed that we’re missing some friendly faces,” Rand went on. “Perrin and Anna are back in Emond’s Field right now, dealing with the aftermath of ... the stuff we need to talk about today. They’re both fine. Better than fine even. Perrin’s gotten married, to a woman named Zarine Bashere. Though she prefers to call herself Faile.”

That brought exclamations. “Whoever this Faile is she is much too good for him,” said Nynaeve, but she said it while smiling broadly.

“I hope they will be happy,” Elayne said absently, not quite able to keep the doubt from her voice. House Bashere was powerful in Saldaea. Was this Faile related to them?

Geko confirmed her suspicions. “Lady Faile is Saldaean. The Marshal-General’s only daughter, to be precise. She is someone whose good will is worth courting.”

There was no rebuke in the solemn man’s voice, but a scowling Rand flinched as though he’d heard one. Elayne was oddly heartened.  _ Well, at least he doesn’t chase every single skirt in sight _ .

“Min is ... well, too. She went to Tar Valon to deliver a message for Moiraine.” His hesitation alarmed her. Why did he hesitate to say that Min was well? Had she ever not been? If anyone had hurt her beloved Min, Elayne would see them burnt to a crisp! But before she could ask after her health, Rand went right on speaking. “Hurin, I’m sorry to say, is gone. He was murdered at Emond’s Field, by a Darkfriend assassin with some very unusual abilities. The killer got away, too. Disappeared into thin air,” he finished bitterly.

Elayne’s vision swam. Greying Hurin, the loyal thief-catcher. Who’d followed Rand from one end of Valgarda to the other and almost all the way back again. Who had acted more like an old family retainer than a man Rand had only recently met. Hurin was gone. Even in her grief, Elayne recalled the courtesies that had been drilled into her back in the palace. “May the last embrace of the Mother welcome him home,” she managed to say, despite the way her voice broke.

She could just about see Rand through her tears. He was sitting so stiffly he could have passed for a statue. Only his eyes moved, and they to look to the other men in the group, most of whom looked as uncomfortable as he did. It was Nynaeve’s hand that rubbed her shoulder comfortingly.

“They got Han as well,” Rand said uncertainly.

Elayne started sobbing. Han, too! A good-humoured man, and not afraid to make light of himself. He’d performed at Valan Luca’s circus with her and Min, on that so memorable day. It wasn’t fair! They should both be here now.

“That really couldn’t have waited?” Nynaeve said flatly. Rand’s response, whatever it was, made her sigh. Elayne couldn’t see; she was too busy crying.

There was silence for a time, save for Elayne’s weeping and the comforting nonsense Nynaeve murmured at her. She took her handkerchief from her pouch and dabbed at her eyes. Her nose had begun to run as well, rather embarrassingly.

Merrilin cleared his throat. “This killer you spoke of. What was so unusual about him?”

“I’m not really sure how to answer that,” Rand said slowly. “Other than: a lot. I’m not even sure there was only one of him. There might have been two working together. At least one of them could use  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ —the World of Dreams. Do you know about that? I’ll go into more detail there later. But I saw one of them there. He looked and dressed like a Malkieri. Lan was not pleased.”

“He never mentioned this to me!” Nynaeve said. She sounded offended. “What was his name?”

“Isam. The Trollocs called it out during their final attack on Emond’s Field,” Tam al’Thor said calmly. “They lost, Wisdom. Or we wouldn’t be sitting here. Even with that being said, this is a story that should probably be told from the beginning, instead of jumping about like this.”

Elayne was down to sniffles by then. Rand kept glancing at her, then looking away. For reasons only the Light could explain, he looked more afraid of her weeping than he had been of the Shadowspawn that had tried to kill him all those times. Men were even stranger than Lini had said they would be.

“Right. From the beginning.” Rand took a deep breath, and launched into his tale.

Most of it she already knew, from past meetings, but he told it all again for the sake of the newcomers. His father accepted news of the Forsaken with rather more aplomb than the gleeman did, but neither man panicked or ran for the door, at least. Merrilin warned Rand to be very wary of Elaida’s interest in him, which inspired her to study him with renewed interest. He spoke of her mother’s former advisor as though he knew her personally. Could he have been to court after all? Falme had him on the edge of his seat, less so for the Seanchan than for the summoning of the Heroes of legend.

“If I’d gone with you ...” he said then, his voice a near whisper and his eyes wide.

Elayne didn’t much care for Rand telling them about her enslavement with the  _ a’dam _ , but fairness forced her to admit that the Seanchan’s proclivities in that department were likely to be important information. She just didn’t like to be reminded of those times, or to have others made aware of her misfortune.

Rand didn’t go into detail concerning his affairs with Morrigan or Leliana. He simply described the two women and said that while both had acted as friends, neither had proven trustworthy in the end. Even so, Elayne could not help but note that he was still wearing the ring that Morrigan had given him.

The assassination attempts in Fontaine particularly interested Master Merrilin, as did the encounter with Galad that had almost turned to violence. Master al’Thor was more concerned with the Forsaken and why they had shown mercy to Rand. He voiced the very question that Elayne had so often asked herself in private: “What do they want with you?”

“I don’t know,” Rand said grimly. “Ba’alzamon—Ishamael—kept trying to persuade me to turn to the Shadow. He was insane, always ranting about wanting to destroy the Wheel of Time and free us all. Asha’bellanar ... She claimed she couldn’t kill me because Ishamael had ordered them not to.” He frowned, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “But Asha’gwappanar didn’t hesitate to kill Raye ...”

“Who?” his father asked.

Rand shook his head. “Never mind.”

Elayne’s interest peaked as his tale continued. They had been busy since she and Nynaeve parted from them to go to Tar Valon. Nynaeve put a hand to her chest and winced when he spoke of being attacked by Grey Men, as she herself had been. Elayne was rather more interested in the Horn of Valere having been taken from Min and hidden away in the Tower. Verin had kept that secret well. She did not approve. What use was the Horn without the Hornsounder? Besides, Min was less safe without it near to hand.

He rushed through the meeting with Perrin’s new wife, which she found mildly annoying, and spent much more detail on the threat to the Theren than was needed to make his point. Nynaeve did not agree with that assessment, of course, and kept interrupting to demand more news. Master al’Thor dared to rebuke her and counsel waiting for the whole story to be told. He did so mildly but that was quite enough to win him a scowl from the former Wisdom. All agreed that going to Lanfear of all people for help had been madness, but Rand refused to back down.

“How else was I supposed to learn which Portal Stones would take us back there?” he demanded, to which no-one had an answer.

The raised voices made Loial nervous but he calmed down when Rand forged ahead. He described finding his home burned to the ground with entirely inappropriate brevity and shrugged off her and Nynaeve’s condolences. The loss of Perrin’s family he went into in much greater detail. Nynaeve’s eyes went very wide and she covered her mouth with her hand as she listened. When Rand spoke of the cousin who had survived and the culprit she had named, Nynaeve surprised them all by cursing loudly.

“That traitorous little rat! Burn him! Fain is beyond forgiving. He needs to die.”

“You’ll get no argument from me,” Rand said grimly.

He went on to tell them of a daring night-time rescue from the camp of some hostile Whitecloaks, which sounded charmingly heroic, and then started listing name after name of people that Elayne wasn’t entirely sure she needed to know the wellbeing of. Nynaeve listened to it all intently, though, and offered plenty of comments. She was especially incensed to find that a woman with the rather cute name of Daisy had been chosen to replace her as Wisdom. That her sister and brother-in-law were alive and well was worthy of a relieved exclamation, though not so warm a one as Elayne might have expected. The flood of new names, most of which started with “al” or “ay” soon caused Elayne to lose track of who they were talking about. She noticed Merrilin twiddling his thumbs impatiently as he listened.

They both perked up when the talk turned to the outland lord who’d shown up in the middle of it all. Luc Chiendelna, he’d given his name as. He was one of those that Rand described as the Shadow’s assassins. This Luc sounded intriguingly familiar to Elayne. The name he went by and the description of him that Rand gave were quite close to that of Luc Mantear, who had been supposed to become First Prince of the Sword to his sister Tigraine before they both disappeared, kicking off the war that ended with her mother claiming the Lion Throne. She said as much, while Merrilin rubbed his moustaches thoughtfully.

“Whoever he was, he’s a Darkfriend. And he killed Hurin,” said Rand. “I never saw the other one, Isam, in person. Only in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . But he’s just as bad.”

There had been a caravan of  _ Tuatha’an _ in the region as well, which explained Merile’s presence, to a degree. He didn’t explain why she’d decided to come to Tear with him—not that he needed to, of course—but he did surprise her by revealing that Merile could channel, and that she’d refused to go to Tar Valon as she should. When Rand asked if either of them could teach her, she exchanged looks with Nynaeve.

“The White Tower would not approve,” she said, while Nynaeve muttered about her block preventing her from helping. Rand was silent in his disappointment.

He was surprised, too, when none save the gleeman professed to having seen Raine Cinclare about the Stone. She was a wolfsister, with eyes as yellow as Perrin’s. She was hard to miss, he claimed, to which Nynaeve responded tartly that it was a big fortress and they had work of their own to be doing. He answered positively when Elayne asked if this Raine could use  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ like Perrin did, which rather excited her. Perhaps everyone who could talk to wolves could also enter the World of Dreams in their sleep.

News of Perrin’s ascension to lordship, however, was significantly less than exciting. Nynaeve and Rand didn’t look particularly enamoured of the idea either, which emboldened her to speak out on the Lion Throne’s behalf. The Theren was already sovereign territory of Andor, after all. Her mother would be entirely within her rights to charge Perrin and Faile with treason. Elayne would have to intervene with her to plead for leniency, but when she assured them that she would be quite willing to do so, neither of the Thereners responded as she’d expected.

“We don’t have any nobles in the Theren, and we don’t need them,” said Nynaeve. “Especially outland nobles who just so happened to marry a Theren man with more muscles than brains. The Women’s Circle, the Mayors and the Wisdoms are perfectly capable of running the place without some spoiled lady telling them what to do.”

Rand neither agreed nor disagreed with that, just sat forward in his chair, elbows resting on his knees as he frowned down at the floor. “Do you think Andor would really attack them over this? How soon?”

Elayne grew alarmed. There was something of the air of marshalling armies in that look. “My mother would only send the Guards as a last resort,” she said. “Messengers and magistrates would come first, to try to quell the rebellion with words.”

“Messengers. Yes. I could do that, too. Warn her off,” he said absently.

Elayne’s chin rose. “The Lion Throne does not respond well to threats,” she declared.

Rand shrugged. “The Theren doesn’t respond well to invasions, either. As the last two Shadowspawn incursions found out. The ones the Lion Throne did nothing to stop. I don’t want trouble with your mother, Elayne, but this business of Emond’s Field having to answer to Caemlyn due to a map that no-one has cared about for hundreds of years is going to have to stop.”

“Rulers tend to pay more attention to those maps than you realise, lad,” said Merrilin. “Especially in such times as this, with every nation’s borders shrinking a little bit further with each generation that passes. That sense of loss, both of territory and population, makes them nervous.”

“I think the days of my not making people nervous ended when I took  _ Callandor _ ,” Rand said dryly.

“You are talking treason, Rand!”

He blinked at her shocked exclamation, and then shook his head. “I’m the Dragon Reborn. I owe allegiance to no-one. Besides, the whole idea of being subject to someone based on being born in the same place as someone who swore an oath so long ago that no-one even remembers it is a bit ... silly, don’t you think? I mean, it’s the very excuse the Seanchan used to justify their attempt to conquer Falmerden based on oaths sworn to a man who died a thousand years ago. And I’m certainly not going to rush over and kneel to their Empress because of that!”

She folded her arms and turned her face away from him. “Queen Morgase is hardly comparable to the Seanchan Empress!”

“No, of course not. I’m not saying she is. She seemed a nice woman, from our brief meeting. But the situation with long forgotten oaths is very comparable.”

It might well be. A little. She still sniffed loudly to show him how little she thought of the suggestion, though.

“Not everyone in the Theren is glad of the changes that are happening,” Rand went on. “Anna was trying to organise some people in support of sticking with the old ways, when I last saw her.”

Nynaeve gave a firm nod. “Good woman.”

Elayne knew there was going to be a dark twist to the tale from the tone with which he related their victory over the Trolloc army. She’d thought it would be another list of names, this time of those who had fallen in the fighting, but while there was that, complete with grieved noises from Nynaeve, it was only once the names were done that the real twist was revealed.

“She offered to Heal the wound so I let her use the One Power on me. She did the Healing as promised, I suppose, but she bonded me as well.” He said it so calmly, staring off into nothingness in a way that was all too familiar to her now. She’d seen that same look on Keestis’ face just this morning, and on many of the rest of her Accepted companions in recent days.

Elayne’s heart raced, and a cold grimness settled down upon her. That a sister would do that to any man was disgusting! That Alanna had done it to Rand ...! She remembered the dark, fiery Green with her quicksilver humour and her quicksilver temper. “That ... that reprobate! She will wish I had just killed her after I lay hands on her!”

“Aes Sedai,” Nynaeve growled. “I wish I could say I was surprised. And to think I used to like Alanna!”

“I take it this is the same Alanna that is staying here in the Stone?” Merrilin said calmly, but his calm spoke of a quietly drawn knife.

“The Arafellin Green, yes.”

“What are our options there?”

“I don’t know enough about Aes Sedai to say. Killing her is not allowed, of course.” Rand looked to her and Nynaeve as he spoke but they shook their heads.

“We aren’t taught the Warder bond until after we’ve passed the test to become full Aes Sedai,” Elayne explained. “To discourage trainees from using it on someone they liked, you understand. I don’t know the details of how it works.” She had spied on an Aes Sedai who was bonding her Warder once, and had seen the weaves used, but seeing them and understanding them were not the same thing.

Rand grunted. “I lost my temper after she bonded me. That was when it all went wrong.”

Grim-faced, he described defeating and threatening Alanna, and accidentally revealing himself as a channeler in the process. His people’s reaction he claimed was perfectly understandable. The pain he must have felt at their rejection, and at being driven out of his home under a hail of arrows, he did not mention, but Elayne felt it for him. His guilt at having killed the Whitecloak legion that charged him she would not tolerate.

“You are being melodramatic, Rand. If you hadn’t defended yourself they would have killed you, and how would we be expected to win Tarmon Gai’don then? They brought their fates on themselves.”

He shook his head. “They thought me a false Dragon. They were only trying to protect the world from me. And I killed them for it. That was why I came to Tear. To prove that I was the real one, and try to stop anything like that from happening again.”

“How did you get to Tear, by the way?” Loial put in. He was, to no-one’s surprise, writing in one of his notebooks.

“I hitched a ride on a Sea Folk ship that just happened to be passing.  _ Ta’veren _ , you know? They got me to Godan. I walked the rest of the way. What about you?”

“Hmm? Oh, we just rode to Whitebridge and bought passage on a ship there. Nothing remarkable really. Did anything interesting happen on the journey? For the book, you understand.”

Rand shrugged casually, then leaned back in his chair. “Nothing worth talking about. Fought some pirates. Fought some Darkhounds. Sneaked into the Stone and fought Be’lal. I think you know the rest.”

Elayne couldn’t help but smile. Sneaked into the Stone and fought a Forsaken. Just another boring day in the life of Rand al’Thor. He was so silly! It was cute, though.

With his tale done, Nynaeve sighed. “Everything is changing. Even Emond’s Field.”

“It will be well, Wisdom,” Master al’Thor said. “Change is like hail or drought or pestilence. We’ve endured it before and we can endure it again.”

“Of course we will! Don’t be so gloomy, Tam. A Theren man shouldn’t be so easily defeated.”

“Thanks for the encouragement. I’ll try not to give up so easily in future,” Tam said flatly, with a long-suffering look that Nynaeve endeavoured not to notice.

“So. What do you all have to report?” Rand asked, prompting a furtive exchange of looks as they tried to decide who would speak next.

“I don’t think there’s much that I can tell you that you don’t already know. Nothing connected to the Shadow, or that might impact your work anyway,” Tam said thoughtfully. “Mattia Stepaneos is a good woman. You could do worse than to try to make an ally of her.”

Rand winced. “I nearly forgot to mention that. Mat claims that Sammael has taken over Illian. He’s calling himself Lord Brend, but using Queen Mattia as his puppet. He has one of the Seals on the Dark One’s prison as well.”

Nynaeve was incredulous, and she wasn’t the only one. “What? How would Mat know such a thing? He was probably talking rubbish as usual.”

“It does seem a bit unlikely that he could encounter Sammael and survive,” said Elayne.

But Rand shook his head. “I believe him. He’s  _ ta’veren _ , too, and strange things happen around us. By all rights, I should be dead twenty times over by now. Ishamael or Asha’bellanar should have killed me at the least. But here I am. Who’s to say the same couldn’t happen to Mat?”

Merrilin nodded. “I’ve seen him at work. To say his luck is uncanny is to put it lightly.”

“Be’lal here and Sammael in Illian. Could the Forsaken be targeting the rest of the nations as well?” wondered Geko.

No-one could answer that question, and a worried silence descended on the group. Elayne thought of her mother, and for the first time regretted Elaida’s absence from court. Perhaps a new Aes Sedai advisor had been named in the time since she left the Tower. She could only hope it was so.

Tam sighed. “That’s a pity, but don’t go risking yourself on my word, Rand. Illian is long behind me, and you and your work are far too important.”

Such praise from his father just made Rand look even more uncomfortable.

To change the topic as much as for any other reason, Elayne decided to tell her own tale. As agreed, she told them of the  _ ter’angreal _ ring Verin gave her, as well as the Amyrlin’s inability to trust any full Aes Sedai, which had led to a group of Accepted being chosen to hunt down Liandrin’s traitors. She gave descriptions of the Black Ajah and the missing  _ ter’angreal _ , minus the two they had recovered, and noted the death of Berylla Naron and the capture of Amico Nagoyin and Joiya Byir. She spoke of her fellow Accepted more than she had intended to originally, due to having learned of how Rand had been abused by Alanna. She wanted to impress on him that her friends were not at all like that ... woman, if she could even be called so. It saddened her that he didn’t respond to her cheerful descriptions of their quirks with anything more than an attentive nod.

The most difficult part came towards the end, when she had to relate the tale of their betrayal by Juilin Sandar and defeat at the Black Ajah’s hands. When Rand asked after Sandar’s health she grew alarmed, and was quick to point out that he had been Compelled to betray them, rather than having done so willingly, and had even helped to free them by way of atonement. That quelled what she very much feared had been a murderous glint in Rand’s eye. The deaths of so many of her companions occasioned murmured condolences, and the truncated tale of their imprisonment and escape was met with a blessed lack of probing questions.

There was an unspoken question in Rand’s eyes, though, and an understanding she would once not have expected. He looked back and forth between her and Nynaeve, but neither of them volunteered any more information, and he did not press for any.

Merrilin steepled his fingers. “Very interesting. The Black Ajah moving openly, and the Amyrlin Seat paralysed by suspicion. ‘When the cat is away, the mice will play’. The Game of Houses will be played rather differently, without the White Tower’s presence.”

“I may have spoken a lie without realising it, when I said I’d never encountered anything connected to the Shadow before,” said Tam. “Rianna Andomeran, white steak and all, was Queen Mattia’s advisor once. I never liked her, and not many others did either. But there wasn’t even a suggestion that she might be a Darkfriend.”

“Do you have any idea where she might have gone,” Nynaeve asked. “Or do you know anything about her that might help us bring her to justice?”

Tam shook his head. “I’m afraid not. She was coldly indifferent one minute, and sneeringly arrogant the next, but she was never one of have a friendly chat with either way. It’s an odd little coincidence is all.”

“I don’t like odd little coincidences. I don’t trust them,” said Rand.

“You weren’t even born back then, lad. Calm yourself,” Tam said dryly.

A wry smile and a quick dodge were his responses. “Does anyone else have anything to report?”

Uno adjusted that horrible eye patch of his while he spoke. “Not much from me, my Lord Dragon. Moiraine Sedai was going to send us off to Jehannah but Tam here wanted a flamin’ escort to Tear, so we went with him instead. All went smoothly, like the Builder said. I, ah, I went ahead and ordered that suit of armour we’ve been talking about for bloody ever, though, pardon my language. The f-, the man I spoke to said it will take at least a month to be ready. Custom fitted work is like that. Still worth the wait, if you don’t like tripping over your own guts.”

“Thanks. I’ll see that you have all the coin you need, for that and for anything else you or the others might need it for. That goes for the rest of you as well.”

“Are you sure about that?” Merrilin asked with a raised brow. “Because I have been thinking of hiring some people to help me keep an eye on the goings on here. And you might want to take on a few more retainers. This little court of yours is a bit ... provincial.”

Rand looked offended, but not for the reason she would have expected. “It’s hardly a court.”

“Well ... it should be,” she told him. “You are a ruler now, Rand. There are certain standards to be met. For example, there should be guards and a herald stationed outside the door to your chambers, to vet any visitors and announce their presence. A secretary should be on hand to organise your appointments and compose your letters, a trusted cook to ensure there is no poison in your food. Soldiers you have already, and fine ones at that, but your maids are few and too young to know their jobs. Additional hires are advisable.” For some reason, Thom’s approving nod made Elayne feel warm inside. Silly. Even if he did know the Game of Houses, the most he could be was a foolish bard who had thrown it all away to become a gleeman.

“Far too young,” Nynaeve added, a bit pointedly. Rand and Tam both stiffened in their chairs, but neither chose to respond to her.

“I trust the people around me,” Rand said stubbornly. “I don’t want any others.”

“Naturally, I will examine the backgrounds of any potential hires with the utmost care,” said Thom.

“They’re right, Rand. Mattia didn’t run her queendom by herself,” Tam said, forcing a sigh from his son’s lips.

“This isn’t ... Very well. I’ll do my best.”

“I know you will, lad. If there was one thing that Mattia always held to, it was that you should never turn down an opportunity when the Pattern dangles it before you. Better to keep a close eye out for them, and grab them as soon as you can. You have the chance now to make your work a lot easier. You could turn it down, but ...”

“But that would be something only a woolhead would do,” Rand said, smiling wryly.


	8. A Life Unbound

CHAPTER 5: A Life Unbound

Hiding in the crowd made it easy to stalk her prey. Even the armoured soldiers didn’t notice her approach, for they were too busy listening to the Tinker blather on.

“This city is so busy and confusing,” she was saying.

That was true enough but, unlike the Tinker, she preferred it that way. She slipped past the Tinker, and closed in on her target. The fool was blissfully unaware of her approach, absorbed in her examining of the bolts of material on display on their stalls. The hubbub of a city worth of people going about their daily shop drowned out any sound she made until it was too late.

She slipped up behind her and struck at Saeri’s unprotected side. The girl shrieked so loudly that she could be heard even over the ruckus of the crowd. All eyes turn toward them, just as she added the finishing move.

“IMOEN!” she gasped, red-faced and writhing. “You know—heheh—you know ... Ha—Stop it! You know I don’t like to be tickled!”

She pressed her attack mercilessly. “And you should have known better than to tell me that!”

Heads were shaken among the watching, Tairen crowd. Eyes were rolled and smiles were smiled. Saeri didn’t relish the attention, despite her high-pitched giggles. “Please stop! You’re embarrassing me!”

“Ha! I didn’t think you could be embarrassed by anything, after ... you know.”

That inspired the other girl to fight her way free at last. “Still thy shameless tongue!” she gasped, her big blue eyes darting to see who was listening.

Imoen’s hands snaked out to tickle her a little more. “Make me.”

Saeri drew a deep breath. “That is it! Henceforth thou and I are enemies!”

“Oh, I’m real scared,” Imoen laughed. She hopped away, and Saeri followed, reaching for her angrily, but Imoen was too quick to be caught so easily. She fled between the stalls, grinning, while the other girl gave chase.

Many shoppers and merchants frowned over the disturbance, but none of them tried to put an end to the girls’ fun, not with half a dozen armed soldiers spread out around the market to watch over them.

She ran past Merile with Saeri hot in pursuit, and the Tinker gaped after them. “Oh. Are we running? I like running.” For no more reason than that, she scampered after them.

“Yes! Cut her off at the next turning, Merile!” Saeri called.

But the Tinker shook her head. “No, no, no. I don’t cut things. It’s against the Way.”

“You’ll have to catch me yourself, Saeri. If you can!”

“Bah! Thou shalt yet be mine!”

They ran on, the three of them, breathless now. The other two girls who’d come with them watched silently, Luci dry washing her hands, and Raine just staring with her big frowny face.  _ What a pair of stick in the muds! _ Imoen thought. Saeri and Merile were much more fun, as she had  _ very _ personal reason to know.

They had, after all, teamed up with Rand to show her a whole new world, full of excitement and pleasure. A world so much better than the one she’d known that she couldn’t even imagine going back, whatever her woolhead of a cousin said.

She was getting tired now, though, and Saeri was proving more stubborn than she’d have thought a non-Theren girl would be. They were both staggering into more people than they avoided, and those frowns were getting angrier.

Just when Imoen was starting to fear she’d have to do the unthinkable, and back down, Ragan struck a stern pose and raised his voice.

“Girls! Don’t you think you’ve had enough exercise? I thought you were supposed to be shopping? I mean, if you want  _ me _ to spend the Lord Dragon’s money instead ...”

Imoen skidded to a halt. “Oh, no you don’t! Rand said I could buy whatever I wanted.” Saeri thudded into her back, and held onto her, though more for support than to imprison. She was breathing heavy, and looked like she wanted to sit down right there on the cobbled ground.

“Special ... special ... uniforms,” she gasped. “They should ... be ours alone.”

Merile skipped around them both. “Aw. Done already? Guess teaching you the  _ tiganza _ would be a waste, then. You need lots of stamina for that. Oh well.”

“I have stamina,” Imoen protested, between gasps.

“Thou wrongs me ... most grievously, friend Merile,” Saeri managed to force out.

“No she doesn’t,” said Raine. “You pups are ready to collapse.”

“Who you calling a pup? Rand certainly doesn’t think we’re pups.”

Saeri poked her unprotected side, though not for revenge. “Imoen. Be kind. How wouldst thou feel were thou denied our lord’s love?”

Raine’s sun-reddened face reddened even more. She scowled at the ground.

“I wasn’t trying to poke anyone’s feelings. I just don’t like being called a pup, that’s all.”

Merile wore a big grin. She leaned in and whispered at Saeri. “I don’t think she’ll be denied much longer. I saw Rand being all cosy with her earlier.”

Saeri gasped. “How so?”

“He kissed me!” Raine said in a shocked voice, without looking up. During their journey to Tear, Imoen had seen lots of demonstrations of exactly how sharp Raine’s senses were. So she wasn’t surprised that she’d heard what Merile said. Or that Rand would make a move on her, for that matter. “Does that mean, then, he likes me?”

She sniffed, just the way she’d seen the older women do it back home. “I think Rand likes every pretty girl in the world.” She also thought she should be more annoyed by that than she was. Her mother would have a fit if she knew what was going on with him and her daughter ... and a bunch of other girls besides! That just made it more satisfying, though.

“It’ll happen for you, too, Raine,” Merile told her reassuringly. She didn’t sound at all jealous, or embarrassed to be setting her friend up with her own boyfriend. Maybe that was why Imoen wasn’t getting mad about it either. The other girls were an influence on her. Whether it was a good or a bad influence was the question.

“Will it? Look at me, Merile. Raine the wolf-girl. More like a stray dog than a real girl! What man will ever look at me? Maybe I should have just stayed with Elyas. With my own kind.”

“Who’s Elyas?” Imoen asked quickly. She’d never been one to leave a puzzle unsolved.

“He’s the man Raine used to be with, before she was with the People,” Merile said.

Imoen rolled her eyes. “Well there you go, then. A man! Stop being so dramatic, Raine!”

But Raine’s frowny face just got even more frowny. “A beast-man. Like I’m a beast-woman. Tell me, will any real man look at me like Rand looks at Merile? Will they!?”

The other girls exchanged looks. Even Merile seemed at a loss for what to say. For some reason, it fell to Imoen to break the silence.

“It would probably help if you didn’t keep calling yourself a beast. That’s a bit of a weird thing for a girl to say. If anything, you should be telling everyone you’re even more awesome than you are. That’s the way I’ve always done it, and everybody loves me.”

“Verily,” Saeri agreed, though there was an oddly expressionless look about her.

Merile went and gave Raine a hug. “I think you’re wrong. And I think someone will prove it to you very soon.”

Raine hugged her back. “You are the best of friends. How are you such a good friend?”

“I don’t know,” Merile said cheerfully. “I haven't exactly had many friends. Not even among my own caravan. This is ... tricky. But I’m glad you think I’m doing good at it.”

Seeing Luci standing apart, Saeri went and took her by the hand, and drew her into their group. “There is no better place to be than with friends,” she said, smiling her pretty smile.

“Thank you. I would be lost without you, I think,” said Luci, in her timid way.

“Oh, burn me!” Imoen swore. She laughed uneasily. “You’re all getting far too soppy. Here, Luci, tell me this: do you think you’d still be able to find your way into Heita’s arms, without Saeri. You being so lost without her, I mean.”

The red-haired girl clamped a hand across her mouth. Her eyes went very big. “I d-don’t ... I don’t know what you’re talking about, I-Imoen.”

She laughed louder. “Please. Did you think you could do stuff like that in Emond’s Field, of all places, and not have anyone notice? Oh, you poor naive girl ...”

“Leave her be,” Saeri said sternly. “She is shy. Not that I’d expect you to understand what that’s like.”

“Don’t you mean what ‘likest thatist is’, or something?” Saeri was fun to be with and all, but it sure was weird, the way she talked.

“Blast! I keep forgetting,” Saeri said, colouring. She frowned in concentration. “Thine rebuke is well placed, friend Imoen.”

“Of course it was!” she said. And, since Luci was getting all withdrawn again, and there was no fun in teasing people who couldn’t take it, she made her face as serious as she could before adding, “I think you and Heita make a cute couple, by the way. He’s nice, and he seems very devoted to you.”

Saeri nodded firmly. “’Tis so!”

Luci smiled shyly. “He is. He’s very nice. And it’s ... it’s not ... I actually like it.”

_ Light give me strength! _ Imoen prayed. The urge to make fun of her, to make out as if that confession was the most scandalous thing she’d ever heard, was like to tear her apart. But Luci would take her seriously, so she couldn’t, she just couldn’t. While the other girls cooed over her and Heita, Imoen waged a silent war in her own heart. Somehow, she was able to hold her tongue, but the effort left her feeling more drained that she had in a long time.

Far from enjoying the attention, Luci was soon shuffling her feet uncomfortably. “Weren’t we supposed to doing something today? Something other than talking about boys?” She looked around warily, but Heita was still off keeping an eye on everyone, too far away to overhear.

Izana wasn’t, though. The slender youth smiled wryly when her eyes met his. “If you want to lounge about and chat, don’t let me stop you. I could wish we had as much fun doing our jobs.”

“Are we neglecting our duties?” said Saeri, suddenly serious. “This cannot be! Onward. We must find a likely shop ere the sun sets.”

She marched off, dragging Luci with her. Merile shrugged and followed, and Raine was quick to trot after her.

“The call of shopping is louder than the call of fun. Is that how it is? Bunch of woolheads, the lot of you. I should have stayed with Mat.” None of them paid her complaints any mind. Now that their charges were moving off, the ring of Shienarans began drawing close, too, leaving Imoen on the outside. “Well, wait for me, burn you!” she finished, and ran to catch up.

There were fewer people in the part of the city they visited next, though the narrower streets made it seem more cramped even so. Instead of stalls, the merchants plied their trades out of proper shops, some as big as the Winespring Inn back home. It wasn’t very long ago that that had been the biggest building Imoen had ever seen, but she didn’t gape at all. It was hard to be impressed by much, when you lived in the Stone of Tear and slept with the Dragon Reborn.

It was for her, anyway. Merile seemed to find it easy to be impressed by everything. “All of this just for clothes?” she said, when they entered the biggest shop they could find. “It’s amazing. I bet you could fit my whole caravan in here.”

The person who owned the shop must have been a noble, or must have wanted to put on airs, because the women who worked there all wore the same clothes, like the servants of noble Houses did. In this case it was a black dress with black gloves and black shoes, all cut as cleanly as could be. One of the women was looking at the brightly clad Merile through half-lidded eyes, and not even bothering to hide her sneer.

“A Tinker. We do not serve your kind here. Thieves, every last one of them. Away with you, before I call the Defenders.”

Merile stared at her for a moment, before her head drooped. “But I was supposed to go shopping, too.”

“And you will!” Saeri declared. “You! Strumpet! Apologise to my friend at once! She is in service to the Lord Dragon himself, to whom the Defenders of the Stone owe fealty. Call them now, I dare it! We will see who regrets their arrival most.”

Between Saeri’s words, the soldiers now filing into the shop behind the girls, and the hurried arrival of an older woman that Imoen assumed was the owner, the sneering woman soon changed her tune. Not that that saved her from being cuffed by her employer and sent fleeing to the back of the shop. The girl did not speak for Dei Oyino, the owner declared. Certainly not. Dei Oyino welcomed the Lord Dragon’s custom, and would never disrespect his servants. There was no need to involve the Defenders at all. As much as Imoen had wanted to see the sneerer brought down to size, she found the fearful fawner of this Oyino woman to be little satisfaction. When she offered a discount on all her wares by way of an apology, Imoen would have refused if Saeri hadn’t spoken first.

“’Tis as it should be. Thy devotion to the Lord Dragon’s cause does thee credit, good woman. Thy choice of servants can be forgiven, in light of this.”

“Blood and ashes. She’s really going to squeeze the woman for money?” Imoen muttered.

“She’s very devoted. Too devoted, I sometimes fear,” said Luci, lowering her voice unnecessarily.

The nearest Shienaran, Nangu, overheard her even so. “Peace. Her heart is in the right place, but she is perhaps a bit overzealous. Not welcoming a Tinker into your establishment is hardly cause for such rebuke.”

Imoen grimaced. “That wasn’t what worried me.”

Nangu gave her that look he sometimes did, as if he was searching for an insult. She ignored him. Ragan and Katsui had gone to loom near the Oyino woman, to make sure she didn’t forget who she was dealing with. That was probably for the best. If they hadn’t done it, Raine might have. She wouldn’t have wanted to be in Oyino’s fancy shoes then, not with the way the yellow-eyed girl was looking at her.

Heita and Izana stayed by the door, and Luci proved reluctant to be parted from her boy, so Imoen was left to explore the shop by herself. Snooty Oyino might be, but the clothes she had on display were as good as anything she’d seen worn by the High Nobles up in the Stone. She lost herself for a time just touching them. It was a more sensual thing that she’d ever expected, just closing your eyes and running your hands across such fabrics as these. The colours were nice, too, but there didn’t seem to be any of the colour she was looking for.

The others were having a look as well, even Raine, who usually dressed in rags. She brushed her hands across a lovely yellow frock, only to grimace when her chipped nails caught in the fabric. “What wondrous clothes, though a bit daring. Anyone could see your breasts, wearing that. If you had any, that is. Not like me,” she told Merile, who was moping alongside her.

Imoen sighed to herself, but said nothing. Brave girl, Raine. She’d fought on the front lines at Emond’s Field, while Imoen was back with the archers. She had to remind herself of that often, because it would be hard to put up with her otherwise.

“I don’t deserve such finery. It’s not allowed. He wouldn’t have meant for me to have any,” she went on.

“Maybe neither of us belongs here,” said Merile, somewhat to Imoen’s surprise.

To Raine’s as well. “You are his mate. Of course, you belong. Why think other?”

The normally cheerful Tinker sighed. “He likes me. I know. But what can I do except laze around all day and warm his bed at night? The Aes Sedai won’t teach me to channel, not unless I go to the White Tower like they say. The Aiel won’t even speak to me. The Tairens hate me. I’m useless. But if I don’t stay here I’ll be alone. A solitary  _ Tuatha’an _ is easy prey for anyone.”

An uncomfortable silence fell. As Imoen was slipping away as stealthily as she could, Raine blurted out, “We can be pack. It would be a small pack, with just two unwanted bitches, but it would be a good pack even so, I think.”

“Aw. I’d like that,” said Merile. “Just ... just don’t call us bitches, okay? That’s a bad word.”

“But it’s what we are ...”

Making good her escape, Imoen left them to it. As she slipped silently between the tall racks of clothes, she caught a glimpse of something wonderfully bright. It drew her to it, like a moth to a flame. So beautiful ... She gulped noisily, then reached out and touched it. It even felt beautiful.

“Light. You will be mine ...” she whispered.

“Thou really likest pink, doesn’t thou. Liketh? Is that a word in High Chant? Oh, and it should be ‘dost thou not’. I must remember.”

She laughed softly, too entranced by the dress to look Saeri’s way. “Thou really mustn’t. If thou decided to speaketh normaleth no-one would think the less of you. Fewer people would make fun of you, actually.”

“I care not what outsiders think of me. So long as I have my Lord Dragon’s faith, all else is dust,” Saeri declared. “’Tis so for thee as well, Imoen, else thy would not even think of wearing such a ... searing shade in public.”

“Hey! Watch your tongue. This is  _ gorgeous _ !”

“Thou really liketh pink so well?”

“Of course I like pink! It’s the bestest colour ever. If it had been up to me, the whole world would have been pink.”

“Truly? I would doubt thy taste, had thee not chosen a paragon as thy one true love.”

Imoen rolled her eyes. “Look, Saeri. Rand’s great and all, but you really need to tone it down a bit. You’re starting to sound a bit like that Masema fella. Remember him? The one who ran off? That no-one misses? Don’t be a Masema, Saeri.”

She looked hurt. “What have I done to deserve this rebuke? How can it be a bad thing to support my love, and the Lord Dragon both at once?”

_ Shit _ . She hated it when that happened. A little teasing, a few pranks, a bit of fun and some half-hearted complaining afterwards. That was the way she liked it. But far too often people ended up taking the teasing personally, or the pranks went wrong and someone got hurt. Imoen didn’t want to hurt anyone, and always ended up feeling just as bad as they did when it happened.

“Never mind little old me. I didn’t mean anything by it. You’re fine, just the way you are. Rand isn’t my ‘one’ love, after all. There’s you, too.”

Saeri blushed rosily. “Aye. I am fond of thee as well.”

“Hmm.”

The silence lingered, and grew tense. It was a big shop, and the racks they used to display their clothes were taller than either of the girls. There was no sign of anyone else nearby ...

“Why do thine eyes rest upon me so, Imoen?” Saeri said at last.

“Because you’re blushing so pink. And you know how much I like pink ...” It was true, too. Her blushes showed up especially well on her fair cheeks. And those big eyes of hers made her look like a sweet, innocent little doll. Imoen found herself biting her lower lip.

“I like not the look in thy eyes. We should return to the others, afore the shop mistress comes looking for us.”

Imoen reached over and snagged the other girl’s hand before she could escape. “Ragan has her well in hand. Now it’s up to me to do the same with you ...”

Saeri gasped. “Thou naughty hoyden! Mayhaps, when we return to the Stone, but this is not a fitting place!”

“That’s exactly why it’s the most fitting place,” she giggled.

“That makes no sense at all!”

Saeri was still spluttering her objections when Imoen pulled her forwards and planted a kiss on her lips. Those were pink, too, and lived up to expectations. For all her objections, Saeri kissed her back passionately, and she could feel her pulse racing when she held her close.

“We mustn’t ... t’would not do for us to be seen in such a state. The Lord Dragon’s honour is reflected in ours.”

“Oh, poo. If Rand were here, and could see you looking like that, he’d bend you over the nearest table and have his way with you.”

“Do you truly think so? No! He has always been the soul of discretion. It is our watchword! But ... if he wanted me to ... I could not deny him ...”

Giggling, Imoen pulled up the other girl’s skirt and touched her silky soft thigh. Saeri gasped again. Her grip on Imoen’s arms was strong, but she did not push her away. “What about me? Could you deny me?”

“I ... I ... don’t know that I want to ...”

“Heh. That’s what I like to hear. Grab onto that rack, and keep an eye out. Fun is so much better than shopping.”

Obediently, Saeri turned around to keep watch. Her breath was already coming hard and fast long before Imoen was able to lift her skirt all the way up and pull her underwear all the way down.

“Light. We shouldn’t. We really shouldn’t. Hiding likes me not,” Saeri protested weakly. But her slender legs parted when Imoen ran a hand up the inside of one.

She knelt behind her. “What’s this? I see something pink ...” she teased. She did as well, something pink that glistened wetly.

“I suppose it would be cruel of me to deny thee thy favourite ...”

Saeri was far from tall, so she had to go low to reach her sex with her mouth. She paused, her lips a hair’s breadth from the girl’s tenderest flesh. “Pfft. I should make you confess how much you want this. You’re lucky I’m so nice ...”

She kissed her then, touching lips to lips, albeit of a very different kind, and forcing a high-pitched moan that Saeri had to clamp a hand over her mouth to contain. Enjoying the effect she was having on her, Imoen quickly brought her tongue to bear. In no time at all, she had her trembling where she stood.

“So nice ... yes ... that’s so nice ...” Saeri whispered as Imoen licked at her sensitive parts. She yelped when she stuck a finger in there, too.

“Why are you acting all virginal?” she scoffed. “I’ve seen you squeeze something far bigger than my finger in there.”

“You caught me by surprise! And keep your voice down!” Saeri whispered fiercely.

“Let’s see you keep  _ your _ voice down,” she muttered. She slid her finger in and out of the girl’s pussy as fast as she could, forcing her to clamp a hand over her mouth once again. Her pretty little bottom quivered with the motion, and she had to press her knees together to stop herself from falling. It was all very cute. And flattering. Arousing, too. Imoen found herself wishing they were back in the Stone, where they could relax somewhere with a big, soft bed.

She traded her finger for her tongue, which freed her to fondle Saeri’s butt cheek while reaching around to play with her pussy. A hand soon grabbed at the back of her head, pushing her hard against that softness. Soon after, she tasted her victory, as Saeri came upon her tongue.

Imoen was a bit surprised. She’d thought it would take a bit longer than that. The other girl didn’t respond when she told her as much. She was too busy twitching in glaze-eyed pleasure.

“Saeri, you have a bit of a streak of mischief in you, too!” she crowed.

A low groan was her only response. Until, that was, they heard the sound of someone coming closer.

Red-faced, Saeri yanked up her underwear as fast as she could. “We can’t let anyone find out!”

Imoen wiped her lips on her sleeve. “So you aren’t going to return the favour? Meanie!”

“Not now! Someone’s coming!”

She smirked. “No I’m not. That’s the problem.”

“Later then!” Saeri said, with an exasperated toss of her midnight locks.

Imoen’s smirk grew wider. “I’ll hold you to that. In fact, I think it only fair that I get the first go with Rand tonight. Since you’ve already been taken care of.”

Saeri stared at her in shock. “Thou naughty hoyden ...” she said again.

“I don’t even know what that is,” she laughed. “But there’s two lessons to be learned here. Firstly, that pink is the bestest colour. And secondly, that you should never underestimate old Imoen!”


	9. House al'Thor

CHAPTER 6: House al’Thor

When Rand woke the next morning, he was so happy that he almost forgot that he was the Dragon Reborn. Half aware, he lingered in that tranquil place between sleep and wakefulness, hoping against hope that it would last forever.

It didn’t, of course. He had plans to make and wars to fight. But while his grim duties awaited him beyond the huge bed’s comfortable confines, there was still pleasure to be found under the blankets, as he discovered when he opened his eyes to find Imoen watching him from the other end of the pillow.

“Heya,” she whispered.

Memory flooded back. They’d come to him in the evening, all three dressed up in their fancy new clothes, to tell him about their day and all they’d seen and done in the city outside the Stone’s thick walls. They’d come and they’d talked ... and then they’d cuddled and they’d kissed ... and before long those dresses had been coming off ... Rand smiled at her sheepishly, remembering the sounds she’d made when he slapped her bottom while he was taking her from behind. It had been Saeri’s idea. She’d kept insisting that Imoen was a naughty girl in need to discipline. And she’d certainly enjoyed watching that discipline being meted out. Rand had been reluctant to play along, and had only hit her lightly, but he still scooted closer on the bed to whisper, “I hope I didn’t hurt you. You know I don’t really mind how naughty you are, right?”

She laughed softly. “I knew we were just playing, silly.” She chewed on her lip for a while before continuing. “It was actually kind of exciting. Don’t look at me like that! You were the one slapping my poor little bum. I should tell. What would people say if they knew how mean you were?”

“About what they usually say, these days.”

Now it was her turn to look sheepish. “Argh. Forget I said that. I don’t want to spoil thing.”

“You couldn’t if you tried.” He stretched his back. “I like waking up like this.” More than she could know, in fact. Her innocent trust and homey voice soothed his troubled heart. Despite the age difference between them, the thought that he might have settled down with Imoen back in the Theren—and perhaps had, in one of those other worlds he’d seen when travelling through the Portal Stones—that thought was a very welcome one. “I wish I could stay here, but duty calls.”

“Duty sucks! Make love to me again instead,” she whispered.

“If only I could. But I have to figure out how to run this nation and draft its laws. You know. Little things like that.”

“That’s no fun!” she sulked, and showed him her bare back.

“Believe me, I know.” Imoen hadn’t shared Saeri’s enthusiasm for a maid’s work, though she’d been nearly as excited as her friend when they’d spoken of the seamstress they’d discovered and the ideas Saeri had shared with her concerning a uniform for them all. Imoen wanted to do something more interesting, something exciting, something that would allow her to explore. Rand had spent a brief moment recalling the way she’d used to pester everyone back home with questions, and how often she’d ferreted out people’s secrets, before deciding he had just the job for her. “Would you like me to put you in touch with that man we spoke of today?”

She spun back around, her sulkiness gone in an instant. “The gleeman? Yes! What should I wear? Will there be sneaking involved? Trousers like Anna would be best for that, but I wasn’t able to find any in the right colour. Why don’t men wear pink? Are you all stupid? But people notice you more if you aren’t wearing a dress ... Hmmm ...”

Rand looked at the colourful dress draped over the back of a nearby chair. It was hard to imagine anyone not noticing someone who was dressed so brightly. “Less attention would be best,” he said carefully. “Thom doesn’t want people knowing he’s helping me, so having someone who can go back and forth between us would help a lot. No-one would think it unusual for a girl to go listen to a gleeman tell some stories.”

“And he can teach me stuff. Sneaky stuff,” she said excitedly.

Rand nodded. “It turns out he’s actually quite the expert when it comes to ‘sneaky stuff’.”

In her excitement, Imoen had forgotten to keep her voice down. Sighs and mutterings signalled the other girls awakening, followed by the light groans of the first morning stretch.

“I had a strangest dream,” Merile said. She blinked around at all the people she was sharing a bed with. “... Uh, maybe it wasn’t a dream? Never mind!”

“I hope you’re feeling better this morning,” he said. She’d been a little down the night before, feeling as if she couldn’t contribute as much as everyone else. He’d tried to reassure her, telling her with utter honesty that she didn’t really need to do anything beyond exist, to be worthwhile. People like her were what made the world worth saving, he’d said. He wasn’t sure she believed him, but she’d clung to him desperately as he rode her. She was so much smaller than him that he’d been afraid his weight would crush her if he didn’t support himself carefully, but Merile hadn’t been afraid at all. Remembering the sounds she’d made, and the way she’d clutched him to her had urged him on until he’d come inside her, made his cock stir under the covers. “Beautiful,” Imoen had whispered, back then. He had to agree. Merile really was.

“Much better,” the Tinker mumbled, now, smiling sleepily.

“What time is it?” Saeri asked, just as sleepily. “Is breakfast—?” She sat up suddenly, the covers falling away to reveal her nakedness. Her pretty little breasts drew his gaze so strongly that he barely noticed her scowl. “The majhere is probably trying to send her own up again. I have to get to the kitchens early to stop her.”

“She sends everybody breakfast ...” Rand said.

“That doesn’t matter!” she snapped. “She’s not one of us. Only trusted people should be handling your food.”

“She’s right, Rand. I think. Maybe,” Merile waffled. “I mean, I suppose if I was following the Way of the Leaf I should just let whatever happens happen, but ... I’m not ... Mum said I wasn’t one of the People anymore. And you’re not a person either. So. Not dying would be good? I think it would. We can’t do all this wonderfully dirty stuff if you’re dead. Right?”

“Maybe,” he said. Going through your life afraid that every cup of water might be poisoned sounded a lot like madness to him. And the last thing he needed was help getting to that point. He’d arrive far too soon as it was. And yet ... the Valreio had nearly killed his friends with poison, back in Fontaine. If Verin and Nynaeve hadn’t both been there, both of them able to Heal with the One Power, the Stone would be a much lonelier place today. It was a frightening thing, the more he thought about it. For all his strength in the One Power, all the followers he’d gathered, and the vaunted prophecies that spoke of him, a sip of tainted water was all it would take to end him completely. A tiny sip. It was enough to make him feel vulnerable, even while ruling from the greatest fortress in the world.

“We should talk to Nynaeve, you and I,” he told Merile. “The Aes Sedai might have refused to teach you, but I don’t think she will, block or no. And I’d like to have a Healer that I can trust.” One not affiliated with the White Tower. Alanna was still asleep, down in her own quarters. He hated that he knew that. But that was what came of trusting Aes Sedai, and needing their Healing.

“Sending her to Nynaeve? That’s mean,” said Imoen, while Saeri scrambled naked from the bed in pursuit of her discarded clothes—blue to match the stones of the jewellery he’d given her. “She might not carry a stick anymore, but she’s gotten even louder since going off to Tar Valon.”

Rand just smiled. “She’s still the same old Nynaeve. She wants what’s best for her people, whether they like it or not.”

“Or whether they want it or not! I’m not going back, no matter what she says. If you don’t help me with her, I’ll just go off on my own, don’t think I won’t!”

“You’d be better off back in the Theren. Nynaeve’s right about that,” he said.

“Leave! Hah! You'll have to force me to leave you now!”

That was beyond his power to do, even if he’d really want to. Which he didn’t. Burn him. “Whatever she might want to do, she’s not in a position to do it, or likely to be in said position any time soon. Just try to get along with her. She cares about you, and worries about you.”

“I guess ...”

Merile didn’t look very enthused at the idea of finding a new teacher. “Is she a bully? I heard some things back in Emond’s Field ...”

“She’s not a—” Honesty killed Rand’s instinctual response. He exchanged looks with Imoen.

“She’s a total bully,” the girl said, nodding fiercely. “You have more niceness in your little finger than she has in her whole body, Merile. She’ll use her slipper on you if you don’t do what she thinks is proper, too.”

There spoke the voice of experience, Rand knew. It wasn’t very helpful.

“Uh oh. I don’t think I like this idea anymore,” Merile said in a small voice. “I’m not sure I’d enjoy being spanked. Not like you, Imoen.”

The Theren girl’s face blazed. “Hey! Don’t say that!”

“Why not? ‘Tis truth!” Saeri put in.

Imoen pouted at her. “Well, you like to do naughty stuff in public, so there!”

“Imoen!” Saeri gasped.

“She does?” Rand asked.

Imoen nodded smugly. “She’ll moan and complain, but it won’t take long before she’s moaning and coming instead!”

A shoe came flying from Saeri’s direction. “Traitor!”

“Hey! Careful now,” Rand said sternly. The girls quietened down, though Imoen muttered something about busting someone’s lip. He wasn’t sure whose, and didn’t want to ask. He found himself seeing Saeri in a new light, though. She’d been getting bolder lately. Last night, she had been enthralled at describing her designs for the uniform she wanted to have made, excited to watch him and Imoen joining, and more than eager to take the other girl’s place once he’d left her gasping and twitching on the bed. He certainly hadn’t refused her, but it hadn’t been him doing the fucking. He’d just knelt behind her and let her impale herself on his manhood over and over again until she’d brought herself to a screaming orgasm, and then collapsed beside Imoen. It was a far cry from the silent, traumatised girl he’d met in Nethara.

“Rand? Is this Nynaeve really as mean as Imoen says?” Merile asked.

“No. Not at all,” he said at once. “She’ll call you names, and hit you, and criticise, but she’s really quite nice, deep down ... I mean ...” he trailed off. He didn’t need to see Merile’s dubious expression to know how ridiculous that sounded. Imoen snorted.

“I don’t think I want her to be my teacher ...”

Rand, who thought nothing of demanding the High Lords and Ladies of Tear do as he said even if meant ignoring the laws they’d once followed, found it impossible to insist Merile go if she didn’t want to. “Maybe we can find someone else. One of those other Accepted, perhaps,” he said at last.

Merile hugged her pillow to her chest. “Someone nice.”

“Are none of you going to help me?” Saeri demanded to know. She was mostly dressed by then, though certainly not in the uniform she wanted. That would have to be custom made, and would take a fair while to get made. It sounded expensive, too, but if it made her happy then he was more than willing to provide the funds. “We need to make a good impression. House al’Thor shouldn’t be getting shown up by the majhere and her lot.”

He frowned. “House what?”

“House al’Thor, of course. Thee and all thy guards and maids and retainers, my lord.” Saeri dipped a curtsy as if to drive the point home. “It’s been around for a while now, but I thought we might as well start calling it what it is, since you aren’t in hiding anymore.”

His frown deepened. “I’m not a bloody noble. I’m a shepherd. You’ve seen where I grew up, Saeri.”

“I’ve seen where your soul comes from, too. You are far more than a noble. It is insulting to liken you to them, I know, but I couldn’t think of what else to call us. Did I do wrong?”

For the second time that morning, what Rand knew to be right faced off against a big pair of pretty eyes, and was soundly trounced.  _ Burn me. What kind of sorry excuse for a ruler can’t bring himself to say “no” to his own maid? _ “It’s alright, Saeri. I’m not mad at you. I’m just not comfortable putting on airs like that. But if you want to call us that, it’s fine I guess.”

She smiled brightly, and clapped her hands together. “Great!”

“You forgot to do your thous and thees, by the way,” Imoen pointed out with a smirk. “You might want to phrase it differently when you tell Loial.”

Saeri laughed. “’Tis my unpractised speech that mars my tale. I will take thy advice to heart, that our Lord Dragon’s glorious story might be fittingly preserved for the Ages.”

Exasperation made him shorter than he preferred to be with her. “If you don’t stop exaggerating like that, Imoen’s bottom isn’t the only one that’ll be in danger.”

While Imoen laughed, Saeri gave him a hurt look. “Wherefore is the exaggeration? Thou art a capable leader, one who knowest well how to earn the devotion of those who follow thee. Look you to our adventures of the night before. Not a woman left unsatisfied. ‘Tis the mark of a true Hero, this.”

“Blood and ashes!” Rand swore.

“Hey, you’re blushing!” Imoen annoyed him by saying.

“That’s it. I have work to do. I can’t be lazing around in bed all day listening to you lot.”

Saeri nodded firmly. “Then let us all attend to our duties. Art thou coming, Imoen?”

“Okay, okay. Hold your horses,” Imoen sighed. “And your ‘thous’.” She climbed out of bed and went to retrieve her clothes and get dressed, while Rand—in defiance of his own resolve—lay there and enjoyed the sight of her young body in motion.

The two of them left Rand’s bedroom together, in full view of the guards he knew would be stationed outside the door. Part of him still quailed at that, but he was resolved to stop caring so much about what people thought of him. He was the Dragon Reborn now, and known to be so by all who had heard of what had happened here in Tear. Total strangers would be cursing his name already, and more curses would join the chorus as the news spread. He had to get used to being scorned, and learn not to care about it as well.

Merile had closed her eyes and was pretending to sleep. She opened them again once the door closed behind Imoen. “Phew. Fooled them.”

Rand doubted she’d fooled anyone, but once again he was unable to say it. “Having a lie in today?”

Though they were lying naked in a bed they’d shared, Merile still managed to look shy. “I was hoping to come with you, actually. To meet people. I won’t get in the way, I promise.”

“I’d welcome your company,” Rand said, truthfully.

“I’m glad.”

Warmth and comfort and a trio of pretty girls to look at had had their effects on Rand. Getting up from the bed might have posed a problem. Getting up, not so much. And Merile was still there, watching him, naked under the covers ...

“We really should go ... but I’d like to stay a little while longer.”

She smiled, her green eyes twinkling. “I’m gladder.”

“I’m hoping to make you gladdest ...”

She reached for him then. “Me too ...”

And that was why he found himself late for his own meeting. The tails of his unbuttoned black coat bannered behind him as he hurried down the corridor with Merile trotting along at his side in her new dress. Divided for riding, it allowed him a glimpse of her bare leg with every second step. Despite having had her twice in the past day, the sight still excited him. The dress wasn’t as wildly colourful as the Tinker’s usual garb. It was Tairen in style, and green was the primary colour, with black worked into the puffy sleeves, and gold thread intricately worked across the chest and shoulders. He’d been surprised at how muted the colours were at first, until she’d mentioned Raine having helped her pick it out. Then he’d just smiled. Green and black were good colours for hiding in a forest, though why someone would wear such a dress to go hunting was beyond his imagining. Merile had added a few touches of her own, in the form of a bright yellow sash tied across her slender waist, and an equally bright yellow scarf around her shoulders, to hide the bosom that that style left exposed.

“What are you staring at? Do I have something on my nose?” she asked.

“No. I wasn’t staring. I wasn’t staring at all.”

Well, he shouldn’t have been. There was, as he’d said before allowing himself to be distracted once already today, work to do. He put on speed. The Aiel didn’t have to trot to keep up, of course, but the Defenders who brought up the rear were making quite the racket.

He missed the Shienarans who’d been with him since Falme, and hoped they weren’t offended by being replaced like this. He couldn’t risk offending the Aiel and the Tairens by refusing their joint protection. Even an incompetent leader like him knew that much. He’d have to see the Shienarans rewarded in some way, though. He hadn’t even been paying them. Or Saeri. Nor had they asked him to. Tam said that was all the more reason to do it.

Tam had also stressed the importance of cavalry to an army, and pointed out that Tear was famous for the quality of its horses. He hadn’t told Rand to do anything about that, but the hint had been pretty heavy.

His decision to put Storin Sanada in charge of breeding more horses for the cavalry didn’t sit entirely comfortably with him. It was not as if he trusted the man. But he was one of the least offensive of the High Nobles, and that was ... something. That was who he was rushing to meet with now. Perhaps he should have taken his time, sauntered in late, making it plain that the High Lord must wait on Rand’s convenience. That was something that he thought the Aes Sedai would do. But Rand hated to be late, especially when he’d given his word to be there at a certain time. So off he rushed, while Merile chattered on.

“This city is amazing! Do you know, I saw someone get mugged? Right outside! It was fascinating! No-one even looked surprised. It must be the Tairen greeting. Hasn’t happened to me yet, though. They must not like me.”

He eyed her askance. “If anyone greets you like that, be sure to let me know about it.” Who to send after them, though? Aiel, Tairens, Shienarans? Or should he go himself? And what to break?

“Everything happens here all at once! How does anyone keep it all straight?”

“That’s a good question,” Rand muttered. He needed to see Elayne about the new laws. How long would it take Thom to make those arrangements he’d spoken of? At least a day, surely. Imoen and Saeri would be back with breakfast by the time he’d finished with Storin. He could send her to Thom then. The Aiel would know where to find him. Or Mat. Should he meet with any of the other nobles? The First of Mayene kept inviting him to dinner for some reason, despite the fact that he’d never even met her. Though her invitations sounded more like demands to him. Was it ... impolitic, or something, to ignore her? And he’d need to see that his people got their just rewards for all they’d done this past year. Well, as close to just as he could make it. There could never be a reward big enough, he knew. He hadn’t trained with Lan yet. Every morning. That was the rule. How else was he supposed to improve? And  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ . He wanted to read as many translations of it as he could. He’d already spotted differences between several of the versions he’d found in the Stone’s library. If the writers couldn’t even agree on what the prophecies had said, then how was he supposed to know how to fulfil them? There were things in the Great Holding, too, interesting things ...

“It’s so busy here. So many things could just get ... lost,” Merile said softly.

“I know,” he sighed. Distracted by his own thoughts, Rand was surprised when she linked her arm through his and pressed her cheek against him. She was such a ditsy and sheltered girl at times, but there was a silent knowing in her eyes now, and a kindness, too. It moved him more than he’d care to admit.

Even so, he knew he couldn’t bring her with him to the meeting. “I won’t be long,” he said, when they arrived outside the designated room. “The Aiel will look after you.” He hoped they would, at least. None of them had said a word to her that he had heard. They didn’t even look at her, come to think of it. Maybe they were just being overly polite.

Merile looked at Urien and his men dubiously. “They’re so big and grim. What do you suppose would happen if I tickled one of them?”

He had no idea, but, “Best not.”

Rand left that meeting with a downturned mouth, despite having gotten exactly what he went there to get. Storin had seemed confident he could coordinate such a breeding program with the other nobles. So confident that he’d seen fit to turn the discussion to another topic. Marriage. Perhaps seeing Rand’s annoyance, he’d been quick to point out that none of his own relatives were eligible, but scowls hadn’t been enough to stop him from listing off those women of child-bearing years among the Tairen Houses who remained unmarried. There was a young woman of House Damara, for example, sister by marriage to Storin’s cousin, Balesean, whom he thought would make a fine match for Rand. High Lord Torean’s daughter by his second wife would suit him well, too, he’d thoughtfully claimed. Sunamon, Aracome and Simaan all had unmarried daughters as well, though none so promising as the first two. It had been all Rand could do to keep his temper in check. Burn him if he was going to let himself get married off to some lady he’d never even met!

He found himself watching Merile on their way back to his rooms, and wondering if Storin was the only one thinking such thoughts. It was all about politics and power, not love, or even lust. He knew that much. That didn’t make it any less possible that some ambitious noble might target Merile or the others to try to get them out of the way. Oddly enough, his lack of fidelity might actually be a good thing in that regard. That he refused to commit to a faithful relationship meant that his enemies would have a much harder time figuring out who was worth striking at, should they want to harm Rand by proxy.

It put him in a dark mood, but Imoen soon cheered him up again with her description of Saeri’s clash with the majhere, a woman both taller and heavier than her, but one who had found herself outmatched by the girl’s claims to belong to Rand’s household staff. Like most, the majhere didn’t quite know what to make of Rand, and was wary of anything connected to him. Even half-mad little girls.

Saeri and Merile insisted on eating from the lone plate, piled high with food, first—perhaps to compensate for being seen as Rand’s staff—and he was happy to let them. It was to Mat that he decided to send Imoen, once they’d eaten their fill. He thought that it would be less conspicuous for her to be seen with her cousin that being escorted to Thom’s room by an Aiel. She didn’t look as pleased by the arrangement as he’d expected, but when he asked why, she just shrugged.

“He’s being a bit of a hypocrite about you and me, that’s all. As if everybody in town doesn’t know about Ellie Torfinn’s antics, and who visited her. Boys. It’ll be fine.”

Rand wasn’t sure he liked being considered the male version of Ellie Torfinn, but he supposed he could not, in all fairness, argue the point. But before he could see Imoen off, there was a rap on the door, and an Aiel stepped into the room.

Tall and muscular, with a multitude of small scars across the left side of his face, the man made an odd bow to Rand. “I see you, Rand al’Thor. I am Daroc, of the Nion sept of the Nakai Aiel. May you find shade this day.”

“Thanks, Daroc. I see you, too,” Rand said awkwardly. “What can I do for you?”

He hesitated briefly before answering. “There is someone asking to meet with you. I would send them away, as with the Tairen ‘nobles’ who come each day, but this one is different. They claim to be of the Atha’an Miere, and to know you well.”

Rand’s heart quickened, and not from excitement. He had indeed known some Atha’an Miere well. He’d also expected never to see them again once they parted, or he might not have known them as well as he had! Doing his best to keep his alarm from showing on his face, he hurried past Daroc.


	10. Mistress of Finances

CHAPTER 7: Mistress of Finances

Rand knew the person waiting in the anteroom but he wasn’t happy to see him, and he was even less happy to see the little smirk on his face. Asheron was the androgynous youth’s name. He was the younger brother of the Sailmistress who’d given Rand passage to Tear, at a price _. What if he tells someone how I earned my passage? _ Suddenly, his resolve to be indifferent to what people thought of him felt very weak indeed.

Conscious of all the watchers and listeners, he hastened up to Asheron and spoke before the Sea Folk boy could, his voice a harsh whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“It really is you. How—?”

“Keep your voice down,” Rand warned.

“Or?”

_ Or what? _ “Soldiers. Dungeons. Knives. I have lots of them.” Even as he said it, he wasn’t sure that he meant it. It wouldn’t be just, by any stretch of the imagination. But if Asheron believed it and kept his damned mouth shut, then Rand would let his tongue be tainted with the lie. Fear or surprise kept Asheron from replying, so Rand asked again. “What are you doing here?”

“Avaleen wanted to visit the capital. We weren’t scheduled to sail here, but she decided on it. Our father wasn’t pleased. Then we heard about you. It would have been hard not to; you’re all anyone in Tear is talking about.”

“Unfortunately. I’d rather not be talked about at all,” Rand growled. Asheron’s smile returned, but he didn’t respond. “So ... what? You came to the Stone to visit me? Why? We aren’t exactly close.”

“Not me. Avaleen. She’s waiting down below. I was sent to tell you. And I have. Or am I supposed to go tell her you two aren’t exactly close either?”

“Who’s Avaleen?” Rand flushed at the sound of Merile’s voice. He hadn’t realised she’d come with him. “And why are we whispering?” she continued.

“Avaleen ...” He found he couldn’t answer their question, having no answer to it himself. Who was Avaleen? To him, that was. Obviously she was a Sea Folk Sailmistress, beautiful and competent. Ruthless, too, in her way. The thought of seeing her again was more nerve-wracking than that of fighting a Myrddraal naked. “She’s one of the Sea Folk,” he finished lamely.

Curiosity had drawn Imoen out as well, unsurprisingly. “When did you go adventuring with the Sea Folk?” she said.

“I didn’t. I just took passage on one of their ships downriver, that’s all.” Asheron’s smirk returned, and Rand glared at him in response. “Where did they put her? Actually, never mind. Just lead the way.”

He didn’t go alone, of course, much as he’d have liked to. Saeri was content to bustle about her chores, tidying the room and cleaning up after them, but the Aiel and the Defenders invited themselves along, as did Merile and Imoen.

Asheron watched him out of the corner of his eye as they walked. No doubt it was a shocking change to him, Rand being in his current position instead of—He shook his head, refusing to remember.

“How did you capture the Stone?” the boy asked eventually. “The prophecies said—”

“I know what they said. That part came true. Now for the rest,” Rand said grimly.

“Be’lal was in charge, but Rand scared him off,” Merile put in.

Oddly, Asheron was less disbelieving of that news than the Tairen soldiers who’d fought the Aiel that night were. Despite the fact that many of them had seen Be’lal, Rand and Moiraine throwing the One Power at each other, most Tairens still refused to believe that the High Lord Samon had been a Forsaken in disguise.

They got no small amount of stares as they walked. The Sea Folk were a more common sight in a great port city like Tear than they would be in Andor, but the sight of one of them talking to the Dragon Reborn still got tongues wagging. The High Lords Torean and Meilan eyed Rand suspiciously while High Lord Simaan’s wife Unalla studied them with a thoughtful look on her long face. One of the Accepted that Nynaeve had brought with her, the pretty Andoran with the golden hair that Elayne had spoken fondly of, squinted at him in a way that would have done a Coplin proud. Soldiers, servants, Aiel. They all watched as Rand walked by.

He hated it. And he feared it would always be that way now, that there would never again be a time when his every action was not being scrutinised and judged by the people around him, even the total strangers.

There was one set of eyes that stood out from the others, as much for their constancy as for their colour. Raine kept her distance, but her golden eyes could often be spotted peering around the corners he’d just passed, waiting for him to pull ahead so she could follow. The troubled wolfsister often stalked him like that. Perhaps that should have discomfited him as much or more than the nobles’ stares did, but for some reason her constant watching didn’t bother him at all.

Whoever was organising things in the Stone had put Avaleen down near the River Gate. He’d never given it much thought before, but with Tam and Elayne’s advice fresh in his mind he couldn’t help but wonder if that was something he was supposed to be taking charge of himself. Should he appoint someone to apportion the guest rooms out to whoever came calling? The way that Asheron had to come up to his rooms instead of arranging the meeting with a proxy reminded him of Thom’s talk of hiring a secretary, among other things. Maybe there was some truth to what they’d said.

Not that he really needed to concern himself with such things, as the group of Maidens lurking near the room Asheron led him to proved. Others, more competent and experienced than Rand, were already taking care of it. Still. He hated feeling as if he’d shirked a job.

Two of the Aiel were known to him, the rest were relative strangers. Cad contented himself with a nod of greeting but Renay smiled and said, “May you find shade this morning, Rand al’Thor. There are Sea Folk within, almost as strange to my eyes as the sea itself.”

“I’m sure they’d say the same about you, Renay. Well maybe not the ‘sea’ part. Strange as the dry land maybe.”

“We see dry land all the time. We just don’t like to stay on it,” Asheron scoffed. “It’s more like seeing a dead body walking, I’d say.”

The Aiel exchanged blank looks, some were reddened by the sun, others freckled or tanned, but only the youngest of them—a pouty-lipped Maiden with red hair—was close to being as pale as Rand was. Come to think of it, he recognised her as well, though her name eluded him.

She noticed his scrutiny, and stood taller. “Some of the Sea Folk inside are carrying  _ swords _ ,” she said, investing the last word with so much scorn that you’d think it was a curse. “I will come with you, if you like. To protect you.”

“That’s nice of you,” said Merile. “We like meeting nice people that aren’t trying to stab us.” She gave the young Maiden a friendly smile, but got nothing in return, not even eye contact. The moment lingered long enough to become awkward. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t ask your name. Unless ... it’s not rude to ask an Aiel their name, is it? I’m afraid I’m not very experienced with your kind.”

The Maiden showed her her shoulder. It was Rand she faced, and Rand she spoke to. “You know, you are real lucky I am here, because if I wasn’t you would probably be skewered by these wettestlanders. They did not speak well of you.”

There could no mistaking her snub of Merile for an accident, and it incensed him. “If it’s gratitude you’re after, you could start by not being rude to my friend.”

Surprise showed on her in a way it rarely did on the older Aiel. She gave him a sulky look. “You can’t make me talk to a Lost One. No-one can. Or would!” She might have been right about that last. He couldn’t help but notice that the other Aiel weren’t exactly rushing to tell her off for her bad manners. It made him grind his teeth.

“It’s fine, Rand. Really. I don’t want you fighting with anyone because of me,” Merile said. At her side, Imoen looked a bit alarmed, too.

“Whatever. I don’t need protection from Avaleen anyway. Thanks all the same,” Rand growled. He stalked past the young Aiel, and wondered if her attitude really was so common among her people. Now that he thought of it, he realised that he hadn’t heard a single one of the Aiel speak to Merile in all the time they’d been here. It annoyed him.

It wasn’t the only annoyance he had to wrestle with, however. Avaleen was indeed waiting for him inside, wearing loose green trousers and a brocaded silk shirt of the same colour. Her father and cousin were with her, along with a handful of other Sea Folk that Rand didn’t know too well, all dark skinned, brightly dressed, and sporting earrings and noserings of shining gold. Asheron went wordlessly to join them. His sister was sitting at a table sipping tea from some fine Sea Folk porcelain that probably didn’t seem all that fine to her. And across the table from her, clad all in blue, was Moiraine Damodred.

The Aes Sedai raised a brow at Rand’s arrival, and set her teacup down. From the look on her ageless face, you’d have thought that it was he that was the intruder. Rand set his jaw. He was done with being pushed and prodded by her.

“It seems you heard about my guest before I did, Moiraine. How nice for you.”

She turned back to Avaleen. “As you can tell, titles alone do not change a man’s nature. They merely inflate his ego.”

“Now there’s a grim thought,” said Avaleen’s father, Agatay. He stood behind her chair with his arms folded across his chest and his gaze fixed on the table. Rand could guess his thoughts. Of all men in the world to have turned out to be the Dragon Reborn, Rand would have been the last he’d have expected. Or wanted.

His daughter had a somewhat kinder opinion of Rand, but even she looked at him dubiously now. “His nature ... is not so terrible, Aes Sedai.” She studied the people who’d entered with him curiously—Merile, Imoen, Urien, and a senior Maiden named Ralani. He supposed they must have looked very strange to her.

“But?” Moiraine prodded.

Avaleen allowed herself to be led. “But I worry for our future, now that the truth has been revealed.”

Moiraine steepled her fingers. “A common fear. Most who succumb to it avoid the Stone. What desperation would drive you to enter it?”

“I wanted to speak to my friend about it,” said Avaleen, looking stubborn all of a sudden.

“Would that be me?” Rand asked. He couldn’t guess who else it might be, but he honestly wasn’t sure that she considered him a friend at all, as much despite of as because of what had happened on the  _ Liberty _ .

“Of course,” she said, surprised. It was ... a little moving, if he was being honest.

“Would the Wavemistress of Clan Somarin approve of you taking this initiative? You are not highly ranked,” Moiraine said coolly. Without waiting for Avaleen’s reply, she turned her dark eyes on Rand. “What do you think the Mistress of the Ships would think of being undermined by her own subordinate, Rand?”

He had no idea what that was. Or what a Wavemistress was, for that matter. He clenched his jaw rather than say as much. Moiraine was well aware of his ignorance. There was a message hidden in her question, and he thought he knew what it was.

“Someone who doesn’t want me to speak to my friends is someone whose opinion I don’t give much of a damn about, whatever title she holds,” he said. There was a message hidden in his answer, too. He had no doubt Moraine would hear it, but little hope that she’d change her ways on account of it.

She made a vexed sound. “The Mistress of the Ships commands all of the Atha’an Miere clans. And you ‘don’t give much of a damn’ about her. You will recall when I told you that it was far too soon for  _ Callandor _ , yes? That kind of statement is precisely why.”

He needed no reminding of how uneducated he was. Especially not from her. “I recall it. I recall asking you a great many questions during our time together, too, and getting a sack full of nothing in response. I’ll ask somebody else instead. Speaking of which ... Hi there, Avaleen. It’s nice to see you again. Moiraine will be leaving in a moment. We can chat about old times then. In the meantime, how are you finding Tear?”

She studied Moiraine and Rand a bit longer before responding, her expression troubled. That was hardly a surprise. No-one in their right mind argued with an Aes Sedai. Rand had a special dispensation, though, and wasn’t exactly in his right mind, either.

“Tear is much as I remember,” she said absently. “Except for the new banner flying above the Stone. The streets were tense but peaceful. The calm before the storm.”

That was not a heartening description. “I mean to make changes. I’m hoping to avoid any storms, though.”

“I see ...” Whatever it was she saw, she didn’t speak of it in front of Moiraine. That was nice, but it was something else that Rand was eager to avoid her speaking of. “Weren’t you eager to examine the famous Stone of Tear from the inside, Father? Perhaps when Moiraine Sedai leaves, you could go with her. Do not mention the gift of passage, though. We would not want to give offense.”

Had his fear shown, or had she just anticipated his desire for secrecy? Either way, he was grateful. Briefly. Soon—too soon—a dark suspicion settled on him. Might she think to blackmail him? Threaten to reveal his disgrace if he didn’t use this newfound power of his to do something for her? That he couldn’t allow. It was no longer just Rand’s pride at stake. Nothing could be allowed to endanger the struggle against the Shadow.

“Consider the hardships you have endured, and caused, without my counsel, Rand. It is unwise to keep me at a distance.” But as little as she might like his attitude, Moiraine still rose from her chair, settled her skirts, and glided to the door. “Come along, Cargomaster. Let us see what the adults can learn from each other.”

Moiraine was a fine looking woman, and Agatay had been a widower for a decade, but he didn’t look particularly eager to be alone with her. There, at last, was something he and Rand could agree on.

“How did she know so quickly?” Rand whispered to himself after the Aiel had closed the door behind her. “She must have people spying for her in the Stone.” It could be anyone. The White Tower had a lot of influence, even here in a nation that was officially opposed to it.

“Aes Sedai are legendarily hard to deceive. It is part of why we deny them passage on our ships,” Avaleen said. She didn’t mention the Windfinders, and neither did Rand. Dark brown, and light blue—their eyes met, and it felt as though there was a lifetime of secrets between them already.

“So. You once asked me why I needed to get to Tear so badly.” He spread his hands in a vain attempt to encompass all that had happened. “Now you know. I am the Dragon Reborn.” He took the seat Moiraine had vacated and, after a brief hesitation, took her cup as well. At least he could be sure it wasn’t poisoned.

Avaleen didn’t look as dismayed by that as she probably should have been. “Perhaps. Or perhaps you are the  _ Coramoor _ ,” she said.

Her cousin and Supplymistress, Geraldine, delicately cleared her throat. “The Aes Sedai was right about that, Avaleen. If you interfere in  _ those _ negotiations, Nesta will hang you from your own rigging. By your toes, if you are lucky.”

“What’s a  _ Coramoor _ ?” Rand asked, frowning. He thought he’d heard the term before, but not connected to him in any way. But Avaleen didn’t answer. She just sat there, chewing on one full lip while picking at her fingernail. After a while, he blew out a sigh. “No-one ever wants to tell me anything.” Moiraine hadn’t wanted him to read  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ . The Aiel refused to explain why they had come over the mountains in search of him. The Sea Folk didn’t want to tell him what a  _ Coramoor _ was. Tam and Kari had never mentioned that he wasn’t ... that he wasn’t their blood. It was all so frustrating.

“These are delicate times,” was all the explanation Avaleen offered. “But I hardly need to tell you that. You’re ... Well. You’re what you are.”

The man who broke the world. And who was destined to do it again.

When he did not respond, she sat forward in her chair to catch his gaze. “How are you going to do it? I mean ...” she spread her hands, mirroring the gesture he had just used, and failing to grasp the enormity of “it” as surely as he had. “... all of those writings. All the prophecies. A few days ago you were ... were on the road alone.”

He remained stone-faced, but even if his companions couldn’t hear the word she’d kindly refused to use, he could hear it loud and clear.  _ Whore _ .

“I have a lot of work ahead of me. I am well aware of that. As to the details ... I think I should keep those to myself,” he said, and then winced at the harshness of his own voice. He’d been aiming for calm and in control, the way Moiraine or Lan would have spoken.

Avaleen didn’t seem offended, though. “I’d like to help you,” she said.

“Thanks. I wish you could. But this is something that I have to do alone.”

“Well that’s just silly,” said Merile. Even before she continued, Rand knew what she would say, and knew she was right, too. “You’re not alone. I mean, where were we a minute ago? And with who? Then there’s all the frowny Aiel, and the stiff men in the armour, and your da, and the Aes Sedai—even Alanna the Nasty—and Raine and Master Loial and Lord Goldeneyes, even if he’s away at the moment, and your friend the bully, and Uno and all his friends and ... Do the High Lords and Ladies count? They’re sort of with you, but not with you with you, I think.”

Rand leapt in at her thoughtful pause, before she could start listing everyone in the Stone by name. “You’re right, Merile. That was ... I mean ... I might have been a bit dramatic there.”

“I have heard that the Termool is a bit dry,” Ralani told Urien solemnly. “But I have never been there.” A smile might have flickered briefly across the man’s tanned face, but it was hard to tell.

Steadfastly refusing to ask what a Termool was—they’d probably refuse to answer anyway—Rand forged ahead. “What I mean is that this is my job and no-one else can do it for me.”

Pausing her curious study of the people who’d come with Rand, Avaleen nodded. “This is your ship. You are the ... Sailmaster?” scornful noises issued from her crew, and even she shook her head of the unlikeliness of Rand being in command of anything. “But to sail a ship this big, you are going to need a crew. I’d like to join it.”

The Sea Folk with her were as shocked as Rand by that, none more so than her little brother. “No you wouldn’t! You have the  _ Liberty _ !” he exclaimed, stepped around the table to get a better look at her face.

“Be quiet, Spark,” Avaleen said calmly. “Jacaline din Obrai Fog Runner is more than ready to command.  _ Liberty _ will be safe in her hands.”

“But—!”

She fixed him with a firm stare. “Not now. We will talk later.” Asheron lapsed into a sulk, and his sister turned her attention back to Rand. “You will need ships, and gold, and knives. I know the workings of all three. And ... Well, I know you don’t have that much reason to trust me, but I’d like the chance to prove ... to prove that ... To redeem myself.”

“Redeem?”

She closed her eyes, a pained frown on her face. “I have never thought of myself as cruel. I did what was needed, even if that meant spilling blood. I did what was needed ... and maybe, sometimes, I did some things that weren’t actually needed at all.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what she was talking about, but he’d seen the way she’d dealt with the merchant who’d tried to murder her back in Godan. He doubted it had been the first time she’d used that fancy knife of hers on someone.

“You would leave your ship? To follow—I mean, to help me? Why?”

Avaleen folded her arms beneath her breasts. “It is important work. The most important work, some might say. Why wouldn’t I?”

Geraldine sighed quietly. “Why indeed?”

While her cousin glowered at her, Rand stroked his chin thoughtfully. Tam and the others had urged him to make the most of any opportunities he saw, and to surround himself with good people. This was definitely the kind of thing they’d been talking about. And the idea of having Avaleen nearby was far from unpleasant, so long as she kept quiet about what had happened on the  _ Liberty _ . Did Tear have ships? Tairens did, of course—merchants and such—but he’d seen no sign of any ships that were specifically under the command of Tear’s rulers. Not that sailing had been what Avaleen was most interested in, from what he had gathered. Tear definitely had taxes. Lots of them. And that money, presumably, had to be spent on things more important than fancy clothes.

“I do have a lot of gold now. I could use some advice on how best to spend it,” he mused.

“When my Cargomaster returns, I’ll be sure to have him—”

“Oh, burn that. This isn’t an Atha’an Miere ship, and I don’t fancy having to pass notes back and forth through someone else. It’s you I want to help me manage these finances, not your father.”

Avaleen smiled dazzlingly, but not everyone among the Sea Folk shared her enthusiasm.

“Need I remind you of your role, Sailmistress? Each of us has one, and they must be performed before any other roles are considered. Ship’s discipline must be maintained by all.” The speaker was known to Rand, if only in passing. Tuva was the only Atha’an Miere he’d seen carry a whip, and seemed to be responsible for keeping their laws. A plain woman with short, curly black hair, she was as guarded of face as any Aiel. Even now, she rebuked her Sailmistress with a stern calmness. “Trade is for the Cargomasters and Swordmasters to oversee. You are not one, and cannot be one.”

“I know the laws,” Avaleen sighed.

“Sea Folk laws aren’t Tairen laws,” Rand said. “And even if they were, I’m busy rewriting the Tairen ones. Maybe a woman can’t be in charge of the money among you, but if I want a woman to manage mine then that’s what I’ll get.” The opposition from Tuva and her ilk had made Rand’s decision for him. There were few things more apt to get his back up than being told, or hearing someone else told, that it couldn’t be done because it wasn’t traditional. He looked Avaleen in the eye. “I’d like you to be my, ah,”  _ What would be a good name for it? _ “Mistress of Finances! I’ll fill you in on the details later—”  _ After I’ve made them up _ . “—but for now, welcome to the team.”

She touched her fingertips to her forehead, then her smiling lips, and finally her heart. “By the nine winds, and Stormbringer’s beard, I pledge myself to your cause, under the Light.”

Of the other Sea Folk, only Geraldine looked remotely pleased by this turns of events, and even her smile was very much of the wry variety. “Say, ‘it is agreed, under the Light’,” she told Rand.

Once he’d done so, Avaleen said, “It is agreed,” touched her fingers to her lips once more, and then leaned over to press her fingers to Rand’s lips, too. Then she sat there, smiling and waiting.

He’d never been one for formality. It made him uncomfortable, if he was being honest. But it seemed to be important to her, and he could hazard a guess as to what he was supposed to do. So he touched his own lips, and then pressed two fingers against hers.

“Agatay is going to be furious,” Geraldine said quietly. Asheron grunted sullen agreement.

“Well, that was nice, wasn’t it?” Merile said cheerily. “Like a little dance, only everybody’s sitting down.” While still refusing to acknowledge her directly, the Aiel exchanged scornful looks.

Avaleen was studying them again. “Strange friends you have, Rand. Where did you find this girl? She is not Aiel, unless I am greatly mistaken.”

“Greatly,” said Urien, with more than a hint of threat. Even the armed Sea Folk got wary at that. Aiel had a reputation for killing that matched the Atha’an Miere’s reputation for sailing.

Ignoring him, Merile sent a little wave Avaleen’s way. “My name’s Merile. I’m one of the  _ Tuatha’an _ . Or I was. I got kicked out for using the One Power. Now I help Rand.” A sudden doubt crossed her face. “I do help, don’t I? I’d like to help, not just sit around and eat everybody’s food.”

“You help, Merile. Don’t worry about it,” he said. But she still wore that troubled look.

Avaleen’s eyes lit with recognition. “Ah. A follower of the Water Way. Well met, Merile. I hope we can work together in the future, if it pleases you.”

“Me too!”

Imoen waved hello as well. “Hey, Captain, I am Imoen! A friend of Rand’s... Actually, more like a guardian than a friend, you know? Looking after him, and all that.”

“It is nice to meet you. The title is ‘Sailmistress’ among us, but I will not be one for much longer. You may call me Avaleen.”

“I’ve never met any Sea Folk before. Does your face hurt from all that jewellery?”

Instead of getting annoyed at Imoen’s pestering, Avaleen laughed. He liked that about her. “No. It only hurts when the piercing is first done, and for a short time after. I am very used to it by now.”

“I’ve never thought about getting my ears pierced before ...” said Imoen. From the way she was fiddling with them, she was certainly thinking about it now. He wondered if people would take that as another example of his “corrupting” her. Theren women didn’t wear jewellery in such a way, though he’d seen plenty of women from other places who did since leaving home. Elayne, for example.

“How did you and Rand become friends?” Imoen asked.

“Never you mind about that,” he said. He pretended not to notice her narrow-eyed scrutiny, and turned his attention back to Avaleen. “So you’ll be moving in to the Stone, then?”

She nodded. “I must return to  _ Liberty _ to make arrangements and gather my belongings, but yes. I assume you will have quarters assigned me? The people we spoke to when we first arrived were shamefully lax. They would not or could not tell me who to speak to to arrange this meeting other than, ‘one of the Aiel’. Who should I meet when I return?”

_ Good question _ . “I’ll order the Defenders of the Stone to be on the lookout for you, and to escort you to your rooms when you arrive.”

_ Meanwhile, I should see about finding someone to organise all of this. Elayne and the others are right. This is too messy. A ... a staff—burn me for a lazy good-for-nothing—a staff would be bloody helpful to have around _ .

Watching Avaleen explain herself to her troubled crew, he refused to think of all the other questions and problems that her arrival would pose. He was just glad to have her on his side.


	11. Maiden's Kiss

CHAPTER 8: Maiden’s Kiss

Mat had won big at cards the night before, and was in a fine mood when he finally dragged himself out of bed that morning. His mood persisted through the day. There was no sign of Moiraine, Nynaeve, Elayne or Rand. No-one to make demands of him at all, which was just the way he liked it. It was such a good day, in fact, that when the sun began to slip below the horizon, he decided it was time to get some answers from the Aiel. Their general weirdness had been annoying him ever since they jumped him while he was planning his fool rescue of Nynaeve and Elayne, that pair of ingrates. Cold looks, off colour jokes, and smiles that were half friendly and half threatening had been waiting for him everywhere he went in the Stone. He wasn’t sure if they wanted him gone or ... who knew what? Either way, it would be best to settle that problem while they still thought he and Rand were close.

Towards that end, he sought out their chief, Rhuarc. It took a while to find an Aiel who was willing to steer him right, but eventually he got some directions and made his way to the Stone’s roof. There he found the greying chief standing by the battlements, frowning out at the city far below.

Rhuarc did not turn at Mat’s approach but the men with him kept a careful watch, on Mat and on everything else, as though they suspected an attack even up here, so far away from anyone or anything.

“What is it with you lot and rooftops?” he asked by way of hello.

“The high ground provides an advantage in combat and in stealth. Especially with wetlanders. Your people rarely look up,” Rhuarc said without turning to face him.

Mat bristled. “And the Aiel do?”

“Yes. From childhood they are taught to do this thing. Mistakes are not forgiven in the Three-fold Land. Weakness is not forgiven.”

“So you think non-Aiel are weak, then?”

Rhuarc turned then. He was a handsome man, weathered face or no. “I do not. I have seen many examples of wetlander courage and strength. This year and during the hunt for the Treekiller. You are not weak. But you are not as strong as you could be either.” His blue eyes remained cold, despite his kind words. “Why have you been searching for me, Matrim Cauthon?”

He clucked his tongue. It was good to be reminded that the Aiel kept a careful watch on everything that went on in the Stone, and reported all they saw to Rhuarc. He’d have to avoid them, when it came time for him to leave. How long could be afford to wait? How long until the news about Rand spread all over the world, and everyone connected to him became a target?

He didn’t ask Rhuarc any of that, of course. Instead, what he said was, “I’m just making sure there are no hard feelings over our first meeting. I get the impression you lot don’t like me much, and I don’t fancy fighting any duels. Or whatever it is you do. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”  _ I want to be, anyway. If only the fights would stop chasing after me! _ “I got some icy looks from those Maidens the last time I spoke to them. You’d think calling a girl pretty was an insult, the way they went on!”

Some of the men with Rhuarc laughed, but the chief remained stone-faced. “There is no feud between my people and yours, Matrim Cauthon. You did not give the armcry, as instructed. This speaks well of you. So long as you do not betray Rand al’Thor to his enemies, we will remain indifferent to your words.”

“That’s ... good to know,” Mat said slowly. He wasn’t really sure what Rhuarc was hinting at. Getting his butt out of Tear before everyone from the Amyrlin Seat to the Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light started calling for Rand’s head was hardly betraying him. He didn’t owe him anything! How could you betray someone you weren’t even supposed to follow?

Rhuarc’s soft grunt was a tad too knowing for Mat’s taste. “If you wish to get to know  _ Far Dareis Mai _ , perhaps you should ask them to play Maiden’s Kiss. It would be educational for you.”

The other Aiel laughed even harder at that, and Mat found himself chuckling along. A kissing game? He’d always liked kissing games.

Other than Rhuarc himself, the only Aiel not laughing was a tall, muscular fellow with green eyes and hair as red as Rand’s. “There is no honour to be found in that game,” he said solemnly.

“In this, as in all things, there is honour to be found in winning, Acavi. The only shame is in losing ...” another, even taller man, teased.

“I did not lose, Mangin,” the first declared, anger seeping into his deep voice.

“That is something we have in common, then,” the second said. He had the smug grin of a man who thought far too much of himself. A grin was supposed to be cheeky and charming; something which Mat knew better than anyone.

“Perhaps Matrim Cauthon can be the judge of how easy the game is to win,” Rhuarc interjected, before his men could pull up their veils.

“Boy, did you pick the wrong man to bet against. I always win,” Mat said

“So I have heard it said. I wanted to see who was worth so much gold,” said Acavi. His face gave none of his thoughts away.

Mat struck a pose. “Can you put a money value on this? I always thought I was priceless.”

The solemn Aielman laughed softly, but said nothing.

“Then I will listen to the Maidens’ judgement with interest,” Rhuarc said, his face as still and a statue’s.

There was no choice after that. A challenge had been made. A bet placed. Mat wasn’t about to back down, not from the Aiel or anyone else. So he went to his room, cleaned himself up, and then went off to hunt down some Maidens.

Like most of the Aiel, they tended to be close to wherever Rand was, so he started near his old friend’s rooms and worked his way out. Sure enough, he soon spotted a group of them, some familiar and some not, standing by one of the Stone’s internal gates—a set of iron bars driven into the walls and ceiling, with a door fashioned from the same material built into it. Those gates weren’t usually closed or locked, but this one had been. And one of the Aiel women held the key.

“Locked, huh? I hadn’t realised you wanted to keep me so close,” he said with a smile.

A dozen sets of light-coloured eyes turned towards him. No-one laughed, or blushed. Or even sniffed. They just stared at him coldly, their faces as hard and expressionless as Rhuarc’s. Possibly even harder.

“Not that I mind,” he continued, refusing to be put off. “Escapes are my specialty. Even the White Tower couldn’t hold Mat Cauthon.”

Most women liked a bit of a boast, in his experience. As long as you didn’t lay it on too thick. If these women did, it certainly didn’t show on their faces.

“Blood and ashes! You could at least say ‘hello’. Are manners not a thing in the Waste?”

The oldest among them gave a little grimace. “They are. When Aiel are among Aiel. Not so when we are among wetlanders. Perhaps if they had been ...”

“If it is bad manners to enjoy the antics of puppies, then I am quite content to be rude,” another woman said, just a bit hastily. She was a yellow-haired giant, a hand taller than Mat, and with enough muscle to fill out her impressive frame.

“That is a surprise to no-one, Jec,” said Adelin, a scar-faced woman nearly as tall.

Some of the Maidens laughed over that. Others kept a stern eye on Mat. Jec exchanged looks with the older woman—older, though hardly old; her reddish hair showed no hint of grey. It was one of those who didn’t laugh that spoke to him, a woman about his own age and height, though with Rand’s colouring.

“Have you come here to dance, Matrim Cauthon? I am ready.”

The way she said it made the offer sound a lot less appealing than it might have. And her voice sounded familiar. It took him only a moment to place it.

“The girl from the rooftops! This must be fate. But not that kind of fate,” he added hastily, and looked her up and down. Without the hood and veil to cover her, she was actually quite pretty. “The last thing I want to do is fight you.”

“Then perhaps you are not the fool you are said to be,” she said with a small smile. “I am Dailin, of the Iron Mountain sept of the Taardad Aiel.”

“He is not an enemy. We should let him through and return to our watch,” said the girl beside her. Aviendha was her name. He’d met her before. Aloof and forbidding, but nice to look at.

“Yes,” Adelin agreed.

Dailin ignored them. “So what is it that you want to do, Matrim Cauthon, if not dance?”

He gave her his best smile. “Oh, I came here to help you. Mangin and the rest of those lads were boasting that Maiden’s Kiss was the easiest game in the world to win. Even a wetlander could win it! I thought I’d give you a chance to prove them wrong.”

Jec huffed an incredulous laugh. “You are  _ asking _ to play Maiden’s Kiss?”

He poked himself in the chest with his thumb. “Games are my specialty.”

The older one shook her head, but not in denial. “Never have I heard of a man asking to play before. Wetlanders are very strange.”

“The strangest, Rhian,” agreed the lanky girl at her side.

“I do not mind them. It has been interesting to explore their lands,” red-haired Dorindha said. She was one of the younger ones.

“They go in it. And ... swim,” said Cara, a plain-faced woman with hair the same shade of orange as Elayne’s. She sounded equal parts awed and horrified.

“We know,” Rhian said curtly.

“Would you like me to teach you?” he asked Cara.

Her green eyes hardened. “I do not need to learn anything from you.”

_ Blood and ashes! What did I say? _ “Not even how to lose at Maiden’s Kiss?”

Jec slapped her hands together decisively. “The veils are raised. We play.”

Mat felt a moment’s alarm at her words, for Aiel always veiled their faces before killing, but none of the women reached for the black veils hanging down across their chests. “So what are the rules of—” His alarm came back with a vengeance when a dozen speartips suddenly surrounded him, all of them pointed at his neck. An involuntary step backwards nearly made him impale himself on the spears held by the Maidens behind him. In the silence, he heard himself gulp, and felt a few of his own hairs waft down onto his shoulders, cut by the razor sharp blades now rested against his skin.

“He will break before five minutes have passed,” the lanky one said with a hard smirk. “I will wager that silver vase I took against your tapestry of the ... ships, Jolien.”

The woman she spoke to shook her head. “I would not risk it, Harilin. And we should not risk leaving Rand al’Thor unwatched. This is a game for another time.”

But Jec just smiled. “There are plenty of us here.”

The older one—Rhian—was one of those who held a spear on Mat. She’d been holding the key to the gate as well, but offered it to Adelin now. “Yes. I assume Ayla and Lidya will not be playing. And Aviendha, of course. The five of you will be more than enough to stop any wetlander attackers.” He wondered if, by “attackers”, she’d meant “rescuers”.

“Ladies, I think there might have been a misunderstanding,” he began, only for their tensing to silence him. The speartips pressed closer, so close that his skin dimpled inwards, just shy of breaking.  _ Blood and ashes! They mean to kill me! _ He’d left his staff back in his room, but he still had his knives. Except ... they were watching so carefully, and they had him surrounded.

Dailin held a spear on him, but more casually than most. Her wry smile was directed at Aviendha rather than Mat. “Why don’t you come with us, second-sister? You might find you enjoy it.”

Staring off down the corridor beyond the gate, spears at the ready, Aviendha didn’t even deign to look their way. “My duty is here.”

“Sometimes I think you will still be saying that when your hair is as white as our greatmother’s,” Dailin sighed.

That won her a look, but only a brief, confused one. “Yes. Of course I will,” Aviendha said, matter-of-factly, before turning back to her watch.

Shaking her head, Dailin looked Mat in the eye. “So you came to dance, after all. Good. Let us see how nimble you are.”

Laughing, she and the rest of the Maidens lifted their spears slightly, forcing Mat to go up on his tiptoes to avoid being cut. They led him away from the gate, while he gritted his teeth and hoped for Rand to wander by and put an end to this. It was to an old storeroom they took him, one that was full of blankets and pillowcases and curtains of various colours. All the stuff that the Stone’s servants would need to keep the high and mighty nobles in the comfort they were used to. Mat would have welcomed the humbler comforts of his family farm just then. It was only when one of the Aiel kicked the door closed behind her, and they relaxed their spears a bit, that he found himself able to move his jaw enough to speak.

“Now hold on a bloody minute! I was just trying to be friendly. There’s no need to get all stab-happy! Don’t think Rand won’t hear about this. We’re the best of friends, him and me.”

“Why would Rand al’Thor be insulted by your getting what you asked for?” said Harilin. She, Dailin, Jec, Rhian, Dorindha and Cara were the six Maidens that had brought Mat here for ... whatever they had in mind.

“Fools and  _ Far Aldazar Din _ rush in.  _ Far Dareis Mai _ and Wise Ones scout the way first,” Dailin laughed.

“What kind of game is this?” Mat gritted. Obviously not a kissing game, despite the name.

“You will see. Order?”

“You go first,” Rhian told her. “Youngest to oldest. There is no need to be cruel, and younger women are easier to please, in my experience.”

Dailin frowned. “We will see.”

“What are you—?”

“Be quiet and show me what you can do.” Having said that, Dailin leaned forwards, her spear still resting against Mat’s throat, and touched her lips to his.

He was so surprised that he barely responded to her kiss, and she soon leaned back with a disappointed look on her face. “You were wrong, Rhian. It takes far more than that to please me.”

“All talk. As expected,” said Harilin.

Mat found himself blushing for the first time in he knew not how long. “That’s unfair! You caught me by—AH!”

Dailin’s spear pressed forward, and this time it actually drew blood. It only pricked him, but even so. There was only so much flesh to go through there. Any further and she might hit something vital. “It seems that you are going to lose this game after all, Matrim Cauthon,” she said, almost regretfully. Then she closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and leaned towards him once more.

Such a pretty sight to herald a man’s death. Mat watched her come, his heart hammering against his chest. He was going to die from losing a kissing game. A kissing game! Of all the ways to go, that had to be the worst. He could just imagine people’s reactions. How hard Nynaeve would sniff. How high Elayne’s nose would poke. Thom’s moustaches would be blown out so far they’d look like flags. Even Rand would probably laugh. “All talk,” folk would say. They’d probably carve in on his grave marker.  _ No! No bloody way! I won’t go out like this! _ Holding hard to his sudden, stubborn resolve, Mat firmed his lips and leant towards Dailin as much as the spears that surrounded him would allow. Their lips touched, and he focused all his strength on giving her a kissing the likes of which she would not soon forget!

It lasted quite some time. With his life hanging in the balance like that, it could have lasted forever, so far as Mat was concerned. It didn’t, though. All too soon, Dailin was leaning back with a thoughtful look on her face.

“Well?” Rhian asked, after a moment’s silence had passed.

Dailin gave the older woman a defiant stare, and Mat feared she would condemn him just to disprove her earlier boast. But she shook her head and said, “I must be fair. That was a fine kiss.” The pressure eased off from her spear, and Mat found himself sighing in relief despite the drop of blood trickling down his neck, and the other five spears still surrounding him.

“Well, of course it was,” he said shakily, “Mat Cauthon never loses at kissing games. Thom and his flying moustaches can go jump in a river.”

The Maidens exchanged confused looks.

“It must be a wetlander custom,” said Cara at last.

Harilin nodded. “They have many strange ones. Sometimes it is funny to watch. Sometimes it is not.” She noticed his wary look, and a toothy smile crossed her face. “You will find a harder opponent in me, wetlander. Prepare yourself.”

“Bring it on!”

The other women laughed at that, but Harilin just narrowed her eyes. Holding her spear steady, she moved in to strike. Their lips touched, and her tongue darted out in a surprise attack.  _ Please. What are we, thirteen? _ Mat thought. Emboldened by his success with Dailin, he parried Harilin’s attack and twined his tongue around hers, teasing, caressing, controlling. She was red in the face by the time she withdrew. Her spear did not draw his blood, and her eye did not meet his either.

“Ha! I know that look!” Jec crowed. “It seems the wetlander can play, after all.”

“I accept no shame for not being as much of an expert as you, Jec,” Harilin said. Mat had never seen an Aiel sulk before. For some reason, the sight made him grin.

“You have a pretty smile, Matrim Cauthon,” said Dorindha, smiling a pretty smile of her own. “I think the result may have already been decided, for me.”

“That’s no excuse to give up the fight ...” Mat drawled, waggling his eyebrows.

With a soft laugh, she learned over and kissed him. Her lips were soft, too, soft and sweet and gone from his too soon. “As I expected,” she said. As with the others, the pressure of her spear eased off as soon as she was satisfied.

Mat grinned smugly. “Who’s next?”

“I am,” Cara said reluctantly. She was standing behind him, so he had to turn—very carefully—to face her. She looked as though she might be regretting ambushing him in this way, but the stubborn set of her jaw said she wasn’t going to back down, not with her fellow Maidens watching.

She was the shortest and most unremarkable of the six. She had pretty eyes though, and her hair reminded him of Elayne. Mat was starting to enjoy this game. He no longer felt like he was in danger of losing, either the game or his life; now it was only a question of how big the pot he walked away with would be. The thought of making Cara’s toes curl was suddenly a very enticing one.

“You can blush all you want, but we both know what’s destined to happen,” he smirked.

Cara hadn’t actually been blushing, despite his bold words, but she definitely blushed after hearing them. She went for him, suddenly and impulsively, and Mat could only pray she had the presence of mind to keep her spear steady. She might apologise if she didn’t, but apologies would do him no good if he was dead. Nothing stabbed him, though, and her tightly closed lips touched his. That wasn’t enough for him, so he took her by the waist and pulled her in close, one hand roaming down to cup her bottom. Eventually, her lips yielded to the gentle pressure of his, opening to allow his tongue entrance. On that entry, Cara melted into his arms.

It was only when they heard the other women laughing that she pushed herself clear of Mat’s embrace. She still held her spear, but it was lax in her hand now, and she was smiling shyly.

_ Four for four! Never bet against a Cauthon! _

His toughest opponent was up next, though. Jec, if what the others had been saying was anything to go by, was as fond of sex as Mat was. It would take a lot to get the nod of approval from her. She was smiling at him in a way that suggested she knew what he was thinking, too, and was curious to see what kind of plan he’d come up with.

“So ... do you come here often?” he said, smiling wryly.

She smiled back, just as wryly. “Not as much as you might think. Not many Aiel men are crazy enough to seek out this challenge. The shame of failing ...”

“That’s a boy’s fear. Real men know they can’t lose. And even if they did ...” he let his eyes move slowly over Jec’s body, or as much of it as could be seen through her loose, grey-brown clothes. “It would be worth it to taste the lips of such a woman.”

That won him a laugh. She might have rolled her eyes afterwards, but that didn’t matter. So long as you made them laugh you were in with a chance.

Jec took her time about it. She took hold of Mat’s chin and turned his face this way and that, her lips pursed in consideration. “Wil al’Seen was prettier,” she said, watching for his reaction. “But a bit boring. Are you boring, Matrim Cauthon?”

He’d heard that some Aiel had helped defend the Theren from Trollocs a while back. He hadn’t known she was one of them. Or that she’d fallen for Wil’s slick moves. He didn’t care, of course. Wil was easy on the eyes. He might have gone there himself, if he’d thought Wil was up for that sort of fun. That other thing, though ...

“Boring? I’ve been accused of many things, but never that.”

“It is easy to excite kittens, but can you excite the cat?” That spear of hers pressed a little closer, a cold reminder of what would happen if he failed.

The memory of all those times he’d tumbled with Ellie Torfinn, and the way Sandi Lewin had smiled after his visits, the lines at the corners of her eyes crinkling cutely, bolstered Mat’s courage. They had not been kittens, by anyone’s reckoning. And both of them had invited him back for seconds.

“They purr much the same,” he told her, and forced a grin onto his face. “Why don’t you prowl on over here and let me show you.”

Smiling, she did just that. It was a bit strange, smiling up at a woman instead of down, but Jec didn’t give him much time to consider the change of perspective. She wrapped one muscular arm around his neck and made as if to devour his mouth with hers. Even without the spear, Mat wasn’t sure he could have escaped her. It was all give and no take, for him. Jec knew what she wanted and wasn’t shy about going after it. Her fingers tangled in his hair, leaving him glad that he’d bathed recently. The way her tongue explored his mouth brought the sudden and unwelcome memory of his father examining the teeth of a horse he was thinking of buying. She even reached down and gave his crotch an experimental squeeze!

She broke away after that, leaving him thoroughly flustered. He’d been so distracted by all the sharp spearpoints surrounding him that he’d barely noticed how hard he’d gotten. He was making a tent of his breeches.

“What is your judgement, Jec? Should we skewer him,” Harilin asked.

“Oh, that’s cold,” Mat huffed. “And after all we’ve been through together.”

Jec chuckled. She didn’t look even close to overwhelmed by Mat’s skills, but she was laughing, at least. That was what mattered most. Wasn’t it?

“He could have done better,” she said judiciously. “I know several men who could give him lessons on these things. Still ... it would be a waste to kill him. I call it a pass.”

Mat scowled. “Hold up. Who are these several men? I want another go. There’s no way they were better than me.”

Dailin burst out laughing. “Your hide is safe for now. Have the sense not to jump back into the snake pit.”

“I do not like this description,” Jec warned her, but Dailin just kept laughing.

“I think perhaps you will survive this game, Matrim Cauthon,” said Rhian.

“You aren’t chickening out, too, are you?” he asked. It would be a shame if she was, for he hadn’t had a go at her yet.

The older woman shook her head slowly. “No. That would be foolishly hasty of me.” Her grey eyes flicked downwards for a moment. “Jec will be happy to meet your challenge, I suspect. And then perhaps we will see what you are truly capable of.”

Jec’s lips quirked. “Now it gets interesting.” She was on him again before he could respond, her kiss just as deep and thorough as before. Mat focused on working her lips with his. He had to, since someone was holding his hands behind his back now, to make sure he couldn’t use his nimble fingers to chase Jec to the edge. Cheats.

He was so intent on meeting Jec’s challenge that he didn’t notice what was going on at his waist until his breeches fell to his knees and his cock sprang free to meet the chill air. His question was muffled by Jec’s lips, but a voice from near his crotch answered it anyway. Rhian’s voice.

“If you can endure this kiss without faltering, then you will have truly proven yourself fit enough to survive.”

Mat had a fairly good idea of what kind of kiss she was talking about, but that didn’t stop him from moaning against Jec’s lips when he felt a warm mouth close around the head of his cock, and a callused hand cup his tender balls.

“It is the end for you,” Harilin cooed in his ear. “Rhian and Jec combined will make a wailing baby of you.”

“You are trying too hard, spearsister,” said Dailin. “Accept the pleasure, Matrim Cauthon, but do not let it bury you. I have faith that you can survive this.”

That was bloody nice of her! It would’ve been nicer if she didn’t just stand there and watch her friends have their way with him while threatening to turn him into a pincushion afterwards, but at least she was sending him encouragement!

While scoffing inwardly at Dailin’s words, Mat did his best to ignore the feel of Rhian’s lips sliding up and down his shaft, or the expert way her hands played with the rest of him. He kissed Jec as hard as he could, and kept kissing her even when that snake Harilin stuck her tongue in his ear in an effort to distract him. He drew on the innate stubbornness of his people, but it wasn’t easy to hold on to his resolve. Rhian was no stranger to cock. She gave him an expert’s going over. Her tongue seemed to be everywhere, one moment tickling softly, the next licking firmly. The uncertainty kept him on the edge when he needed to be anywhere but.

The Aiel women were merciless. Mat had been kissing Jec so much that she should have been gasping for breath, but she was still going. And Rhian had stepped up her efforts, her head now bobbing furiously up and down upon him.

“He should have passed by now,” he heard Cara mutter, but the other three Maidens just kept going.

Sweat was beading on his brow, and his shirt was sticking to his back by the time Harilin let out a sigh and said, “I think he has held out long enough.”

Jec took her time about releasing him, but release him she did. “Not bad. Not bad at all,” she said smiling down at him. Her hand, which he was surprised to see no longer held a spear, came to rest atop Rhian’s reddish head. The other Aiel woman looked up at him, her mouth still stretched around his cock, her gaze unflinching.

She took him out of her mouth, and stood up. “You play Maiden’s Kiss well, Matrim Cauthon. Your boasting remains comical, but you are not without skill.”

Blinking at that frank appraisal from a woman who still had some of his juices on her lips, Mat essayed a smile. “Thanks? Is this all it is, though? I thought we were building up to something more.”

The Aiel were shocked, the first time he’d ever seen any of them be so. Incredulous looks were exchanged by all, until Rhian turned to him and said, “You wish to attempt Maiden’s Song? Do not be a fool. The challenge is much more difficult, and there is less room for mercy. Whatever you may think, we do not want to kill you. If we did, you would never see the spear coming.”

_ She makes a good point _ , he thought.  _ I blundered into this because I didn’t think ahead. Now that salvation is in sight, I should pocket my winnings and make for the door _ . “Haven’t you learnt anything?” he heard himself say, though. “I never lose.”

Dailin sighed and shook her head. “A foolish end, to a foolish boy. I will regret telling Nynaeve al’Meara of how you died.” She unwrapped the hood and veil from around her shoulders, and let them fall to the ground.

All around him, the Maidens were undressing, and not a one of them looked shy about it either. They were all pale, under their clothes, and only Jec and Rhian could be described as busty. Lean muscles rippled under their skin as they moved, and more than one woman showed the scars of battle. Rhian even had a scar running across her left breast, just above the nipple. He’d never seen such a thing, and thought the man who’d done it should be ashamed of himself.

Jec dropped her loose trousers, and stepped out of them. She stood before him, completely naked, one hand planted on her hip. A confidant woman, and understandably so with a figure like that. “The rules are much the same, but the task is harder,” she told him. “You must bring us all to orgasm. Fail with any one of us, even the last, and your life is forfeit. I tell you now. We will not hesitate to let it be known how and why you died. Few men attempt this game, knowing the shame in which their name would live should they lose.”

“It is not too late to back out, Matrim Cauthon. Your honour will not be questioned,” said Dorindha. She was pretty easy on the eyes, especially without her clothes on. Not a stunner, perhaps, but far from ugly. While he wasn’t deaf to Jec’s warnings, the thought of turning down the chance to have all six of these women was one that Mat wasn’t about to entertain.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.

“Then strip!” Harilin demanded. She didn’t wait for him to undress himself, preferring to lend a helping hand. While he was still struggling to pull his shirt over his head, she took his cock in hand and started tugging on it insistently.  _ Does she want me to lose? I need to stay as in control as possible, and that isn’t helping! _ She was fondling has ass, too, and even poked his hole with her finger, smirking all the while.  _ We’ll just see about that _ , he thought.

But that would have to wait. There was an order to this game, and that had to be respected. You couldn’t really win if you cheated, after all. He reached out his hand to Dailin, who smiled and placed her own in his. Then he pulled her to him, kissed her thoroughly, and guided her down onto one of the piles of blankets. He spared only a brief moment’s pity for whatever servant ended up coming her looking for clean sheets. Instead, his fingers found Dailin’s already wet pussy, and he set about making her even wetter.

She smiled as he stirred her pot, and Mat settled in for the long haul. He was no stranger to giving pleasure without taking some of his own in the process, though obviously he preferred the latter. In this game, it would be best to be patient, he knew.

But the Maidens surprised him. He felt a pair of stiff-nippled breasts press against his back. Hands snaked around from behind to fondle his privates, and Dorindha’s voice breathed in his ear. “There is no order in this round, Matrim Cauthon. All together or one at a time. The method of victory matters not, only the victory itself.”

Cara proved the truth of that. While Dorindha was still playing with Mat, and Mat was still fingering Dailin, she came and sat on the makeshift bed in front of him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, eager for more kisses.

He gave in to her desires, but he knew he’d have to speed things along if he meant to survive this night, and a few kisses wouldn’t be enough to knock Cara out of the game. Not kisses on the lips, anyway. Using one hand—his other being very occupied—he guided Cara back to her feet, and wrapped an arm around her bottom to pull her in. H saw her smile down at him, biting her lip cutely, then he saw nothing but the orange thatch that coated her pussy, a pussy he now lapped at expertly.

As if pleasuring two women at once wasn’t enough of a challenge, Dorindha decided to make it extra had for him by slipping around to crouch in his lap. Down on her hand and knees, and lying low to leave room for Cara, she took Mat’s cock in her hand and guided it towards her sex. She hissed in satisfaction as she took him slowly inside. Mat groaned against Cara’s pussy as the wet heat of the other Maiden enveloped him.

Three at once. In all his adventures, he’d never had to pleasure three at once before. For a brief moment, he worried that he should have taken Dorindha’s advice instead of her pussy, but he soon banished such worries to the back of his mind. That was losing talk. Instead, he curled his fingers inside Dailin, stirred Cara’s engorged bud with his tongue, and fucked Dorindha as hard as he could.

It felt great, naturally, but that was the danger now. Feeling too good was what he needed to avoid. How could he avoid it, though? Dailin was moaning now, and so was Cara. Her initial reluctance, contrasted with her new enjoyment, and inspired by her hair colour, made him fantasize—not for the first time—about fucking the snooty right out of Elayne. But that was a fantasy far too exciting to be allowed to seep into his thoughts just then. He banished it as firmly as he could, and kept right on fingering, licking and fucking the Maidens of the Spear.

He had no idea how long he laboured like that, but he knew that plain, possibly neglected, Cara was the first of them to come. It was hard not to notice, when she gripping him by the hair like that, and pressed herself forward against his mouth. Her breath came in a shuddering gasp, and when he looked up he saw her eyes roll back in her head.

_ One down, five to go _ .

Emboldened by his progress, Mat’s hand became a blur, the two fingers he’d stuck in Dailin running up and down her slit now, forcing a high-pitched moan from her lips.

She was writhing on the blankets, her hips bucking mindlessly, brows pressed together in a frown that might have looked pained in different circumstances. He saw this when Cara staggered away to plop down on their bed. As she lay back, breathing heavy in an effort to compose herself, Mat seized the chance to pull Dorindha up into his embrace, and fondle her pretty little breasts.

He was so busy grinding away at her pussy, and squeezing her softness, that he didn’t even notice when Dailin starting coming. It was only when he felt her fingernails digging into his forearm that he noticed the way she was pressing her legs together, and mindlessly jerking away.

_ Make that two _ .

Dorindha laughed softly at seeing her fellow Maiden brought to the edge and thrown off. “You are good at this,” she gasped.

Mat grinned. “Damn right I am!”

He was sure then that it wouldn’t be long before she was joining the other two on the losers’ bed, so he freed his tired hand from Dailin’s watery depths, and wrapped his arms around Dorindha instead, turning her around and putting her on her back beside Cara. She went willingly, and willingly took what he had to give her as well, calling out unabashedly in pleasure as he ravaged her pussy.

It wasn’t long before she came, and when she did she impulsively pulled him down into her embrace so she could kiss him between each surge of pleasure.

“Half way there,” Mat crowed, aloud this time.

“He is getting a bit full of himself, this one,” Jec said. “It may be time for me to put him in his place.” Her blue eyes slid over to where Harilin stood, watching the show. “But I think another should be full of him first.”

Like Jec, Harilin was taller than Mat, but unlike Jec, she did not have a very womanly figure. Lean and flat, were the words than came first to mind, looking at her.

“He will not survive long enough for you to have your fun, Jec,” she said with a smirk.

Well. Mean and pushy, might be better first words, now that he considered more carefully.

“One of us is all talk, and I think we’ve already proven that it’s not me,” Mat said. While Harilin scowled, he pulled himself out of Dorindha, and stood up to face her. She was still able to look down on him, though. That annoyed him just then. “Are you chickening out of the game, Harilin?”

“Never. There is no way you can defeat me, wetlander.”

“Oh, really? I bet I defeat you without even having to use my best moves.”

She sneered. “Prove it.”

“I will!”

He went and took her by the arm, and she let herself be taken, though her submission was born of disdain rather than impression. She let him bend her over, and even put her hands on her knees to steady herself, the pose offering him easy access to her pussy. He checked her with his fingers first, and found what he’d expected to find.

“Wet as a swamp down there. Like I said. All talk.”

“That proves nothing. I was watching my spearsisters, not you. Enjoy it while you can. It will be the last pussy you ever come in.”

“I never said I was going to fuck your pussy. I told you. I won’t even need my best moves.” With that, he took her by her narrow hips and pulled her tight little asshole down towards the wet tip of his cock. Red-faced, Harilin cried out in surprise and pain when she felt him penetrate her butt.

“How dare you!?” she gritted.

“I warned you,” Mat said as he slowly worked his way inside. “You should have listened. Let’s see how high and mighty you are once your spearsisters have watched you come just from getting buggered by a wetlander.”

“That would ... that would never—AH!”

Harilin’s vain boast cut off as Mat began fucking her as hard as he could. Still bent over with her hands on her knees, she was on full display to the women behind them both. They would be able to see Mat stuffing her back passage, and see her unoccupied front twitch and drip, Mat imagined. He hoped Harilin was imagining it, too.

“Have you ever done that, Jec?” Rhian asked conversationally. The two senior Maidens were lounging on a separate blanket pile from Mat’s previous opponents, watching all.

“Yes. Though never with a wetlander. And I always required something more to reach my climax. Do you think it would be shameful, if that was all it took?”

“I am not sure.  _ Ji’e’toh _ is silent on this topic. Perhaps Harilin will soon tell us.”

“I will not!” she vowed, but the tone of her voice suggested otherwise.

Mat chuckled. “You love it, don’t you? You love having your dirty little hole fucked. Admit it.”

“Lies!”

“You’re going to come. You’re going to come and everyone’s going to see.”

“No! I won’t! I—I won’t!”

His cock hammered in and out of her tight ass. “You’re already close. I can tell.”

“I ... I ...”

“You love being fucked in the ass. Just admit it and say you’re sorry. I’ll be merciful.”

“Never! I ... I’m not going ... to come!”

Her last words were delivered in a scream as she clamped down upon Mat’s cock so hard he almost thought she’d crush it. A wet sound made him look down, to where a stream of fluid was squirting out from between Harilin’s legs to soak the floor behind them, in clear view of the other Maidens.

“And that makes four!” he shouted, punching the air. He almost thought he heard Harilin sobbing. “Never underestimate Mat Cauthon,” he told them all, before slapping the lanky Maiden’s skinny butt, his cock still firmly lodged inside it.

“A thorough defeat, I have to admit,” Rhian judged.

“Poor Harilin,” Dorindha sighed.

He slid out of Harilin, not wanting to risk getting overexcited in the flush of victory. As soon as she was free, she fell to her knees. She stayed there, too, head lowered, refusing to look at anyone. Mat had no qualms about looking, though. He smirked at the other Maidens, and opened his mouth to speak ... but fell silent when he saw Jec.

The big, yellow-haired woman was in the midst of what looked to be a very thorough stretch of her legs and back. It displayed her figure impressively, true, but that wasn’t what distracted Mat, for once. What she was doing just seemed so ... professional. She didn’t smile when she saw him looking, just nodded once and went right back to her stretch. Mat found himself wondering uneasily if they were about to fuck or fight.

Rhian tossed him a cloth to clean himself off with. She cracked her knuckles, too, which had him eyeing her warily. He’d come too far to, well, come now, but he couldn’t deny that it had been a close thing with Harilin. That had been one tight little ass, and her nasty comments earlier had inspired an extra spicy fuck. He wasn’t sure he had the stamina left for Jec and Rhian, not if they were going to take it this seriously.

Jec slapped her hands together as soon as she was done stretching. “Well then, Matrim Cauthon. Let us see what you are really made of.”

Mat cracked his neck from side to side to loosen up. Then he made firm his jaw. “You’re going down,  _ Far Dareis Mai _ . Bring it on!”

He hadn’t really meant it as that kind of challenge, but Jec ran right at him as though charging across a battlefield. He had only a moment to gape before she was on him, bowling him back onto yet another pile of sheets, and pinning his arms to his side. She used her legs to do it, stretching wide before clamping shut like a vise. He could see the muscles standing out on her thighs—they were thicker than his! With her prey trapped, Jec sat up and looked down on him much as a hawk might look down on a mouse. She had large breasts, wide hips, a washboard stomach, and was a more than handsome woman, but ...

“Be honest. There are far worse ways to wake from the dream,” she said with a bold smile.

“I’d sooner live to fuck again another day,” Mat gritted. “You should free my hands. I’m good with my hands.”

“It’s true,” he heard Dailin say.

But Jec only chuckled. “Why would I make it easy for you, you who questions the honour of  _ Far Dareis Mai _ and thinks to shame my spearsister?” She reached back, and he felt a strong hand close around his cock. “Prepare to meet your doom.”

Mat gasped. His doom felt rather a lot like a hot, tight pussy, as it turned out. But perhaps that was always how it was supposed to end for him. He had been cursed with a sexiness that must inevitably lead to women getting violent and possessive. That was why he tried not to stay in one place for too long. To save them from themselves. And himself from them.

Jec took him all the way to the hilt, then shifted her hips so her silky insides moved all around him. From side to side, she moved, up and down, around and around ...

_ Light have mercy! She’s really good!  _ Mat’s hands were in fists at his side, as he tried futilely to resist the pressure growing inside him. Her mocking laughter rang in his ears as she had her way with him.

“I know your prowess, sister. I think I will go ahead and have a taste of that tongue, while he can still use it,” said Rhian.

“Don’t let me stop you,” said Jec.

The eldest of the Maidens came to stand on either side of Mat’s head, then sank down into a crouch. “You could at least ask first!” Mat tried to say, but he only got the first few words out before he was muzzled by a wet pussy. After grumbling wordless for a while, he brought his tongue to bear against his final opponent of the night. Perhaps his final opponent ever, if Jec kept on doing what she was doing. He licked Rhian as energetically as he could, as much to distract himself from what was going on further down his body as out of a desire to add another win to tonight’s tally, and soon had her sighing in pleasure.

“Dorindha, bring my spears would you?” he heard Jec say.

It took a while before the other Maiden responded. “Very well, Jec,” she sighed. Mat supposed he could appreciate the hesitation. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Ugh ... you do have a ... ah ... clever tongue, wetlander,” said Rhian.

“It is a shame to still it,” said Cara, “but the demands of honour must come first.”

“Unless  _ they _ do. Come on, Matrim Cauthon. Do not give up!” Dailin called.

It was like the Trolloc Wars all over again. He remembered that story Moiraine had told, about the men of Manetheren trying to hold off the Shadow at the River Taren. This was probably how they had felt when the battle stretched on for days with no sign that relief would ever come. As his distant ancestors had, Mat hung on for grim life.

He stretched his tongue deep into Rhian’s pussy, licked her up and down each side, then sought out her special bud, and twined his tongue around it.

“Yes ... a clever tongue indeed,” she hissed. “Right there ... just right ... there!”

Her coming brought him to the final round of the tournament, but it was hard for even Mat to crow about it, not with Jec still working his cock like that. When Rhian rolled off him, he found Jec still where he’d left her, smiling down on him in that knowing, superior way.

“You came close, wetlander. You have won honour this day,” she said. That would have been nice, if it didn’t sound so much like a goodbye.

Brought to the brink, fighting in vain against the overwhelming urge to empty his balls in Jec’s pussy, Mat delved deep for one final, desperate ploy. He found a rock hard stubbornness inside himself, an utter refusal to give up, no matter how hopeless the situation. And with that last, stubborn resolve, he planted his feet firmly on the ground, and raised up his hips.

“When the situation is hopeless: attack!” he growled.

He angled himself just so, and thrust hard against Jec’s sex. “Oh!” she gasped, caught by surprise. He didn’t give her time to recover her balance. He might not be able to use his hands, but if he could hit the right spot ... He thrust into her again and again, aiming carefully and hitting hard.

“Oh ... that is ... very good,” she moaned.

_ Come on. Come on. Come, burn you! I refuse to go out like this! _

“You play this game well. I should move ... there are other ways ... but ...uhhnn ...” said Jec. Clinging on for dear life, Mat refused to come. He thought it might well drive him mad, but he refused with all the stubborn spirit of his people. His cock hammered away at Jec, who was moaning wantonly now. “I should stop you ... but ... you really are good ... Matrim CAUTHON!” He felt her already tight pussy clench around him as she cried out.

_ She came! I won! I live! _

Relief flooded Mat’s body, and less than a heartbeat later his seed flooded Jec’s. A long, loud groan escaped him. His vision went black and stayed that way for he knew not how long. The orgasm went on and on, and when it finally ended he was left feeling like a wrung out washrag. Darkness claimed him. He was vaguely aware of women speaking nearby, but hadn’t the energy left to make sense of it all, much less speak.

“The wetlander won Maiden’s Song. I honestly did not think he had it in him.”

“I thought I had already learned not to take them lightly, but this was a surprise for me as well.”

“I could have defeated him if I wished to. I chose to be merciful.”

“Oh, be still, Jec. You were undone by your own lustfulness.”

“What!?”

“It is true, spearsister, do not try to deny it.”

“In any case, what should we do now? I do not want what happened here to become public knowledge, but ...”

“A challenge was issued, and a challenge was met.  _ Ji’e’toh _ demands that the victor be honoured. All must know of his prowess. It is the way.”

“So be it. But I wouldn’t want to be him when the others find out ...”


	12. Wolf's Bane

CHAPTER 9: Wolf’s Bane

Rand had no idea how long he’d been searching. Time flowed differently in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . But he was increasingly convinced that it had been a mistake to come here. He had hoped to encounter Perrin, as he often had in the past, but there was no sign of him tonight. That wasn’t shocking by any means—they hadn’t arranged to meet—but he was still disappointed. The Theren had been in a bad state when he’d left. He would have liked to have gotten an update on its condition.

It was to the Theren’s reflection in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ that he’d come, and even here the scars of war could be seen. Burned farms and fallen trees littered the once peaceful place. He stayed on the outskirts of Emond’s Field, no longer feeling welcome within it. It was too easy to recall how they’d looked at him when they found out what he was.

He could feel their eyes on him even now, despite the dreamworld’s usual emptiness, and sense their hostile intent. It was a familiar feeling. Too familiar ...

Rand stepped aside just as an arrow streaked through the spot where he’d been standing. An arrow fired from behind. He spun around, a snarl on his face, and seized the One Power.

The other Thereners had tried to shoot him back then, too, but he didn’t think that was the cause of this attack. As his eyes searched the hills and woods around him, a man’s harsh laughter drifted to his ears. That was too familiar as well ...

“Luc! Or Isam. Or whatever the hell you are. Come out and face me!” he shouted. The man had killed Hurin, and led a Trolloc army to the Theren. He would pay for that.

“So brave! With the One Power at your command,” Luc sneered, from the opposite direction to where the arrow had come. “It would be different if you were without it, boy, mark me on that.”

“I’ll do more than mark you,” Rand growled.

What was done to the living in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ could affect their waking bodies, but what the living did to anything else here seemed to have no effect on its reflection in the real world at all. Had it been otherwise he would have held back. As it was ... Fire bloomed amidst the woods, and the tops of the hills were kicked aside like sandcastles struck by an angry child’s foot. With  _ saidin _ boiling within him, Rand rained destruction down all around. Surely one of those attacks had to find his target.

“Pitiful! And to think, your fellow little farmers actually accounted you a fine shot!” Luc shouted, this time from yet another direction. He had to shout, to be heard over the roaring flames.

Rand drew hard on  _ saidin _ , and laid about himself, raining fire and destruction down on the place that was once his home. “Just die already!”

“You first,” a voice whispered in his ear.

He had focused his strength on the attack, and left little in reserve for defence. Wide-eyed, Rand threw himself forwards in a desperate and futile attempt to escape the knife he was sure was about to lodge itself between his ribs.

There was the sound of a scuffle and man shouted in pain, but it was not Rand. Rolling into a crouch, he gathered what strength he had left and readied to shield or strike as needed.

A finely dressed man with red hair was down in the dirt, wrestling with some kind of brown-furred beast. He managed to get a boot between himself and the beast’s belly, and heaved it away. Blood trailed from its fangs as it flew back to land on all fours, ready to spring again.

The blood was Luc’s. Prone on his back, he looked from the beast to Rand, who had a clean shot at him. His eyes went wide, and he disappeared half a heartbeat before the ground he’d been lying on exploded in a gout of fire and earth. Literally disappeared. One moment he was there, and the next he was ... who knew where? The sensation of being watched went with him, along with the mocking laughter, but Rand would have liked to have called him back, just for a moment. He wanted the man dead, not just scared off.

Luc’s escape left him alone with the beast. She was—or at least she looked like—a cross between wolf and woman, an odd creature with a muzzled face and a lean body covered in brown fur. She moved on all fours, like a wolf, but her arms and legs were too long for that gait to fit her; long, and oddly jointed. She crouched on the hillside now, tail tucked and her head turned aside, watching him warily.

He knew her, and this was not the first time he’d seen her take on a form like this.

“Thanks for your help, Raine.” He was tempted to ask her how close it had been. Would Luc’s knife have reached his ribs if she hadn’t jumped in? Or had he managed to avoid it with his desperate lunge? Shivering, he decided he didn’t want to know.

She responded to his thanks by closing her eyes and letting her head drop to her chest.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

That muzzle could not form human words, but her voice came to him anyway.  _ I am so very, very far from alright. But I was not injured _ .

“Well, we’d better not stay here, in case he comes back.”

_ Yes. Slayer is a dangerous predator. Even for you _ .

“Slayer? Do you mean Luc?”

_ Slayer is Slayer. The beasts know him by no other name. Beasts like me _ .

Shaking his head, Rand took her by the arm. He didn’t want to risk getting separated when they moved, since distance was as wonky as time in this crazy place. Raine’s fur proved surprisingly soft, underneath the darker guard hairs. “Let’s go. Somewhere ... random, I think. Where he can’t follow. And stop calling yourself a beast.”

The world blurred around them, the familiar sights of the Theren melting away in an instant, to be replaced by a rockier landscape, covered in tough grass and tougher heather that had not yet begun to flower. They were near a rocky cliff, and white waves churned the sea beyond it. It felt almost familiar, though it was nowhere he’d been before. Somewhere in Falmerden perhaps.

_ It’s the truth. I tried to be a girl again, but one look at you and it all went away _ . Raine was standing on two legs now, albeit legs that bent in an inhuman way. She hunched over as if she wanted to go back to all fours.  _ You saw it. You knew straight away how twisted and wrong I am _ .

Rand sighed. His own head was such a messed up place; how was he supposed to help her sort her own out? He still had to try, though. “You aren’t twisted or wrong, Raine. You just have some difficult and ... very different issues to wrestle with. Being a wolfsister doesn’t mean you’re an animal, not so far as I’m concerned, at least. Animals don’t spend anywhere near as much time worrying over their natures as you do, for example. I know animals. I used to be a shepherd. If the sheep had been half as interested in the nature of existence as you were, it would have made my chores a lot less boring. You’re far too smart to be a beast.”

_ Wolves are smarter than sheep _ , she said, in the strange, soundless way that this place seemed to allow her. For all her stubbornness, her thoughts felt a bit less heavy now.

“And you’re smarter still.” He went to look over the cliff. It was a long way down, and the wind from the sea carried a fierce chill. “Perrin shared your fears. He was worried he’d lose control of himself, and stop being a man as a result.”

_ He’s right to fear it _ .

“Maybe. I don’t know. But I know that you’ve both been overwhelmed by your instincts in the past, yet you’re both still yourselves now. You said it all went away. Meaning what? Your humanity? Well, you’ve been fighting the Shadow and making friends and holding conversations just fine for someone with no humanity. Do you not think you might be exaggerating your shortcomings a bit too much?”

She hadn’t followed him, and she didn’t answer his question, but something about the way she was standing told him she was still listening.

“Losing control didn’t destroy you that time. You came back to yourself. It might have been a struggle, but you did it. And if you did it once, then you’ve proven you could do it twice. Or as many times as needed. Have faith in yourself, you’re stronger than you realise.”

Her lambent eyes were fixed on him by then. She was crouched among the heather, still looking like the wolfwoman rather than her normal self. Those eyes were the only part of her that looked the same, he realised. And while the colour might be far from usual, they were still a human’s eyes. He went back to her.

“Look at you now, even. You might have fur, but I can tell you aren’t an animal just by the look in your eyes.”

_ You don’t think me wretched and ugly? _

“Of course not! I mean, I know what you really look like, and you’re far from ugly.” It suddenly occurred to him that that wouldn’t really help in this situation. “And, ah, you don’t look ugly even now. Strange, I’m not going to deny. But not ugly. Wolves are handsome beasts. Just be glad you aren’t a chickensister.”

She made the weirdest noise, one that made him jump as much because of how odd it sounded as because of how quiet she’d been until then. It took him a moment to realise she was laughing, and once he did he laughed with her. Laughter was a good sign, he hoped.

_ You rejected me because I couldn’t control myself, not because of how I look _ , she said, nodding her canine head.

“It was simpler than that. The idea of you being obliged to sleep with someone you don’t even know or like made me uncomfortable. I didn’t want to be a party to that.”

Memories of the  _ Liberty _ flashed through Rand’s mind, bringing with them a profound sense of exposure. As was the way of things in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , his clothes changed with his thoughts, and he found himself wearing nothing but boots and breeches, as he had throughout his journey on that ship. He remembered Avaleen’s talk of redemption earlier that day, and thought perhaps that he knew now what she’d meant.

Raine’s gaze tracked up his body until her eyes met his.  _ I know you now. Nothing is making me follow you ... but you are still all I can think of, Rand _ .

A pleasant little tingle danced through him when she said his name. His real name, and not the other one she usually called him by. He wasn’t sure why, but the way she said it felt special. He might well be this Shadowkiller the wolves called him, but he was still himself.

“Thank you,” he said, and reached out to pet her head.

She leaned into his touch.  _ Will you hate me if I tell you I still want to be part of your pack? _

He didn’t have a pack, obviously, but if she meant the group of people gathering around him to fight the Shadow ... “You already are.”

Her clawed hand gripped his forearm with surprising strength, but she was careful not to break the skin with those nails of hers—hard and sharp and black. _ Do you think I could ever be worthy of being your mate? _ she entreated him silently.

That kind of devotion did not sit well with Rand, not from Masema, not from Saeri and not from her. “Light, Raine. It was never about worthiness. You’d be worthy of any man in the world.”

_ But look at me _ .

He did. He looked at the inhuman head with the human eyes, the lean body made larger by a thick coat of brown hair, one that completely hid the nudity of the girl hidden beneath it all. The tail. The claws. He looked, and he asked himself a question: How far was he willing to go to prove how undeserved this self-loathing of hers was?

By way of an answer, he went to one knee before her, took her head in his hands, and touched his lips to her rougher, immobile ones.

Her whiskers tickled him, and her breath was hot on his face. Her voice was as shocked as her wide golden eyes.  _ Oh. You would, would ... Even now? _

A hard nose pressed against his. Long ears silked through his fingers. He made his decision. “Even now.”

She tackled him to the ground with surprising strength, but the claws that rested upon his defenceless skin rested there lightly. To his great surprise, a long wet tongue ran up one side of his face repeatedly. He was still blinking at the unenlightening sky when she started giving the other side of his face an equally thorough licking.

“Well, that’s certainly new,” he whispered, but Raine wasn’t in the mood for talking.

She wagged her tail energetically as she licked and pawed at him, and didn’t hesitate to bring her claws into play when her rough fondling was impeded by his breeches. She shredded them easily, and freed his stiffening manhood.

The idea of those claws getting too near his most tender parts was alarming, so he rolled her over onto her back and began exploring the softer, lighter fur of her belly with his hand. She was warm, and pleasant to the touch, and, up above, at the chest ... yes, he found she had a woman’s breasts buried under all that fur.

He thought she was enjoying his explorations as much as he was, but she wanted more than just a petting. Growling low, Raine turned around and hopped into a low crouch, arching her back, and lifting her tail, presenting herself like a bitch in heat.

It was a more arousing sight than he would have ever expected it to be, and made all the more so by how taboo it all felt. Raised a shepherd, part of him still thought of wolves as his natural enemy, but another part of him was reacting to  _ this _ wolf in an entirely different way.

Raine didn’t have to hold her pose for long before Rand was kneeling behind her. He found her lean hips beneath her fur, but had difficulty finding more than that. She wagged her tail some more, whimpering plaintively, while he searched between her wolf-like legs for an opening.

_ Please. Please. Don’t stop. First. Shadowkiller. Mate me. Please _ .

He had to part quite a bit of wet hair to find what he was looking for. By the time he did, her begging had gotten so loud in his mind that he wasted no time at all before shoving his cock into the wolfwoman’s hot sex.

_ YES! _

“Blood and ashes,” he gasped.

Her heat enveloped his cock and sent pleasure spiking through him. The fur on her hips and legs, and on the tail that brushed against his chest, warded him from the chill coastal air, and made it impossible to pretend this was a normal woman he was cavorting with.

The whimpering and the pleading and the tail wagging stopped as soon as she felt Rand enter her. Once she was mounted, Raine grew passive, leaving Rand to wrestle with his thoughts as he rode her.

He’d done some fine talking about how nice and normal and not at all freakish she was, but now that he found himself deep in the moment of truth—among other things—he had to wonder how much of all that talk he’d really meant. He couldn’t deny that something felt very, very strange about this. He knew that what  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ showed didn’t always accurately reflect the real world. He knew that Raine, the real Raine, was a skinny young woman with a broody nature and short red hair. A human woman, one who just happened to have eyes of a strange, yellow hue.

But here and now, she looked nothing like herself at all. Here and now, she was more wolf than woman; and he the shepherd was fucking her as hard as he could.

If there was truly nothing freakish about her, then this shouldn’t have felt strange.

If there was truly nothing freakish about him, then he should stop.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

Perhaps he wasn’t qualified to tell anyone what normal was. Perhaps he was as much a freak, if not more so, than she was. And perhaps that meant they belonged together. There was another thing, too: it felt really, really good to be a freak.

She was looking back at him. Watching him fuck her, her golden eye so much calmer than he’d expected. Smiling, he combed his fingers through the hair on her flanks and shoulders.

“That’s my good girl,” he breathed.

Her ears twitched, and she gave a lazy wag of her tail.

He found her hairy breasts and kneaded them with his hands. The way she began rocking back against him he took for approval, so he kept at it.

“You’re a beautiful girl, Raine. Here and back there. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

_ Don’t lie. Monster. Me, not you _ .

“Monster? You just helped me fight off a Darkfriend assassin. Monsters don’t generally do that sort of thing.” And even if they noticed someone else’s fears about themselves, they wouldn’t be so quick to try to reassure them, as she had just done.

Pleasurable as it was, taking her from behind like this didn’t feel right all of a sudden. He pulled out, pushed her over onto her side and spread her legs. There were long black claws on the toes of her padded feet. The girl with the wolf’s head stared at him as he knelt above her, naked and erect. He smiled.

“You can be so silly at times. But I like that about you. It’s cute. You’re cute.”

He climbed atop her then, and her arms went around him when he did. Just as the sheath of her sex was soon around him. The heat of her was astounding, so much so that he found himself wishing for an open window before remembering that they were outside. Sweat coated his skin in the few places where it was not quickly wiped away by the active embrace of Raine’s fur-coated limbs. Though he rode her slowly now, she was panting even more than she had before.

Rand held her tight and whispered reassurances in her ear as he made love to her in their shared dream.

_ How can you touch me like this? Knowing what I am? _

“How can I not? Knowing what you are? You’re too harsh on yourself, sweetie. Far too harsh.”

Her whimpers changed, becoming lighter, and a little of the strength went out of the limbs that clutched him to her. Rand kept up his steady pace, lost in the thrilling heat of her.

“I almost believe it, Shadowkiller. If  _ you _ say it, then maybe it’s true,” she said in a light, guttural voice.

“It is,” he said firmly.

He’d been petting her head for some time after, before he realised she had spoken aloud, instead of with her thoughts.

When he pushed himself up, he found her changed. The muzzle had mostly receded, though her nose remained hardened. The ears had gotten a little shorter. Her whiskers were gone. Her face was still covered by a short coat of brown fur, her eyes still shone gold, and her fangs were still long and sharp, protruding over a pair of kissable, human lips. She looked less like a wolf, though not fully human either. She looked beautiful.

She smiled toothily when he told her as much. “Not half as beautiful as you,” she said in that light growl.

“Flatterer,” he breathed, as he leaned down to kiss her.

For all her fierce appearance, and the sharpness of the fangs his lips brushed against, Raine proved a timid kisser. Careful and uncertain. It fell to him to take charge, of that and of their lovemaking. He rode her slowly until her moans became too loud and too frequent and forced their lips to part company. Then he rode her faster and faster. Her nails found his skin then, and drew blood, but he kept going, as much for his own sake as for hers.

The tail that lay between their legs had been brushing back and forth against his thighs with each new thrust, but suddenly it stopped. She squeezed his chest hard enough to push the breath from his lungs, and her pussy clamped around him as though demanding the seed he was now eager to give her. A long howl burst from Raine’s lips as she came, and a word burst into his mind along with it.

_ SHADOWKILLER! _

It was a silly word. But when it was said like that, he thought he could learn to like the sound of it. While she was still coming, he reached around to grasp her furry bottom and began pounding her harder than ever before. With his hands at its base, he could feel her tail begin moving again.

When his own climax burst through him, he let out not a howl but a strained whisper.

“Raine!”

Clawed fingers combed through his hair, and a wet muzzle rubbed against the side of his neck encouragingly as he came inside the wolfsister. She kissed his neck, and her clawed fingers brushed carefully across his straining buttocks. The haze of lust left him along with his seed, and he became aware of how much their surroundings had changed. The heather had bloomed in clumps of pretty purple, the harsh wind had died down, and the sun had driven the grey clouds away so that it could shine down on their once-lonely cliffside bed.

When the last of his seed had left him, Rand smiled lazily at the beautifully strange looking girl in his arms. “That was worth the wait of lifetimes,” he mumbled.

“I chose it,” she said. “I choose you.”

She might have said more, but he made the mistake of resting his eyes, just for a moment, and relaxing in the satisfaction, the heat, the luxuriance of her fur brushing against ever part of him. He relaxed, and fell out of one dream and into another.

Whatever that dream was, it did not linger in his mind as the other had. That, he didn’t think he could forget even if he had wanted to.

He was woken suddenly, not by a tapping at the door—that he would probably not have even noticed, so late at night—but by the sound of a woman’s voice.

“Rand al’Thor. Raine Cinclare wishes to speak to you. We have warned her off but she says it is important. A lesson may be needed, possibly.” It was Ayla who spoke. One of the Maidens.

“No. No lessons,” he said sleepily. He could imagine the kind of lesson she meant.

As he freed himself from the blankets, he became aware of a curious thing. Though he had only recently been with a woman, he felt none of the lassitude that usually accompanied such a climax. If anything, he felt its opposite. He was so horny that, if it was his bed back home he’d been sleeping in, he likely would have become intimately familiar with his hand. It was very strange, remembering the satisfaction but feeling none of it. It also left him with an awkward dilemma, what with Ayla standing right there at his bedside. The moonlight shining in from the narrow windows didn’t show much, but it might still show too much for his comfort.

“Ah, tell her she can come in,” he said, not leaving the bed fully, as he’d intended.

“Some wreaths are too big to jump across, and have sharp thorns,” Ayla said cryptically. He didn’t hear her footsteps, but he saw the light from the anteroom shine through the crack in the door as she slipped out.

It took a while before the door opened again. “My choice. My consequences,” someone said. It was a familiar voice, but it sounded almost strange now, compared to how she had been speaking ... how long ago was it?  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ was a very strange place indeed.

A woman’s silhouette stood in the open doorway. A silhouette whose eyes glowed like two burnished coins, even in the darkness. Her hair was cut close to her skull, and she was wearing a nightdress that might, in different circumstances, have covered her whole body. As it was, the light shone through it to reveal the slender figure beneath and its smooth, feminine curves. There was no tail to be seen. The door closed behind her, bringing back the darkness, and leaving Rand feeling more frustrated than ever.

He seized  _ saidin _ long enough to light one of the lamps. Raine should have jumped at that reminder of what he was. A male channeler, a madman and monster. But she just kept prowling across the carpet towards his bed.

“Shadowkiller. I want. I  _ need _ ,” she growled, hers eyes glowing hungrily in the lamplight. Her clawless hands were clutched at the front of her nightdress, near her crotch.

“So do I,” Rand husked. He tossed the last of the blankets aside, and revealed the desperate state their shared dream had left him in.

One look at the tent in his smallclothes and she started running. She threw off the nightdress as she ran, revealing a pale, leanly muscular body, with a thick red bush, and breasts that were not so small that they did not sway with her motion. He had only a moment to savour the sight before she was on him.

Her lips were much softer than they had been in the dream, yet her kisses were much hungrier and more demanding. “Mate,” she said between kisses. “Mate me. Please.”

Rand’s reluctance to do so was a distant memory now, one he could only look back on with confusion. Refusing her was unthinkable.

It might also have been impossible. Raine didn’t bother lowering his smallclothes to free his cock, she just ripped them in half with her bare hands, and gripped him hard.

“Yes. This. In me. Quick.”

“Gladly,” he growled.

Before he could decide on the how of it, she was spinning around and going to all fours. The pink-lipped pussy she presented him was already dripping with her juices. He was already halfway inside her before he realised what he was doing. Even then he didn’t stop, just grasped her by the hips until his belly was pressing up against her skinny bottom.

She gripped the tousled sheets and let out a long hiss of satisfaction as he mounted her. When he was done, she gyrated her hips, caressing every inch of him with the hot silkiness of her pussy.

“Just what I needed,” she groaned.

“I need more,” he said.

She looked back at him and met his eyes. “Take it. Take me. I’m yours, Shadowkiller. You are my First.”

She was tight, but he knew that was not what she meant. It didn’t matter. He took her, just as she offered, just as he wanted. They fucked hard, without thought for technique. Like beasts. He didn’t care about that. And if she still did, her growls didn’t show it.

“You can let loose if you want. I’ll help bring you back,” he told her, though her ass was already reddened by the smacking of his hips against it.

“I know you would,” she said.

They were both too excited from what had happened in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ to last long, but he wanted to make sure she finished before he did, so he reached around to play with her pussy. She hadn’t done it herself, still preferring to clutch the sheets as he rode her, but she smiled gratefully at his touch, then flattened her cheek against the bed, and moaned wantonly.

Sandwiched between his hips and his hand, and impaled on his cock, Raine was soon brought to the screaming orgasm she’d come in search of. She left them both soaked, and the surety that her body was now as satiated as her mind had been earlier, freed Rand to selfishly pursue his own satisfaction. She didn’t object to the rough fucking he gave her. She just knelt there, gasping for breath, and let him have his way with her.

Soon enough, pleasure enough to blast all thoughts from his mind flooded through Rand. His seed flooded into Raine as well. She didn’t object. When the frenzied slapping of their hips had run its course, he found her looking up at him and smiling happily.

Spent, he collapsed on the bed beside her. “That’s my good girl,” he gasped.

There was one more shock for him that night: Raine Cinclare could blush.

Red-faced, she lowered her eyes. “I was a good girl. Before the wolves. This sort of thing ... I would never have done it before.”

He held her face gently and guided her lips to his. “You’re still good. There’s no reason you can’t be both.”

She smiled tremulously. “I hope so.”

She didn’t resist when he pulled her into his embrace. “We’ll find out. Together.”

For all his reluctance to get involved with her, Rand found their new circumstances very satisfying. He wasn’t sure if it would help Raine deal with her issues, or just make them worse, but it reminded him of an old saying that went: “Sometimes you have to grab the wolf by the ears”. Of course, he remembered another old saying, too. “When you have a wolf by the ears, it’s as hard to let go as to hold on”. If having Raine as one of his lovers was always going to be like this, then that old saying was going to prove very true indeed.


	13. Neither Predator Nor Prey

CHAPTER 10: Neither Predator Nor Prey

Moiraine wouldn’t approve, and she wouldn’t be the only one either. If anyone learned that he’d sneaked out like this, they’d be sure to have words with him. The dangers, the exposure, the stupidity. Rand could almost hear their voices already, mixed in with those of the Tairen crowds he slipped through. He couldn’t spend his whole life hiding in the Stone, though. There were important things that he needed to do. And there were important things that he wanted to do as well.

Anonymity was as good a defence as any, he’d decided, on conceiving this excursion. If he’d brought any of his guards, whether the Aiel or Shienarans or Defenders, people would have noticed them and wondered who they were following. The plain clothes and hooded cloak he was wearing wouldn’t have been enough to hide him, then.

Even so, he had not much time to waste before they came looking for him. The excuse of taking some air on the Stone’s roof had gotten him privacy. Some liberal use of the One Power had gotten him safely to the ground. Now he’d need a quick pace and a watchful eye to finish his shopping before an angry mob of loyal soldiers descended on him.

He went for jewellery first. It was usually a safe choice, and he could be certain that Saeri, at least, would like some. She was rarely parted from the necklace he’d gotten her back in Falmerden. At first, he’d been concerned that he wouldn’t be able to carry enough gold to afford everything, but a visit to Avaleen had set his mind at ease. A deposit was all he needed to have in hand, and the thick purses that hung from his swordbelt held more than enough for that. The rest could be settled with promissory notes.

He would need to get her something, too. What they were to each other was still a source of some confusion, but it wouldn’t be right to leave her out.

Snippets of conversation from those he passed caught his attention, much of it troubling. The prospect of war with Illian was being discussed by a surprising amount of people. Many of them seemed to relish the idea far more than Rand did. The intruders in the Stone, of which he was counted, were the most common topic, though. Some of the talk was positive, some was negative, precious little of it came close to being the truth. Most seemed to think there were thousands of Aiel in the city, rather than two hundred or so.

When they spoke of Rand himself, they became noticeably jittery. Some men sang his praises in a way that made him cringe inwardly, as much from the undeserved flattery as from the nervous looks in their eyes, as though they thought someone might be watching them, and so shouted out his supposed glory loud enough to be heard by any. There was fear behind their flattery. And that made it no flattery at all, but the opposite.

He heard the name “Aes Sedai” whispered by an aproned goodwife to her neighbour, and frowned suspiciously in their direction. The second woman reeled back at her friend’s words, and claimed that they’d just be trading one lionfish for another.

Gathering their meaning, he hurried on. Moiraine’s spies probably wouldn’t have been that unsubtle anyway. That at least some Tairens wanted to bring the Aes Sedai down on him was worrying, but not unexpected. Even those who hated the White Tower usually saw the necessity of it when faced with a male channeler. How many, and how soon? He had little time.

“Still better than the High Nobles,” a lean clothes merchant said to his customer as Rand passed his stall. “It’s a good sign that he had their torture tools melted down. I took heart from that.”

“I suppose so,” the customer—an unsmiling woman in sombre dress—allowed, “but even if his intentions are charitable now, how long will it last? The taint cannot be ignored.”

The merchant sighed. “I know.”

Impulsively, Rand decided to buy something from the man’s shop. It wasn’t the richest looking place, and he’d intended to spend freely on those who’d helped him get this far, but there had to be something there that would suit one of them. He kept his hood up as he browsed, and responded in a low and unwelcoming voice when the shop owner spoke to him, not wanting to risk being recognised. There was a nice pink cloak that Imoen would like. He bought that, as well as a new shirt and boots for Tam, whose measurements he knew well, and who he knew wouldn’t want anything fancy. Depositing the items in his pack, and slinging it back over his shoulder, he hastened off. The Aiel would likely have realised he was gone by now. Moiraine probably knew, too.

The streets were quieter when he reached his destination. Outdoor displays were replaced by frowning men who seemed to have been hired for their size more than anything else. Unwelcoming eyes followed Rand as he browsed, and when he approached the silversmith’s door, a hard-faced man stepped into his path.

“You look lost, farmer. The Tavar is that way.”

He seemed to think the vague jerk of his heavy jaw was direction enough, assuming he thought at all. Rand didn’t have any time or interest in indulging him. He set his hand to  _ Callandor _ ’s hilt. The sword was even more securely wrapped in rags that he was, which actually made it look more like a sword that it would have in its natural, glassy state. He’d prefer not to use it, though, so he jingled one of the purses with his other hand, and gave the guard a hard stare.

“I’m here to shop, not talk. Or are you going to tell your master to take the lost custom out of your pay?”

The man stepped aside with a snort, either for that suggestion or just for Rand in general. Ignoring him, Rand pushed into the shop and set the little bell by its door to tingling. The woman who ran the place didn’t look any happier to see him that her guard had been, so he unhooked a purse and set it wordlessly on the counter. She touched it with one finger only, as if afraid there was something disgusting inside, but the sight of all that polished gold soon brightened her countenance. He gave her sudden offer of a friendly tour as little acknowledgement as he had her initial sneer, and did his shopping in silence.

She had just what he wanted for Saeri, though, a pair of silver rings with small sapphires set in them, to match her necklace. Nothing else caught his eye, so he paid, left, and visited the goldsmith. That was fruitful, yielding him a nice necklace for Imoen—gold and rubies, similar to yet different from Saeri’s. He didn’t want to risk them getting jealous of each other. There was a medallion that was close enough to what he’d imagined for Avaleen, though he had to argue longer than he liked with the goldsmith to get her to remove the chain, and not charge him for it. He hadn’t really been sure what to get Nynaeve, but he knew it right away once he saw it. There were other nice pieces that he considered getting for Elayne or Luci, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was entirely appropriate to be buying jewellery for girls he wasn’t involved with in that way. In the end, he decided against it, and went looking elsewhere.

A long ribbon of white silk would do for Luci, he decided. She’d grown her hair out a bit, since cutting it as short as a boy’s in response to what had happened back in her home village. It pleased him to think that might be a sign of recovery.

Mat’s gift he could get from Avaleen. And the Shienarans’ he’d already commissioned. Thom and Lan were pretty self-sufficient. It was hard to think of anything they’d want or need. And shopping for Loial proved a lot harder than he’d expected. Books, writing materials, something to make him comfortable away from the  _ stedding _ . Rand had ideas of what to get him, but nothing proved available. All the pens he’d looked at were sized for human hands. The Ogier kept to themselves so much that it was all but impossible to find any businesses that catered to them in human lands.

He was adding Elayne’s gift to his pack when they found him.

Moiraine and Lan were in the forefront of the group, their faces matched for disapproval. They might have been said to lead them even, but Rand wasn’t sure if the dozen Aiel would have agreed. There were no Defenders in sight. His disappearance must not have concerned them much.

“You test me, Rand. You test me sorely, and you will come to regret it one day,” Moiraine said, her sternness not quite hiding how tired she was. Of him, no doubt.

“Of all the regrets in my future, I don’t think that will be the biggest.”

Raine was with them, staring at him intently with her golden eyes. She’d been asleep in his bed when he’d last seen her; naked and curled up tight. Now she was wearing a decidedly less peaceful expression, along with the same ragged dress she’d worn when they first met.

_ Maybe I should have bought her clothes instead _ , he thought. Not that there was any reason he couldn’t buy both.

“Do you like green, Raine? For clothes, I mean.”

She scratched at her close-cut red hair. “I ... I used to have a green dress. Before ... you know.”

He nodded. “Good choice. I think it would suit you. Let’s go find you a nice one.”

Urien stepped up to him, tanned face expressionless. “There are many eyes here, Rand al’Thor. And many hands.”

Rand clenched his jaw in annoyance, but a quick look around was enough to show him that the Aiel was right. As he’d expected, being seen with them had drawn attention. The Tairens might not know his face, but they knew his name and what he was. Dozens of whispered conversations shivered around him, with three words standing out among them.

“The Dragon Reborn.”

He sighed. Was it too much to ask that he should be able to take his new girlfriend out and buy her a present? Burn them. Burn them and burn the Prophecies. He was going to find Raine the nicest dress in Tear.

“They are right. It is not safe here, Shadowkiller. You should return to the den.”

He stared at Raine. Her mouth was downturned, but she didn’t look particularly sad. She was too busy scowling suspiciously at everyone around them. But if even she wanted him to go back ...

“Fine. Here. Take this,” he said, unhooking one of his purses. “Buy yourself a nice green dress. Or whatever you want. I ... I guess I should get back to work.”

Many women would have snatched at a purse that heavy with gold, but Raine accepted it is gingerly as if it was full of jagged, rusty scrap.

“Buy?”

Rand smiled. “Yes. Consider it a challenge. Or an order, if you like. Buy yourself as many nice things as you can find.”

He pressed the purse into her cupped hands, and left her standing there with her shoulders hunched. He felt like hunching his own as he let himself be marched back through the streets by Moiraine and Lan, but he kept his back straight and tried to look as though it was something he’d intended to do all along.

Part of him scorned the common folk he marched past. The servile way they behaved around the High Nobles wasn’t easy to admire. And being hated didn’t exactly inspire love in him towards his haters. It wasn’t easy to look past those responses and find compassion for the people of Tear, but he managed it. The Theren folk had always prided themselves on their stubborn will, but it hadn’t taken that long for them to bow their heads to the Whitecloaks when trouble came calling. For these people, trouble was a cohabitant. It was up to Rand to change that. He snorted to himself. The Dragon Reborn was the last person anyone should have to rely on for protection.

He wasn’t the only one to find the Tairens unimpressive. The Aiel who surrounded him looked out on them like a pack of well-fed wolves looking at sheep they couldn’t be bothered eating today, but probably would later.

“Even a Jenn would not have the patience to deal with all the rabble around here,” Ayla sneered.

“They have nice things, but they are not so impressive,” agreed the pouty young woman he’d seen before.

“What was your name again?” he asked her.

“I am Nici!” she said, looking surprised that he’d forgotten. “And you must ... you better to nicer. You need me.”

“I’ll try to remember next time. I was out getting some gifts for my friend Merile, you see. It must have slipped my mind.” That had the desired effect. Unlike most Aiel, this Nici wore her feelings openly. Jealousy, in this case. “Yes. I want to get her the most expensive stuff in the city, come to think of it.” She didn’t look at all pleased, but that served her right for being mean to Merile.

“Excuse me? Her? Has anyone ever told you you have crazy taste in women?” she said scornfully.

“Yes. Yes, they have,” Moiraine said.

Rand scowled. “Actually, it’s usually them being told to steer clear of me.”

Nici looked confused. “But why?”

“Lots of reasons. That I go shopping for half a dozen instead of for just one, for example.”

The Aiel exchanged blank looks. “Wetlanders,” Ayla said, as if that was all that needed saying. Rand decided to leave them to their scorn, and walked the rest of the way back to the Stone in silence. At least he’d gotten most of his shopping done before they’d found him. Maybe he could find some more gifts in the Stone itself.

He did, but he also found disappointment. Not so much from Moiraine’s refusal to train Merile—he’d known it was pointless to ask again—but from the reactions of some of his friends to their gifts. Mat being surly, and Nynaeve demanding to know what he was thinking buying her gifts as though they were a couple, was all very predictable. He knew what they were like and loved them anyway. He hadn’t expected Elayne to get offended, though, and no matter how much he turned the situation around in his mind he couldn’t figure out what he’d done wrong.

He was brooding on it in his room when Raine arrived back. She had a large bundle in her arms, and he was glad to see that Merile was with her. The items he’d bought for them were somewhat complimentary, so he thought it fitting that he give them both out at once.

“I have something for each of you,” he told them. “They aren’t much, I admit, but when I saw them I thought of you.”

“Ohhh. Now I’m curious. Are they swords? You like swording, don’t you? And we’re both short and skinny like swords,” Merile said. “And you like us. Raine told me you let her sleep with you last night.”

He paused with his hand still in the satchel of presents. “I hope that’s not a problem.”

“Don’t be silly. The leaf falls where it is meant to,” Merile said with an easy smile. “What did you get me?”

She really was one of a kind. The only present most women would have wanted after learning of his trysts with Raine would have been his head on a plate, but not Merile. She was almost too good to be human.

“Well, it’s not a sword, I think you’ll be glad to hear. I remembered seeing your collection of carved miniatures back in your caravan, and thought you might like to start rebuilding it. So I got you these.”

He produced a pair of wooden deer, an antlered stag and a slender doe. They weren’t the most expensive of presents, and he watched her face carefully, hoping she would like them anyway. It was with no small amount of relief that he saw her face light up in response.

“You remembered! They were all lost when the Trollocs attacked ... along with ... Never mind. This isn’t a good time. Thank you, Rand. You’re the sweetest.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “I got you one at the same shop, Raine. I wasn’t going to at first, but she looked so proud and noble that I couldn’t ignore her.”

The wolfsister flushed. “Is that so ...” She shyly accepted the statuette he offered her. It was, of course, a wolf, poised with its head raised and ears perked, no taller than a finger. “It’s pretty. Wolves aren’t always pretty, though.”

He smiled at her. “You are.”

“I, I bought a gift, too. For me. For us maybe.” Red-faced, she set down her bundle and rummaged inside.

“A nice dress?”

“Ah, that, yes. But other things, too. There’s ...there’s something special I wanted to give you.”

“What is it?” Merile asked, as she trotted over to see. “Oh my.”

Rand didn’t echo her words when Raine produced the gift she’d bought herself, though he came close. “It” proved to be a length of thin chain attached to a ring, which was in turn attached to a band of black leather, studded all around with polished metal. A collar and leash. He swallowed to try to clear his dry throat.

Ignoring Merile’s raised brows, Raine faced him defiantly. “I don’t want to be a wolf. And I’m not just a girl. So ...” She slipped the collar around her neck and buckled it tight, then took hold of the chain and offered it to him, her golden eyes shining with emotion. “Please. I need you to, to keep me ... Just keep me.”

His hand trembled as he accepted her gift. There was much more to it than just a chain, he knew. So much more. If he thought about it too carefully he was sure that fear would make him turn it down ... but Raine was standing there, sweet and pretty and vulnerable, offering her everything to him, and his blood was rushing far too hot for clear and careful thought.

His breeches were uncomfortably tight.

“Take off your clothes,” he heard himself tell the collared girl in a rough voice.

She obeyed without hesitation, quickly shedding her dress and shoes, stockings and smallclothes, until she was standing before him in nothing but her new collar. Her body was pale and lean, and her breasts crowned by stiff, pink nipples.

Staring her in the eyes, Rand backed up towards the bed. She followed without waiting for the chain he held to come taut.

The slightest of tugs was enough to make her hop up onto the bed and get down on her hands and knees. He positioned himself behind her, still holding the leash, and began unbuckling his belt.

“Let me help you with that,” Merile said.

The Tinker slipped up beside him and guided his hand away with a gentle grip. He was surprised to find her naked at first, but then realised he shouldn’t be. She was much bolder than her friendly speech and peaceful philosophy would make you think.

“You really don’t mind this?” he asked.

Merile tugged down his breeches to free his cock. “No. I’m glad you have such good taste. Raine’s my friend, too. And I want to see you how you two fit together. I’m going to stretch you wide with this big thing now, Raine. Are you sure you’re ready?”

The wolfsister nodded impatiently. “Put it in me. Please.”

“Here it comes.” Merile held him with both hands, and aimed him carefully at Raine’s pussy. He didn’t try to move himself; didn’t want to. There was something deliciously intimate about letting her guide his manhood into her friend’s sex. “Oh my! Look at you stretch. Can you take it all, or should I stop?”

“All of it,” Raine growled.

“Here it comes then.” Merile eased over to the side and put her hand on his ass. She smiled at him. “Fuck her nice and hard, Rand.”

He hardly needed her encouragement by that stage, neither her words nor the hand that pushed him forward when he thrust into Raine.

She was noisier than she had been the night before. It was almost as it having the collar on had freed her of her inhibitions. It was all wordless, and for a time Rand worried that her fears about losing her human side would come true. A small voice in his head urged him to slow down, but the sight of her going wild while impaled on his cock, and the way her writhing hips rubbed her hot, wet insides along him was too much to resist.

It was Merile who calmed his worries. She climbed up onto the bed and arranged some pillows for herself to relax on, then smiled at her collared friend.

“You’ve been wanting this for a while, haven’t you?”

For all the impassioned sounds she’d been making, when Raine spoke it was tentatively. “I can’t ... can’t not be what I am. I must be bred by the First. But ... but I don’t want to, to lose myself. I need help holding on.”

“Well, I don’t think Rand will mind helping with that,” Merile giggled. “You should see him from this angle. He definitely doesn’t mind holding your leash.”

All the humanity he’d feared she might lose was there in Raine’s inhuman eye when she looked back at him.

“Far from it,” Rand growled, his hips still slapping against hers.

“Shadowkiller ...”

He held the collar lightly. It wasn’t a thing for inflicting pain; it was a symbol of her faith in him. Or so he told himself as he rode the collared wolfsister on his bed. She growled and thrashed, but never once tried to escape his grasp.

As thrilling as he found it, Rand didn’t forget about Merile, who still leant on the pillows, watching them. A slight tug on the collar and a slap on her bottom was enough to make Raine moan his name, and crawl towards the other girl.

“Spread your legs, Merile,” he said gently.

“Oh! Are you going to lick me, Raine?” she said, complying eagerly.

“I ... I g-guess ...”

“Try it,” he urged. “She’ll like it, and I’ll make sure you like it, too.”

He’d stopped fucking her as they repositioned, and now waited, watching, as Raine stretched a tentative pink tongue towards Merile’s glistening folds. As cautious as the lick she traced along her opening was, it still won a shivery little sigh from Merile.

Rand stroked his cock along Raine’s inner walls, forcing a longer, louder sigh from her lips.

“Good girl. Just like that,” he said.

Raine licked her friend’s pussy again, and was rewarded with another stroke of his cock. Each time, he waited until her tongue had stirred Merile’s pleasure before continuation his ride. It didn’t take long before they had settled into a rhythm, one paradoxically decided by the slight movements of the tongue of the leashed girl in the middle of their threesome. When she buried her face in Merile’s pussy and stretched her tongue deep inside, Rand went all the way to the hilt inside her. When she lapped insistently at Merile’s engorged bud, Rand rode her hard and fast. She jerked and thrashed each time she came, but she never stopped licking, not even when Merile grasped her head in an uncharacteristically rough grip and began squirting all over her face.

The Tinker was a spent force after that. She just lay there, smiling happily at them both, barely even responding to Raine’s continued licking. That licking was a sure sign that the wolfsister, at least, wanted even more, but Rand was fast approaching his limit. The beautiful picture the two of them made together, with Raine’s red-haired heard buried between Merile’s slender legs, and the Tinker’s pretty breasts on full display right along with the wolfsister’s equally pretty bottom, all combined with the raw, physical pleasure Raine brought him ... it was simply too much to resist.

He sped up, driving in and out of her desperately while she yelped against Merile’s sex.

“She really loves that,” Merile said helpfully. “You should see her face, Rand. She looks so cute right now. No puppy was ever cuter.”

Raine moaned ambiguously.

“Is that what you are, Raine? A puppy?” he gritted. He couldn’t hold it much longer.

She looked back at him with a strange longing in her golden eyes. Her face was flushed with passion or shame, and glistened with another woman’s juices. Her voice, however, was perfectly steady.

“I’m yours.”

That look, those words, the feel of her. It was too much. White heat exploded in Rand, and his seed exploded into Raine. She writhed against him despite the hard grip he had on her leash and her hip, her pussy squeezing every last drop of come out of him as he sighed in pleasure.

“You two make a beautiful pair,” Merile said.

“We three,” Rand said. He pulled out of Raine, let go of her leash, and let himself collapse on the bed at her side.

Breathing heavily, she crawled up beside Merile and claimed a pillow.

The other two just wanted to relax in the blissful lassitude that followed their lovemaking, but Merile was a lot fresher, and still feeling talkative. She rested her weight on one elbow as she studied them both.

“Sooo. What did this mean? Are we still friends now? Or ... what?”

Raine scratched at her head. “You’re asking me? Um ... we’re packmates I guess.”

“I was thinking we might be lovers,” Merile said with a thoughtful frown. “I let you put your tongue up in me. That’s something only lovers should do.”

It was hard to tell if Raine blushed or not, given how red her face was already. “You tasted nice.”

“Thank you so much! I worried about that, but Rand didn’t seem to mind either.”

“As sweet as honey,” Rand said sleepily.

Merile smiled at him briefly, before turning her attention back to Raine. “Can I touch your boob?”

“I ... guess?” She watched, nonplussed, as the other girl gave her breast a few experimental squeezes. Watching her, Rand started to suspect that this had been the first time Raine had ever been with a woman. He was glad she was taking to it so well, because having the two of them together had been too awesome an experience not to want to repeat.

“Hmm. They’re so pretty,” Merile said. She laid her cheek against one, settling in at Raine’s other side. “And they make such great pillows.”

The wolfsister stared down in bewilderment at the girl resting on her bosom. Normally so feral, she looked so cute just then that he couldn’t help but lean over and plant a kiss on her cheek.

“That makes two, then. See? You’re not so bad after all,” he told her.

She stammered and stuttered her way through half a dozen aborted replies, before managing to get out a simple, “Thank you.” That was more than enough for Rand.

When Raine fell asleep that night, she did so cradled in the warm embrace of both her lovers.


	14. Old Habits

CHAPTER 11: Old Habits

Elayne would have preferred to be off with her friends from Tar Valon. Gatherings such as this brought her mind back to her childhood in the Royal Palace at Caemlyn, where any friendship was invariably tainted with politics. She much preferred being out by herself, away from court, where she could be Elayne, instead of the Daughter-Heir. But Rand needed her help to navigate this Tairen court, so much more cutthroat than her own, and she was determined to guide him through it safely.

How grateful and impressed he would be by her help, and what might come of that, had been preoccupying her thoughts lately.

“It is so good to see the youngsters finding their feet. You are the future, you know?”

She was not so preoccupied that she took High Lady Hama’s words at face value, of course. The dark-skinned woman was not young but her hair had yet to see its first touch of grey. Her friendly smile woke the creases in her cheeks but did not touch her pale blue eyes.

Elayne finished the last of her apple jelly, and put aside the plate before responding. “I hope you don’t count me as one of the young. I found my feet in that dance when I was still half a child.” Those cold eyes didn’t change, so she decided to press the woman. “I have yet to have the chance to offer my condolences for your brother’s death. High Lord Darlin was a great man, by all accounts. It is tragic that he was cut down so young, but at least he died in battle. Men usually prefer it that way. Or so they claim.”

“I think he would have rather died in his bed,” Hama muttered. Her cold eyes were drawn to a scruffily dressed youth who was laughing and drinking with some of the younger noblemen at a separate table in the grand hall. Mat Cauthon had been the one who killed Darlin, while the Stone of Tear was falling to Rand’s allies. Personally, Elayne doubted Mat had the wit to realise the danger he was in. It wasn’t her business to be saving him, but since she was here and Hama presumed to think her a fledgling ...

“There are exceptions to almost every rule,” she agreed. “I am absolutely certain young Mat would prefer to die in bed, for example. I am certain the Dragon Reborn would prefer that fate for his friend as well. And that his wrath would be terrible should anything else happen to him.”

Those chill eyes changed at last. They heated with anger. “Isn’t that a bit obvious, dear? Revenge is human nature.”

Hama Sisnera stalked off before Elayne could respond. That she wanted Mat dead was obvious. Whether she had the nerve to kill him while Rand was near was another matter.

Now that she was alone, many of the lords and ladies tried to catch her eye, raising long-stemmed glasses in mixed greeting and invitation. The great hall was filled with people, servants and nobles and soldiers. There were no windows, this deep in the Stone of Tear, but the huge golden chandeliers hanging from the distant ceiling kept everything well lit. In place of windows, the crescent banners of Tear covered the walls. A dozen long tables were spread around the room, each being kept well stocked with food by the milling servants. She knew she should socialise with the nobles, but her gaze pierced the milling crowd to where Rand was seated.

He wore black and gold today. Tairen colours. That was good. Still in the Andoran style, though. That was better. Sat at the head of the largest table with his mouth set in a grim line, he cut an imposing figure despite his youth. He hadn’t spoken much this evening. She hadn’t been sure what to make of that at first, but now she decided it was for the best. He wasn’t likely to win the High Nobles over with sweet words, and it was best not to try to charm the uncharmable. The effort just made you look weak, her mother had taught her.

Her aunt had learned the same lesson. Along with her Aes Sedai status and the towering Warder at her side, it ensured that her evening was a quiet one, too. She shared a table with Rand, the two of them looking quite a miserable pair when seen from afar. That was a good part of the reason that Nynaeve had refused to attend. That and her continued efforts to nurse their fellow Accepted through the aftermath of their ordeal in the Black Ajah’s dungeon.

Elayne felt her face heat when she saw the other Aes Sedai at the table. What Alanna had done to Rand was not at all dissimilar to what Liandrin’s scum had done to her friends that night. It might even be worse, for Liandrin and the rest were far away now—fled for places unknown—while Alanna was sat right there at Rand’s table. She knew how much he hated her, yet he was forced to endure her company even so. She was an Aes Sedai, after all.

How he kept his face in such a smoothly handsome mask, she did not know. Just thinking about what Alanna had done made her furious, and it wasn’t her that she had done it to.

High Lord Simaan, who had been on his way over to accost her with his company, suddenly veered away and feigned an interest in something else. Elayne smoothed the green skirts of her gown, and endeavoured to smooth her face in the process. Dealing with Alanna would not be easy, given her status. It would be wiser to focus on the problems she could address right now.

The pleasant expression she fixed in place didn’t prevent Simaan from retreating to the warm embrace of his scheming wife and their dour-looking twins. That was unfortunate. House Plaza was strong in Tairen circles.

“Is there anything we can do about her?” someone said quietly.

When she looked their way, she found Izana at her side. He was one of Rand’s Shienaran armsmen; a pleasant and conscientious fellow, and as trustworthy as they come. She’d never heard him express any interest in politics before.

Her confusion must have shown, for he nodded towards the table where Rand sat. “Alanna, I mean. You would know better than any of us, save Moiraine Sedai. She’s a threat to Rand, but ...”

But she’s also an Aes Sedai, he did not say.

“I know,” she sighed. “For now, I think all we can do is wait. The White Tower must learn of the Stone’s fall soon. When the Amyrlin makes her stance towards the Dragon Reborn known to all, then we can think about how to deal with Alanna’s crimes.”

There was something sad about the way Izana looked at Rand then. “I’m glad he has you to watch over him. He deserves it.” His pale cheeks flushed suddenly. “I mean, I mean ... Not that I’m saying ... Peace. Forgive me, please,” he finished with a low bow.

Elayne failed to keep her own face from reddening, too _. Am I that transparent? Well, if even a shy and sheltered boy like Izana can see how I feel, then why can’t Rand? _ The hilt of the new sword Rand had given him was pointed towards her now, so deeply had he bowed. It was a handsome thing, richly gilded, with the crossguard and pommel shaped to resemble the five-fingered claws of the red-and-gold creature from the Dragon Banner, a creature now emblazoned upon the chest of the white surcoat Izana was wearing, where once the Black Hawk of Shienar would have been. The hem and cuffs and collar of his new uniform were red, while the knotted cord tied around one arm was gold and had a pin in the form of said hawk attached to it. The pin was much smaller than the legged serpent ... thing, whatever it was. There was a fitting symbolism in that, one that Izana and the others didn’t seem to mind at all.

She didn’t like to think of what symbolism had been intended by the gift he’d given her.

“It’s quite alright, Izana. Stand up. I am unoffended,” she said. They’d known each other for quite some time. Perhaps it was that familiarity that betrayed her, and not that she was just so obvious. Yes. Of course.  _ I hope _ . Izana was very devoted to Rand. Though his armsman, they almost seemed to be friends. Was that good or bad? Her mother hadn’t approved of being too familiar with the staff. If the rumours were to be believed, Rand took a very different stance. “The  _ Tuatha’an _ girl seems rather presumptuous. Have you seen her do this sort of thing often?”

Izana drew a relieved breath. “Merile? She said someone should be checking his food for poison. She wanted to do it herself, since the leaf falls at its destined time and such, but I told her he’d never allow that. I think she’s decided not to bother asking permission. She’s not as foolish as she seems.”

“I see. Well, that is very brave and selfless of her,” she was forced to admit, as they watched Merile playfully steal a bite from every plate that was set near Rand. It was a far from decorous display, but she had to admit that the alternative would be much worse.

Merile was quite pretty, too, despite those unfortunate ears. She had the biggest, greenest eyes Elayne had ever seen. It would have been distressingly understandable if there proved to be more than just friendship between her and Rand.

“You are brave and selfless, too,” Izana said morosely.

And yet, here she stood, watching from afar, as another girl flirted with her crush in front of half of Tear. “That’s kind of you to say. You have my thanks,” she managed.

Izana had that sad, lost puppy look that she just couldn’t resist. The Shienarans tended to be a bit overly dramatic with regards to their courtesies, in Elayne’s estimation. She’d already told him she wasn’t offended, but she tried again. Selflessly. “You have discharged your duties heroically in this past year, Izana. More, I do believe that Rand has come to think of you as a friend.”

He lowered his head modestly, and sighed. “I think that, too.”

It would be good for Rand to have more male friends, especially ones so much more reliable than Mat Cauthon. And at least she didn’t have to worry about them, the way she did Merile and the others. She drained the rest of her wine in a single gulp. Nothing had gone the way she’d hoped. Not her studies in Tar Valon, not her hunt for the Black Ajah, and certainly not her love life. The pleasant and easy fantasy she’d cooked up when the Wheel had dropped Rand almost literally into her lap had proven to be very much a fantasy. If the future was to be at all the way she’d imagined, she’d have to make it so herself. And waiting for him to do what he was supposed to—confess his feelings for her on bended knee, preferably in High Chant—had only made the situation more complicated.

Who was sharing his bed now? Or how many? It was a question she needed an answer to, but one she didn’t dare ask. Rumours flew all over. She did not know what to believe. The suggestion that he was sleeping with all of them at once was a defamatory lie, of course, no doubt spread by one of the High Nobles. Why, they even claimed he was sleeping with sweet little Saeri. Ridiculous!

The girl in question hovered near him now, along with her friend Luci, and a pair of Tairen twins named Ruiz and Ynez that Thom Merrilin had recommended to Rand. Like Merile, they were doing all they could to ensure he was safe from ill-intentioned strangers. People were reading too much into it, that was all.

Though, speaking of reading too much into things ...

The Court Bard had struck up a tune, a rather sad one that he’d announced as his own writing. Most of the nobles were ignoring him, but Rand was listening intently. The man had a powerful voice, she had to admit, but: “what is this thing that builds our dreams, yet slips away from us?” No. Those were not the sort of lyrics she wanted to be hearing this evening.

Leaving Izana behind, she searched for and found the one man—other than Rand, it seemed—that she could be sure would be more interested in the music than the conversation. Snagging another glass of wine from a tray held by a passing servant, she strolled over to the edge of the room, where Thom Merrilin was leaning against a wall and surveying all around him with his sharp eyes, while somehow managing by attitude alone to make the patched cloak that hung from shoulders seem to be of the finest satin. Another of Rand’s servants—the Therener girl, the discovery of whose presence had put Nynaeve in such a ... loud mood that time—darted away at her approach. Whatever she had told the gleeman had him stroking those long moustaches of his thoughtfully.

He did seem familiar; truly he did. And as moved by the bard’s lament as Rand was. “Are you not happy, Master Merrilin?”

He glanced at her sideways. “Please, call me Thom, my lady.”

“Thom, then. But not my lady. I am only Mistress Trakand here.”

“As you say, Mistress Trakand,” he said with a hint of a smile.

“What do you think of Master Balsara’s music?” He did not answer right away, but that was the wrong question anyway. She needed to make him smile again. No, laugh. For some reason she was sure if she could make him laugh, she would remember where she had seen him before. She chose another topic, one that should be nearer his heart. “Do you mean to compose the epic of Rand, Thom?” Epics were for bards, not gleemen, but there could be no harm in a little flattery. “The epic of the Dragon Reborn. Loial means to write a book, you know.”

The Ogier was currently at the centre of a little gathering of his own, over at the other side of the room but still clearly visible due to his height. The appearance of his kind outside of the  _ stedding _ had grown rare enough that his presence often inspired such convergences of the curious. Thom hadn’t shown much surprise or curiosity over Loial. That was another strangeness about him.

“Perhaps I will, Mistress Trakand,” he said. “Perhaps. But neither my composing nor the Ogier’s book will make much difference in the long run. Our stories will not survive, in the long run. When the next Age comes—” He grimaced, and tugged one of his moustaches. “Come to think of it, that may be no more than a year or two off. How is the end of an Age marked? It cannot always be a cataclysm on the order of the Breaking. But then, if the Prophecies are to be believed, this one will be. That is the trouble with prophecy. The original is always in the Old Tongue, and maybe High Chant as well: if you don’t know what a thing means beforehand, there’s no way to puzzle it out. Does it mean what it says, or is it a flowery way of saying something entirely different?”

“You were talking of your epic,” she said, trying to guide him back, but he shook his shaggy white head.

“I was talking of change. My epic, if I compose it—and Loial’s book—will be no more than seed, if we are both lucky. Those who know the truth will die, and their grandchildren’s grandchildren will remember something different. And their grandchildren’s grandchildren something else again. Two dozen generations, and you may be the hero of it, not Rand.”

“Me?” she laughed.

“Or maybe Mat, or Lan. Or even myself.” He grinned at her, warming his weathered face. “Thom Merrilin. Not a gleeman—but what? Who can say? Not eating fire, but breathing it. Hurling it about like an Aes Sedai.” He flourished his cloak. “Thom Merrilin, the mysterious hero, toppling mountains and raising up kings.” The grin became a rich belly laugh. “Rand al’Thor may be lucky if the next Age remembers his name correctly.”

She was right; it was not just a feeling. That face, that mirth-filled laugh; she did remember them. But from where? She had to keep him talking. “Does it always happen that way? I do not think anyone doubts, say, that Artur Hawkwing conquered an empire. The whole world, or near enough.”

“Hawkwing, young Mistress? He made an empire, all right, but do you think he did everything the books and stories and epics say he did? The way they say he did it? Killed the hundred best men of an opposing army, one by one? The two armies just stood there while one of the generals—a king—fought a hundred duels?”

“The books say he did.”

“There isn’t time between sunrise and sunset for one man to fight a hundred duels, girl.” She almost stopped him short—girl? She was Daughter-Heir of Andor, not girl—but he had the bit in his teeth. “And that is only a thousand years back. Go back further, back to the oldest tales I know, from the Age before the Age of Legends. Did Mosk and Merk really fight with spears of fire, and were they even giants? Was Elsbet really queen of the whole world, and was Anla really her sister? Was Anla truly the Wise Counsellor, or was it someone else? As well ask what sort of animal ivory comes from, or what kind of plant grows silk. Unless that comes from an animal, too.”

“I do not know about those other questions,” Elayne said a bit stiffly; being called girl still rankled, “but you could ask Mistress din Gronpre about ivory and silk.”

There was another exotic curiosity that Rand had attracted, in one way or another. Another potential rival. She hadn’t wanted to be anyone’s rival. Did she not always make it her business to ensure that everyone got along? It would have been nice if more women would appreciate that, and not move in on the man she had set her heart on.

Thom was laughing again—as she had hoped, though it still did no more than drive home the certainty that she knew him—but instead of calling her foolish, as she half-expected and was prepared for, he said, “Practical and to the point, just like your mother. Both feet on the earth and few flights of fancy.” She lifted her chin a little, made her face cooler. She might be passing herself off as simple Mistress Trakand, but this was something else. He was an amiable old man, and she did want to reason out the puzzle of him, but he was a gleeman after all, and he should not speak of a queen in such familiar tones. Oddly, infuriatingly, he appeared amused. Amused!

“The Atha’an Miere do not know, either,” he said. “They see no more of the lands beyond the Aiel Waste than a few miles around the handful of harbours where they are permitted to land. Those places are walled high, and the walls guarded so they cannot even climb up to see what is on the other side. If one of their ships makes landfall anywhere else—or any ship not theirs; only the Sea Folk are allowed to come there—that ship and its crew are never seen again. And that is almost as much as I can tell you after more years of asking than I like to think of. The Atha’an Miere keep their secrets, but I do not believe they know much to keep here. From what I have been able to learn, the Cairhienin were treated the same, when they still had the right to travel the Silk Path across the Waste. Cairhienin traders never saw anything but one walled town, and those who wandered from it vanished.”

Elayne found herself studying him. What kind of man was this? Twice now he might have laughed at her—he had been amused just then, as much as she hated to admit it—but instead he talked to her as seriously as ... Well, as father to daughter.

“You might find a few answers in the days to come, Thom. If ever there was a time for the Kigali to emerge from behind their walls, this would be it.”

His shoulders shook; she realized he was laughing at himself. “Be careful what you wish for. This all started with a simple, and not very well-paying, village job. I may or may not have cursed the boredom I was expecting to find in Emond’s Field, but if I did then I was a fool. I’d take a month’s worth of snoring in a backwater village over all of this madness we find ourselves caught up in now. If it got any more complicated, perhaps I’d have to leave young Rand to look after himself.”

He laughed out loud, and she had to laugh with him. The idea of this white-haired old fellow looking after Rand. The feeling that she could trust him came back, stronger than ever, as he looked at her. Not because he could laugh at himself, or not only that. She could not have given a reason beyond the fact that, looking up into those blue eyes, she could not make herself believe this nice old man would ever do anything to harm her.

The urge to pull one of his moustaches again was almost overwhelming, but she schooled her hands to stillness. She was not a child, after all. A child. She opened her mouth—

“Some men are just too popular for their own good,” a woman said scornfully.

The words distracted her, and the hostility on the speaker’s face drove the tantalising almost-memory out of her mind altogether. That hostility was directed at her, for some reason.

“Dena. This is Elayne Trakand. The Daughter-Heir of Andor and an Aes Sedai in training,” Thom said warningly.

“I know who she is. Am I supposed to be impressed?” The girl, who was older than Elayne but certainly not old, didn’t look impressed at all. “When will you learn not to mix with the low-and-mighty, Thom? First al’Thor—and look how that turned out?—and now this? I don’t care how pretty she is, we don’t need to be risking more assassins.”

“That is a lesson I may have been slow to learn,” Thom allowed reluctantly. “Hopefully you will be quicker to learn to keep your thoughts about such things private. In the interest of avoiding the very trouble you speak of!”

“Quite,” Elayne agreed sweetly. “Far be it from me to make assumptions or to give advice, but perhaps if you were to modify your attitude, fewer people would want to murder you.”

The Cairhienin—for her accent had named her such even if her appearance only suggested it—the Cairhienin glared at her in response.

“Please do not help me, Elayne,” Thom growled rudely.

She sniffed.  _ This girl interrupts a perfectly pleasant conversation, yet he growls at me? Perhaps I misjudged him. He is not such a nice man, after all. But where do I know him from? _

“Shouldn’t you be off with Queen Laina’s niece, deciding how best to break the world again?” Dena asked her hotly.

That was Moiraine. The infamous queen she spoke of had been Elayne’s grandaunt as well. That the Cairhienin would be rather less than pleased with Laina, given the disaster she had brought down on them and all the lives that had been lost as a result, was to be expected. It would have been nice if her actions did not reflect on her extended kin, of course, but plainly they did in Dena’s eyes.

“These are trying times for us all,” Elayne managed courteously. “And you are plainly overwrought. Perhaps we can speak another time, when you are more composed. Pray excuse me, Master Merrilin. I will leave you and your companion to chat.”

Thom was rubbing at his moustaches again. “You will make a fine queen one day, Elayne of Andor,” he said.

That was such a sweet thing for him to say that she would have liked to have stayed, but Dena was right there, looking sulky, so she limited herself to a gracious nod before gliding away with her head held high.

“The ring suits her,” she heard Dena say as she departed, “that snake’s nearly as far up itself as she is.”

“For the Light’s sake, Dena. Hate them if you want, but don’t let them see that you hate them!”

Whatever else Thom said to her in that fierce whisper, Elayne didn’t hear. She was too far away by then, and glad to be so.

It was quite the colourful court Rand had gathered. It was easy to overlook that, given how many of the people here she knew personally, but seeing it now from the distant vantage Thom had chosen for himself, she couldn’t help but marvel.

There was Loial, of course, a familiar friend to her by now but an alien intrigue to others. Merile the Tinker mixed easily with Raine the wolfsister, while a pair of Aes Sedai and the last king of the Malkieri sat at a table nearby. Shienaran soldiers and Aiel warriors had set aside their differences for now, and hopefully for good, while the men and women of Tear clustered together with the Atha’an Miere to share their hopes and fears of the future. Not everyone looked comfortable with the mixed gathering, but Elayne found it impressive.

And it all revolved around Rand. Could it exist without him? She didn’t want to find out.

The Aiel were perhaps the most troubling faction present. Savages, she’d always heard them derided as. Meeting them had proven that appellation to be misplaced, but that they were prone to violence was undeniable. They did not mix with the others, or seem to want to. Only Rhuarc, their chief, seemed completely at ease with the “wetlanders”. He moved among them self-assuredly, noticing the disrespectful looks he got and meeting the eyes of those who gave them, but showing no hint of concern for their opinions.

She had met him before, briefly, along with several others, a few of whom she saw again now. Aviendha and Dailin were a striking pair, tall, red-haired and armed to the teeth. They watched the Tairens dance to one of Master Balsara’s more sedate pieces with the air of hunting cats watching mice that they were, for now, too full to pursue.

She approached them from behind, but neither woman showed surprise at her appearance. Like Lan, they had that way of seeming as though they saw everything around them, even when not actually looking at it.

“How has your evening been, ladies?” she asked. Tanned faces regarded her expressionlessly. “Hopefully you’ve enjoyed it more than I have. These gatherings are a political necessity but they can be such a chore sometimes.”

“ ‘Political’ ... is that what it is called. We were wondering,” said Dailin. “Their political looks very strange. Do they shame themselves to meet  _ toh _ ?”

Elayne was at a loss, and looking to Aviendha for help proved fruitless. Perhaps a change of topic would provide a gracious escape.

“Wouldn’t you like to dance, Aviendha?”

The woman remained stone-faced. “No. They have not given me reason yet.”

Her cousin ... No, the term was ... second-sister, was it not? Rand had looked at her so glumly while she was trying to impress on him the need to remember everyone’s titles and family names and the names of their relatives and how they all connected to each other. He’d made an honest effort at it, at least, despite his preference for just calling everybody by their given name and leaving it at that. The least she could do was to use the correct terminology herself. Aviendha’s second-sister Dailin was shaking her head in exasperation. “She doesn’t mean a real dance. Just the birdlike one they’re doing over there.”

The other Aiel actually shuddered. “Definitely not, then.”

“I think Nici might try it,” said Dailin, nodding towards one of the younger Maidens, off near Rhuarc. “I hope she does. The spearsisters would have much to say to her afterwards.”

“I’ve been to many dances like this,” Elayne said archly. “I am starting to think you would have made fun of me if you had been there to see them.”

Aviendha gave her an intense look. “We would never shame you. There is a blood debt between us, Elayne Trakand. My water is yours. Your enemies are mine.” Her eyes were almost as green as Merile’s. Or were they blue? It was hard to say. Turquoise perhaps?

“She speaks for us both,” Dailin said.

“Well, that is just delightful. I never used to have enemies, or at least none that I knew of. But I’ve found a few in recent times. Should you ever encounter a rogue Aes Sedai named Liandrin Guirale, be a dear and put a spear between her ribs, would you?”

“An Aes Sedai?”

“It will be done,” Aviendha said, showing none of her second-sister’s dubiousness.

Elayne decided she quite liked her. It would be good to have a warrior around, especially a female one. Some of her companions had gotten reticent around men in the aftermath of their ordeal. “You should visit us, if your schedule permits, Aviendha. You, too, Dailin. I would welcome your company.”

Other than a blink, Aviendha’s stern expression didn’t change much, but her voice softened. “I would like that.”

Loud laughter from Mat’s table drew their eyes. He was sweeping a large pile of coins towards himself, while Lord Gueyam’s blocky son cursed fluently at his poor luck.

“You’d have liked our game a few night’s back even more,” Dailin said with a smile. “Matrim Cauthon is a talented man.”

“He does not have my interest,” said Aviendha sternly.

Elayne’s already good opinion of her rose even higher, though it was disappointing to hear Dailin sing Mat’s praises. How could she not see what a selfish wastrel and user he was? If Mair had survived the Black Ajah’s torments, she would surely have set the Maiden straight.

“So, how do you know Mat?” an unfamiliar voice asked.

When she turned, she found young Imoen lurking behind her. Far from being ashamed of having eavesdropped on their conversation, the bright-eyed girl just smiled as if inviting confidences.

“He’s my cousin, you see, so I deserve to know,” she continued.

Elayne eyed her suspiciously. “Perhaps if you told us what you were speaking to Master Merrilin about, we might consider answering.”

Imoen shrugged casually. “Why wouldn’t I speak to Thom? He’s a real bard! Someone’s got to write ballads about my beauty and bravery, you know?”

Elayne’s brows rose at that. Were exaggerated boasts a family tradition, then? It certainly didn’t seem to be a cultural trait. The other Thereners she’d met had all been aggressively humble, if anything. Nynaeve would quite happily lecture a queen on the superiority of plain garb, while Rand got offended at the very idea of rising in station, and had to be urged towards it at every turn. Not so this girl.

While she was still puzzling it out, a slight commotion drew her attention back to Rand’s table. The First of Mayene had made herself known again. Her blue dress might have been fine, if someone had found the other half of it before she left her quarters this evening. The warm tone of her skin was evenly spread across her body, as the substantial bosom that was almost spilling out of that dress attested. Her even warmer smile invited everyone to look, especially Rand, at whom that smile was aimed.

Unfortunately for her, he was more interested in scowling over whatever Ynez was telling him to pay much attention to Berelain’s display.

Elayne sniffed. Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron was a political animal, and one who used sex to her advantage. She was quite familiar with the type. When the Stone had first fallen, she had all-but demanded that Rand have dinner with her, the fool. She didn’t know him at all. Demanding he do something was more likely to make him do the opposite. Sure enough, he’d responded to her demand by ignoring her. But perhaps that was a mistake, no matter how much she deserved it. Mayene was a small nation, but one should never dismiss the opportunity to make an ally, even if said ally was weak. Many weak allies added up to a strong alliance. She would need to think on it more carefully. Rand had asked her advice on political matters, and she was glad to give it. More than glad. Thrilled, if she was honest. No matter how arrogant Berelain was, Elayne would provide him with a sound strategy for dealing with her when next they sat down to discuss such things.

But what to wear when they did?

Distracted by her own musings, Elayne was as surprised as anyone when Rand shot to his feet. “Postiles! Get over here!” he shouted, his face a thunderhead.  _ Callandor _ rode his hip, strapped there rather than in a proper sheath, the better to display the crystal blade, and he had a white-knuckled grip on its hilt. The bard’s tune screaked to an end.

One of the Tairen High Lords rose from his chair slowly. He was a dissolute looking fellow, with a round gut and a multitude of chins. Tairen noblemen usually kept their beards oiled and styled, but his salt and pepper whiskers were unkempt. Whether through bravery or stupidity, he showed no fear at being called out by the visibly furious Dragon Reborn.

A wide gap in the crowd appeared, as people hastened to clear the space between the two men. As the High Lord sauntered towards Rand, Elayne searched her memory for all she knew of him. Hervaci Postiles, High Seat of House Postiles. His late wife had been a member of House Andiama, who were even richer than the Postiles. His heir was male, middle aged and with children of his own, the legacy secure.

He certainly looked like a man who thought his position secure when he came to stand before Rand. “What troubles you this evening? My Lord Dragon,” he said.

“I hear you’ve been boasting about your ‘conquests’, Postiles,” Rand snarled. “Something about a serving girl who didn’t run fast enough. Maya, was it?”

The lord’s unfeeling eyes slid across Ynez, the Tairen serving girl who’d recently taken service with Rand’s staff. She paled at his look, but did not shrink away. “Has this little bitch been eavesdropping? I don’t like bitches who eavesdrop.”

“Don’t you?” Rand said coldly. “I thought I made myself clear. It’s a new day, with new laws. That sort of thing is not to happen anymore.”

Postiles shrugged laboriously. “Look, son. This is Tear. We have a certain way of doing things here, one that has done well by us for hundreds of years. You don’t get to just come in here and decide that we have to change everything to suit you. This is our land, and these are our ways.” He looked about for support, but few of the other nobles would meet his eyes, and none spoke up. A frown creased his brow, but it was too late by then.

“You don’t even bother to deny it. I suppose I should be grateful for that. It makes it easier,” Rand grated.

“Makes what easier?” Postiles asked.

“You should know what. Did you think I was joking, or that I wouldn’t dare go through with it? I wasn’t. And I dare. Captain Tihera!”

Only a little pushing was required to allow a lean, dark-skinned man in the elaborate armour of the Defenders of the Stone to get through the crowd and march up to Rand. Three white plumes waved from atop his helmet, marking him as the Captain of the Stone, supreme commander of the Defenders. He saluted smartly. “What are your orders, my Lord Dragon?”

“High Lord Hervaci has confessed to the crime of rape. He is to be held in the dungeons until noon tomorrow, when he will be taken out onto the Stone Verge and hanged. Can I rely on you to see this done?”

A chorus of gasps sounded from the gathered Tairens, if only from the gathered Tairens. Elayne’s mind raced.

High Lord Sunamon’s skinny wife Fiona fainted into one of her husband’s many folds, and their chubby son Haradud didn’t look far from doing the same. High Lord Weiramon’s mouth hung open. High Lady Anaiyella swayed like a tree about to fall, but High Lady Fionnda proved to be made of sterner stuff. Those houses were strong, but their alliances were not. They could be dealt with individually.

High Lord Meilan Mendiana looked furious. That was a problem, for he was powerful and well connected. The same was true of High Lady Hama Sisnera, though her shock and sudden wariness would do Mat some good, she hoped. Aracome looked calm, Hearne furious. Their Houses were closely aligned, with each man being married to the other’s sister, a disparate pair of women who now wore matching smiles. Close as they were, the Belcelonas and the Pellatears were distant relatives in comparison to the web of connections between Mercandes, Dajenna, Selorna and Novares; and not one of the heads of those four families looked happy with what Rand had ordered.

“Justice is done!” declared young Nalia Andiama loudly, before her beautiful, golden-haired—and relatively lowborn—mother shushed her. Lumpy lord Torean, her father, fell back into his chair, and began mopping at his brow with a handkerchief.

High Lord Simaan was troubled, his wife thoughtful, their children disturbingly amused. The Sanadas looked relatively unconcerned, both their High Seat and his sister, who was married to the head of House Setares, High Lord Tolmeran. Elayne marked that. She marked it all, as she had been taught to; filed it away for later perusal.

Rand noticed none of it. “I warned you,” he was telling the condemned man, while jabbing a finger at him angrily. “I warned you. No more rapes. No more murders. Well, maybe the next man to get those ideas in his head will learn from this. Tihera?”

All eyes turned to the Captain of the Stone, who had stood as still and as stiff as said stone ever since being summoned. Elayne couldn’t have been the only one to wonder what he would do. The Defenders had always obeyed the High Nobles, but they were sworn to Rand now. Would they arrest a High Lord on his order?

They got their answer when Tihera strode over to Postiles and clamped a gauntleted fist around his upper arm. “Come quietly and you will not be harmed,” he told the lord.

“You cannot be serious!” Postiles spluttered. “You know who I am. Release me! You would not even have made officer without my approval!”

“Tomorrow. At noon,” Rand growled.

“As you command, my Lord Dragon,” Tihera said. Several of his men joined him, and they led the now rattled and trembling lord away between them.

“You can’t ... you can’t do this! I am a High Lord of Tear!” Postiles shouted, as though that alone could stop what was happening. He was still protesting the impossibility of what was happening when the Defenders dragged him past his fellow nobles—none of whom would meet his eyes—and out of the hall.

“Hopefully he’ll be the only one, but if not ...” said Rand.

His threat was hard to mistake. So much so that she wondered at what madness of self-absorption had led Hervaci Postiles to think he could get away with what he’d so obviously thought he could get away with. She felt no sorrow at the man’s fate, of course, just amazement at his alien mind. And worry over how the other nobles would react to what Rand had ordered done.

He didn’t linger long after that, and who could blame him? If ever there had been a party with a more thoroughly murdered mood, she had not, Light be praised, seen it. All eyes were on him as he left. Berelain looked rather thoughtful, she noticed; seeing High Lord Hervaci ordered to the gallows hadn’t even made her blink.

Most of Rand’s entourage went with him, with Ynez and her brother being particularly quick to follow, but Merile stayed behind.

“Blood and ashes,” she heard Mat curse as soon as Rand left the hall.

“This is outrageous!” Meilan hissed at one of his hangers on, a lesser lord whose name she had not yet learned. His sentiment was echoed among many of the Tairen nobles, especially the male ones. They kept their complaints quiet, though, with frequent wary glances at the two Aes Sedai in their midst, and at Elayne for that matter, who hadn’t done anything to disabuse them of the belief that she and her fellow Accepted were full Aes Sedai.

Loial, she noticed, was busy scribbling in one of his notebooks, his circle of admirers having made themselves scarce. Merile wandered over and plopped herself down beside him.

Elayne finished her wine before approaching them.

“A rather more abrupt end to the evening than I’d expected,” she said.

“I wonder if I could frame it as a hint of things to come,” Loial rumbled.

Merile shook her head. “You don’t know for sure that he’ll kill more of them. You don’t know it.”

Elayne sat across from her at the table. “Ah. Do you still follow the Way of the Leaf, then? I’d wondered why you didn’t go with the rest of his admirers.”

“Sort of ... Rand says I don’t have to give it up, even though my caravan put me out. But I’m not sure I really want to keep it either.”

“Well, if you want my opinion, I’ve always thought pacifism to be a sweet idiocy. You can only really afford to be peaceful in a world that is already at peace, like the Age of Legends. So long as there exist people who would like to take from you, one must be prepared to fight.”

“I suppose,” Merile sighed.

Elayne frowned to herself. She hadn’t phrased that very diplomatically. That wasn’t like her. She felt a bit odd. Her head was light, and her hands numb.

“It does no harm to anyone, though. I do not mean to disparage your beliefs, Merile. In comparison to, for example, the beliefs of the man who was just hauled off to the dungeons, yours are postuvly preest ... preestun. Bah! Pris-tine.” Elayne shook her head in annoyance. Why had it been so hard to get those last words out? Her tutors had always praised her diction.

Loial looked up from his book. “Hmm. Are you feeling well, Elayne? Should I get Nynaeve?”

“Ooo. I could Heal you if you show me how to do it,” Merile said excitedly. “I can channel, too, you know.”

“Of course. I feel it in you. But I can’t teach you, I’m afraid. I have no Talent for it. Bloody Pattern! It was the part about channelling I was most excited to learn, too! Sheep swallop, is what it is. Bloody, flaming sheep swallop.”

Merile looked dubious. “It is? I’ve never heard of that before.”

She frowned. “I’m fairly sure I’ve heard some of my mother’s guards say that.”

“Oh, did I miss something dirty?”

“I certainly hope so,” Elayne said primly.

“Oh? Right, because I miss a lot of dirty things and sometimes I wouldn’t mind hearing them.”

She smiled. “Me too! I recommend listening to Uno, but only when he doesn’t realise you are there. He gets very Shienaran when there are ladies around. Or Rand. Especially Rand, actoolly. I was never sure whether to be offended by that or not.”

“Uno? But he just curses a lot.”

“Yes ...” After staring at Merile for an awkward moment, Elayne looked to Loial. “What are we talking about again?”

He shrugged his huge shoulders ponderously. “I have just been assuming it is a human thing. Sometimes it is hard to understand you all.”

“I’m glad you like dirty things, Elayne. You’d be scary if you were a princess and an Aes Sedai and so beautiful and tall and smart and really stern, too. It’s a relief that you’re not stern,” Merile said with a kind smile.

Elayne waved her off embarrassedly. “Oh stop! You’re making it hard to be annoyed with you.”

“Why would you be annoyed with me?”

She had her mouth open and was on the very cusp of confessing her feelings for Rand, before she realised what she was doing and clamped a hand to her lips. Merile was looking at her curiously, but she could only shake her head in response, not trusting herself to speak anymore.

“I should get Nynaeve,” Loial decided. He got to his feet and strode off, ignoring her silent efforts to dissuade him.

That left her alone with Merile, a situation that was suddenly rather uncomfortable. The two women could not have been more different in personality, but it was as much to escape Merile’s friendly smile as Nynaeve’s imminent arrival that she fled the feast that night.

She was halfway down the hallway before she realised someone was following her.

_ Saidar  _ proved too hard to embrace for some reason, so it was no small relief that her pursuer proved to just good old Thom, freed of his Cairhienin friend. He seemed to have a knife in his hand, and then it was gone. Strange. As soon as he caught up to her, she seized one of his long white moustaches.

“I remember,” she said. Her tongue did not seem to be working properly; the words sounded ... fuzzy. “I was sitting on your knee, and I pulled your moustache ...” She gave it a yank to demonstrate, and he winced. “... and my mother leaned over your shoulder and laughed at me.”

“I think it best you go to your room,” he said, trying to pry her hand free. “I think you need some sleep.”

She refused to let go. In fact, she seemed to have pushed him further along the corridor. By his moustache. “My mother sat on your knee, too. I saw it. I remember.”

“Sleep is the thing, Elayne. You will feel better in the morning.” He managed to get her hand loose and tried ushering her along, but she slipped around him. The hallway was unfurnished. If she had a table to rest against, perhaps the world would stop tilting back and forth.

“I want to know why Mother sat on your knee.” He stepped back, and she realized she was reaching for his moustache again. “You’re a gleeman. My mother would not sit on a gleeman’s knee.”

“Go to bed, child.”

“I am not a child!” She stamped her foot angrily, and almost fell. The floor was lower than it looked. “Not a child. You will tell me. Now!”

Thom sighed and shook his head. At last he said stiffly, “I was not always a gleeman. I was a bard, once. A Court Bard. In Caemlyn, as it happens. For Queen Morgase. You were a child. You are just remembering things wrong, that’s all.”

“You were her lover, weren’t you?” The flinch of his eyes was enough. “You were! I always knew about Gareth Bryne. At least, I figured it out. But I always hoped she would marry him. Gareth Bryne, and you, and this Lord Gaebril Mat said she looks calf-eyes at now, and ... How many more? How many? What makes her any different from Berelain, tripping every man who catches her eye into her bed. She is no different—” Her vision shivered, and her head rang. It took her a moment to realize he had slapped her. Slapped her! She drew herself up, wishing he would not sway. “How dare you? I am Daughter-Heir of Andor, and I will not be—”

“You are a little girl with a skinful of wine throwing a temper tantrum,” he snapped. “And if I ever hear you say anything like that about Morgase again, drunk or sober, I’ll put you over my knee however you channel! Morgase is a fine woman, as good as any there is!”

“Is she?” Her voice quavered, and she realized she was crying. “Then why did she—? Why—?” Somehow she had her face buried against his coat, and he was smoothing her hair.

“Because it is lonely being a queen,” he said softly. “Because most men attracted to a queen see power, not a woman. I saw a woman, and she knew it. I suppose Bryne saw the same in her, and this Gaebril, too. You have to understand, child. Everyone wants someone in their life, someone who cares for them, someone they can care for. Even a queen.”

“Why did you go away?” she mumbled into his chest. “You made me laugh. I remember that. You made her laugh, too. And you rode me on your shoulder.”

“A long story.” He sighed painfully. “I will tell you another time. If you ask. With luck, you’ll forget this by morning. It’s time for you to go to bed, Elayne.”

He guided her to the end of the hallway, and she took the opportunity to tug at his moustache again. “Like that,” she said with satisfaction. “I used to pull it just like that.”

“Yes, you did. No-one seems to be following you. I was worried they would, after what happened tonight. Can you make it down the stairs by yourself?”

“Of course I can.” She gave him her haughtiest stare, but he looked readier than ever to follow her. To prove there was no need, she walked—carefully—as far as the head of the stairs. He was still frowning at her worriedly when she started down.

Luckily, she did not stumble until she was out of his sight, but she did walk right by her door and had to come back. Something must have been wrong with that apple jelly; she knew she should not have eaten so much of it. Lini always said ... She could not remember what it was Lini said, but something about eating too many sweets.


	15. Whirpools in the Pattern

CHAPTER 12: Whirlpools in the Pattern

In a room on the second storey of the Winespring Inn, Perrin sat on the chest at the foot of his bed and watched the dark-haired young woman pacing up and down. He felt a little wary. Usually Faile bantered with him, maybe poked a little gentle fun at his deliberate ways; tonight she had not said ten words since coming through the door. He could smell the rose petals that had been folded into her clothes after cleaning, and the scent that was just her. And in the hint of clean perspiration, he smelled nervousness. Faile almost never showed nerves. Wondering why she did now set an itch between his shoulders. Her narrow, divided skirts made a soft whisk-whisk-whisk with her strides.

“Something is troubling you, Faile. What is it?”

Her expression became guarded. She looked everywhere but at him, making a contemptuous survey of the room’s furnishings. It was a fine room, small and cosy. The furniture was well crafted, the floor clean. Perrin had no complaints at all with Mistress al’Vere’s hospitality.

Faile’s opinions, though, were not his. “You should have better than this. You deserve it. The sooner our own house is finished, the better.”

Perrin winced. She might call it a house, and perhaps to a Saldaean lady that’s what it was, but to a mere blacksmith’s apprentice like him the place looked more like a mansion, even if it was only a skeletal one so far. He’d tried to stop them from building it. He’d even ordered them to stop. They’d just laughed as though he was playing some sort of prank on them, and then went right on building. He’d never wanted to be a lord, and still didn’t, but he especially didn’t want to be saddled with the title while people just ignored him.

Of course, it was Faile who was officially Lady of the Theren, not him. A new ruler rising by popular acclaim in territory Andor claimed as its own was bad enough, it would be worse if the “rebel” was a man. And that even if the Theren folk would have chosen a man to lead, which he wasn’t sure they would have.

He wasn’t even sure they wanted a noble ruler at all. The meeting they’d had this evening, downstairs in the common room—almost completely repaired of the damage Rand had done—had been far from conclusive.

“Is this about the mayors?” he asked.

Faile’s pacing came to a halt. “That remarkable Theren stubbornness was a boon when it was being turned against the Trollocs. Less so when they turn it on me,” she said stiffly.

It had only been the Deven Ride folk who’d been resistant to her rule. Or mostly just them. Anna was, too, and she’d gotten a few Emond’s Fielders to join her. Perrin didn’t know what to make of it. On the one hand, he was glad to see his people showing their backbones instead of knuckling their foreheads like a bunch of Cairhienin peasants. He could wish they’d show more of that backbone with him as well. But on the other hand, it was Faile they were fighting with, and he couldn’t see that and not be annoyed. She was his wife, and he loved her.

“Mistress Barstere and Mistress Gaelin are very impressed by you,” he offered. They were the Mayor and Wisdom of Watch Hill, and it was only truth that he spoke: they behaved as though Faile was a famous hero already.

She smiled. “They are a pair of lovely old dears, aren’t they? Though I suspect Mistress Gaelin is not as ready to be put out to pasture as some might expect, if that handsome foundling of hers is anything to go by.”

Whatever people might say of him, Perrin was not so slow of thought that he couldn’t tell what she was implying. He snorted. “Ervin al’Kinn? He’s young enough to be her grandson. Not everything is some sordid secret, Faile.”

“Don’t be too naive, my Perrin. It is cute, but only in moderation. Still, if you want to think that she brought a tall, handsome, healthy young orphan to live alone with her in her house simply out of a desire to be charitable, then who am I to argue otherwise? Speaking of sordid secrets, are you ever going to tell me what you know of the al’Vere girls’? I’m not as sure of Marin’s support as I’d like to be, and am starting to suspect it soon won’t matter as much. This scandal with her daughters is going to hurt her.”

Perrin shook his head slowly. He’d been as shocked as anyone when it emerged that all four of the al’Vere sisters were pregnant, and that none of them were willing to say who the father’s were. He’d hidden his surprise as best he could. Others in the village had proven much less polite, and had taken to gossiping about it with as much glee as they did Rand’s channelling. It wasn’t just the Coplins and the Congars either, though they were hip deep in it. Naturally.

“It’s their business,” he growled. “Why people are so quick to stick their noses into this sort of thing, I will never understand.”

A gentle little tut of rebuke sounded, and she reached up to tug at his beard. “You are smarter than you give yourself credit, Perrin Bashere. Or are you implying I would marry a dull-witted lummox? Think. The Mayor must take charge of the whole village, and manage it responsibly. How can Marin be trusted to do that if she cannot even keep her own household in order? No. I fear her time has passed. The Women’s Circle will choose a replacement soon, mark my words. We will need to give thought to who would be best suited to the role going forward.”

He sighed as he filled their cups with water from the nearby pitcher. There were so many decisions that needed making, even in a little place like the Theren. He dreaded to imagine what it must be like for some queen, being asked to rule a whole nation. Much of the talk this evening had concerned whether or not to rebuild Taren Ferry—the town, not the ferry itself, which was essential to the Theren’s prosperity. Even the few surviving residents that they’d managed to gather in since the Trollocs were defeated hadn’t been sure whether they wouldn’t be better off just moving to the more southern villages. For now, Faile had sent Dannil Lewin with a group of proven members of what she’d grandly started calling the Heart Guard to secure the ferry and make sure no-one crossed the river without an invitation. There was still arguing over the female archers that Anna had been training, too, mainly from the parents of those who’d proven interested in learning the bow.

The memory of Shanin al’Donel’s dog-like eyes pleading with him to intervene made him cringe all over again. Two of her sons had died during his disastrous Trolloc-hunting expedition. That she wouldn’t want her daughter Nancy taking the same risks Had and Tim had was completely understandable. If he could have prevented it, he would have. But who was he to order her not to?

“It’s Anna al’Tolan’s fault,” Faile said. Not for the first time, he wondered uneasily if she could read his mind. “I could have gotten the Deven Ride folk to fall into line if that interfering fool hadn’t given them the notion that they had wider support for their nonsense.”

Perrin didn’t say the first thing that crossed his mind. He almost never did. Words, like actions, should be considered carefully. Anna was far from a fool, and the arguments she and the others were tossing around sounded perfectly sensible to him. Of course, while he might not be as good with women as Rand and Mat were, he was nowhere near stupid enough to come to the defence of his ex-girlfriend when his new wife was bad-mouthing her.

Outside in the darkness, a cock crowed.

Faile shivered, and hugged herself. “My nurse used to say that meant a death coming. Not that I believe it, of course.”

He opened his mouth to agree it was foolishness, though he shivered, too, but his head whipped around at a grating sound and a thump. The axe he had left leaning against the wall by the windowsill had toppled to the floor. He only had time to frown, wondering what could have made it fall, when it shifted again, untouched, then leaped straight for him.

He snatched up the pitcher and swung without thought, spraying water all over the floor in the process. Metal ringing on metal drowned Faile’s scream; the axe flew across the room, bounced off the far wall, and darted back at him, blade first. He thought every hair on his body was trying to stand on end.

As the axe sped by her, Faile lunged forward and grabbed the haft with both hands. It twisted in her grip, slashing toward her wide-eyed face. Barely in time Perrin leaped up to seize the axe, just keeping the half-moon blade from her flesh. He thought he would die if the axe—his axe—harmed her. He jerked it away from her so hard that the heavy spike nearly stabbed him in the chest. It would have been a fair trade, to stop the axe from hurting her, but with a sinking feeling he began to think it might not be possible.

The weapon thrashed like a thing alive, a thing with a malevolent will. It wanted Perrin—he knew that as if it had shouted at him—but it fought with cunning. When he pulled the axe away from Faile, it used his own movement to hack at him; when he forced it from himself, it tried to reach her, as if it knew that would make him stop pushing. No matter how hard he held the haft, it spun in his hands, threatening with spike or curved blade. Already his hands ached from the effort, and his thick arms strained, muscles tight. Sweat rolled down his face. He was not sure how much longer it would be before the axe fought free of his grip. This was all madness, pure madness, with no time to think.

“Get out,” he muttered through gritted teeth. “Get out of the room, Faile!”

Her face was bloodless pale, but she shook her head and wrestled with the axe. “No! I will not leave you!”

“It will kill both of us!” She shook her head again.

Growling in his throat, he let go of the axe with one hand—his arm quivered with holding the thing one-handed; the twisting haft burned his palm—and thrust Faile away. She yelped as he wrestled her to the door. Ignoring her shouts and her fists pounding at him, he held her against the wall with a shoulder until he could pull the door open and shove her into the hallway.

Slamming the door behind her, he put his back against it, sliding the latch home with his hip as he seized the axe with both hands again. The heavy blade, gleaming and sharp, trembled within inches of his face. Laboriously, he pushed it out to arm’s length. Faile’s muted shouts penetrated the thick door, and he could feel her beating on it, but he was barely conscious of her.

“Just you and me, now,” he snarled at the axe. “Blood and ashes, how I hate you!” Inside, a part of him came close to hysterical laughter.  _ Rand is the one who’s supposed to go mad, and here I am, talking to an axe! Rand! Burn him! _

Teeth bared with effort, he forced the axe back a full step from the door. The weapon vibrated, fighting to reach flesh; he could almost taste its thirst for his blood. With a roar he suddenly pulled the curved blade toward him, threw himself back. Had the axe truly been alive, he was sure he would have heard a cry of triumph as it flashed toward his head. At the last instant, he twisted, driving the axe past himself. With a heavy thunk the blade buried itself in the door.

He felt the life—he could not think what else to call it—go out of the imprisoned weapon. Slowly, he took his hands away. The axe stayed where it was, only steel and wood again. The door seemed a good place to leave it for now, though. He wiped sweat from his face with a shaking hand.

_ Madness. Madness walks wherever Rand does _ .

Abruptly he realized he could no longer hear Faile’s shouts, or her pounding. Throwing back the latch, he hastily pulled the door open. A gleaming arc of steel stuck through the thick wood on the outside, shining in the lamplight.

Faile stood there, hands raised, frozen in the act of beating on the door. Eyes wide and wondering, she touched the tip of her nose. “Another inch,” she said faintly, “and ...”

With a sudden start, she flung herself on him, hugging him fiercely, raining kisses on his neck and beard between incoherent murmurs. Just as quickly, she pushed back, running anxious hands over his chest and arms. “Are you hurt? Are you injured? Did it ...?”

“I’m alright,” he told her. “But are you? I did not mean to frighten you.”

She peered up at him. “Truly? You are not hurt in any way?”

“Completely unhurt. I—” Her full-armed slap made his head ring like hammer on anvil.

“You great hairy lummox! I thought you were dead! I was afraid it had killed you! I thought—!” She cut off as he caught her second slap in mid-swing.

“I asked you before not to do that,” he said quietly. The smarting imprint of her hand burned on his cheek, and he thought his jaw would ache the rest of the night.

He gripped her wrist as gently as he would have a bird, but though she struggled to pull free, his hand did not budge an inch. Compared to swinging a hammer all day at the forge, holding her was no effort at all, even after his fight against the axe. Abruptly she seemed to decide to ignore his grip and stared him in the eye; neither dark nor golden eyes blinked. “I could have helped you. You had no right—”

“I had every right,” he said firmly. “You could not have helped. If you had stayed, we’d both be dead. I couldn’t have fought—not the way I had to—and kept you safe, too.” She opened her mouth but he raised his voice and went on. “I know you hate the word. I’ll try my best not to treat you like porcelain, but if you ask me to watch you die, I will tie you like a lamb for market and send you off to Mistress Luhhan. She won’t stand for any such nonsense.”

Tonguing a tooth and wondering if it was loose, he almost wished he could see Faile trying to ride roughshod over Alsbet Luhhan. The blacksmith’s wife kept her husband in line with scarcely more effort than she needed for her house. Even Nynaeve had been careful of her sharp tongue around Mistress Luhhan. The tooth still held tight, he decided.

Faile laughed suddenly, a low, throaty laugh. “You would, too, wouldn’t you? Don’t think you would not dance with the Dark One if you tried, though.”

Perrin was so startled he let go of her. He could not see any real difference between what he had just said and what he had said before, but the one had made her blaze up, while this she took ... fondly. Not that he was certain the threat to kill him was entirely a joke. Faile carried knives hidden about her person, and she knew how to use them.

She rubbed her wrist ostentatiously and muttered something under her breath. He caught the words “hairy ox”, and promised himself—not for the first time—that he would shave every last whisker of that fool beard. He would.

Aloud, she said, “The axe. That was him, wasn’t it? The Dragon Reborn, trying to kill us.”

Perrin sighed. “With Maigan gone, I can’t think of anyone else who could make something like that happen. It must have been Rand.” He emphasized the name. He did not like thinking of Rand the other way. He preferred remembering the Rand he had grown up with in Emond’s Field. “Not trying to kill us, though. Not him.”

She gave him a wry smile, more a grimace. “If he was not trying, I hope he never does. He did it back in the Breaking, after all. Killed everyone close to him.”

“Rand isn’t Lews Therin Kinslayer,” Perrin protested. “I mean, he is the Dragon Reborn, but he isn’t ... he wouldn’t ...” He trailed off, not knowing how to finish. Rand was Lews Therin Telamon reborn; that was what being the Dragon Reborn meant. But did it mean Rand was doomed to Lews Therin’s fate? Not just going mad—any man who channelled had that fate in front of him, and then a rotting death—but killing everyone who cared for him?

“Is he back in the village? Or ... how close does he have to be to make stuff like that happen?”

Perrin scrubbed a hand through his thick curls. “I have no idea. I don’t know where he is or what he was doing. But I mean to tell him to stop it, as soon as I see him again.”

“I don’t know why I care for a man who worries so little about his own safety,” she murmured. “You don’t actually have to see him ever again, Perrin. We could be happy here, far away from it all.”

“I can’t,” he said miserably. He tried diverting her with a kiss, but she backed away so fast he nearly fell on his face. There was no point going after her. She had her arms crossed beneath her breasts like a barrier.

“Don’t tell me you are that afraid of Moiraine. I know she is Aes Sedai, and she has all of you dancing when she twitches the strings. Perhaps she has the ... Rand ... so tied he cannot get loose, but you can break her cords if you try.”

“It has nothing to do with Moiraine. It’s what I have to do. I—”

She cut him short. “Don’t you dare hand me any of that hairy-chested drivel about a man having to do his duty. I know duty as well as you, and you have no duty to him, or her. You may be  _ ta’veren _ , even if I don’t see it, but he is the Dragon Reborn, not you.”

“Will you listen!?” he shouted, glaring, and she jumped. He had never shouted at her before, not like that. She raised her chin and shifted her shoulders, but she did not say anything. He went on. “I think I am part of Rand’s destiny, somehow. Mat, too. I think he can’t do what he has to unless we do our part, as well. That is the duty. How can I walk away if it might mean Rand will fail?”

“Might?” There was a hint of demand in her voice, but only a hint. He wondered if he could make himself shout at her more often. “Did Moiraine tell you this, Perrin? You should know by now to listen closely to what an Aes Sedai says.”

“I worked it out for myself. I think  _ ta’veren _ are pulled toward each other. Or maybe Rand pulls us, Mat and me both. He’s supposed to be the strongest  _ ta’veren _ since Artur Hawkwing, maybe since the Breaking. Loial says he has never heard of three  _ ta’veren _ , all the same age and all from the same place.”

Faile sniffed loudly. “Loial does not know everything. He isn’t very old for an Ogier.”

“He’s past ninety,” Perrin said defensively, and she gave him a tight smile. For an Ogier, ninety years was not much older than Perrin. Or maybe younger. He did not know much about Ogier. In any case, Loial had read more books than Perrin had ever seen or even heard of; sometimes he thought Loial had read every book ever printed. “And he knows more than you or I do. He believes I maybe have the right of it. And so does Moiraine. No, I haven’t asked her, but why else does she pay any attention to me? Did you think she wanted me to make her a kitchen knife?”

She was silent for a moment, and when she spoke it was in sympathetic tones. “Poor Perrin. I left Saldaea to find adventure, and now that I’m in the heart of one, the greatest since the Breaking, all I want is to go somewhere else. You just want to be a blacksmith, and you’re going to end up in the stories whether you want it or not.”

He looked away, though the scent of her still filled his head.

“Do you mean to go now?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “Eventually. When I have to. When he calls, or the Pattern forces me to act. But for now, I just want to enjoy what I have here. With you.”

Elegant fingers came to rest upon his thick arms. “So do I ...”

One look into her dark eyes had his nostrils flaring. This time, when he tried for a kiss, she did not pull away. Her lips were hot and hungry on his.

The axe he left where it was; stuck in the door, it would not harm anyone. The woman he picked up and carried to the bed.

When he fell atop her, her legs wrapped around him insistently. There was no time to undress fully; the desire was too strong in them both. He hiked up her dress and went after her underwear while she was unbuckling his belt.

Within moments of freeing each other, they became one, husband and wife united in desire as in so much else. It was all he could have wanted in life.  _ She _ was all he wanted.

“Perrin!” she moaned, her nails raking his back through his shirt. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, just enough to spur him on. Perrin needed spurring. He always tried to keep himself under control, to make sure he handled things—and people—as gently as possible. But Faile didn’t always want to be handled gently, and she wasn’t shy about letting him know it either. He gave her what she wanted, as he hoped to always do.

The axe remained lodged in their door long into the night, forgotten, as he pounded his wife into the bed and made her howl, again and again.

* * *

Teeth clamped on a long-stemmed pipe, Mat opened his coat a bit more and tried to concentrate on the cards lying facedown in front of him, and on the coins spilled in the middle of the table. He had had the bright red coat made to an Andoran pattern, of the best wool, with golden embroidery scrolling around the cuffs and long collar, but day by day he was reminded how much farther south Tear lay than Andor. Sweat ran down his face, and plastered the shirt to his back.

None of his companions around the table appeared to notice the heat at all, despite coats that looked even heavier than his, with fat, swollen sleeves, all padded silks and brocades and satin stripes. Two men in red-and-gold livery kept the gamblers’ silver cups full of wine and proffered shining silver trays of olives and cheeses and nuts. The heat did not seem to affect the servants, either, though now and again one of them yawned behind his hand when he thought no-one was looking. The night was not young, even allowing for the big distraction with Rand and that High Lord. At least the lordlings had stopped trying to talk him into intervening on Hervaci’s behalf with Rand. As if the man would have listened to him, even if he’d wanted to help the bloody lord escape his bloody fate.

Mat refrained from lifting his cards to check them again. They would not have changed. Three rulers, the highest cards in three of the five suits, were already good enough to win most hands.

He would have been more comfortable dicing; there was seldom a deck of cards to be found in the places he usually gambled, where silver changed hands in fifty different dice games, but these young Tairen lordlings would rather wear rags than play at dice. Peasants tossed dice, though they were careful not to say so in his hearing. It was not his temper they feared, but who they thought his friends were. This game called chop was what they played, hour after hour, night after night, using cards hand-painted and lacquered by a man in the city who had been made well-to-do by these fellows and others like them. Only women or horses could draw them away, but neither for long.

Still, he had picked up the game quickly enough, and if his luck was not as good as it was with dice, it would do. A fat purse lay beside his cards, and another even fatter rested in his pocket. A fortune, he would have thought once, back in Emond’s Field, enough to live the rest of his life in luxury. His ideas of luxury had changed since leaving the Theren. The young lords kept their coin in careless, shining piles, but some old habits he had no intention of changing. In the taverns and inns it was sometimes necessary to depart quickly. Especially if his luck was really with him.

When he had enough to keep himself as he wanted, he would leave the Stone just as quickly. Before Moiraine knew what he was thinking. He would have been days gone by now, if he had had his way. It was just that there was gold to be had here. One night at this table could earn him more than a week of dicing in taverns. If only his luck would catch.

He put on a small frown and puffed worriedly at his pipe, to look unsure whether his cards were good enough to go on with. Two of the young lords had pipes in their teeth, too, but silver-worked, with amber bits. In the hot, still air, their perfumed tabac smelled like a fire in a lady’s dressing chamber. Not that Mat had ever been in a lady’s dressing chamber. An illness that nearly killed him had left his memory as full of holes as the best lace, yet he was sure he would have remembered that.

_ Not even the Dark One would be mean enough to make me forget that _ .

“Another Sea Folk ship docked today,” Reimon muttered around his pipe. The broad-shouldered young lord’s beard was oiled and trimmed to a neat point. That was the latest fashion among the younger lords, and Reimon Pellatear chased the latest fashion as assiduously as he chased women. Which was only a little less diligently than he gambled. He tossed a silver crown onto the pile in the middle of the table for another card. “A raker this time. Fastest ships there are, rakers, so they say. Outrun the wind, they say. I would like to see that. Burn my soul, but I would.” He did not bother to look at the card he was dealt. He never did until he had a full five.

The plump, pink-cheeked man between Reimon and Mat gave an amused chuckle. “You want to see the ship, Reimon? You mean the girls, do you not? The women. Exotic Sea Folk beauties, with their rings and baubles and swaying walks, eh?” He put in a crown and took his card, grimacing when he peeked at it. That meant nothing; going by his face, Edorion’s cards were always low and mismatched. He won more than he lost, though. Maybe being a High Noble’s cousin rather than their son had taught him a bit more sense. “Well, perhaps my luck will be better with these Sea Folk girls than the ones the Lord Dragon moved in.”

Mat had tried his luck with that lot as well, to no result. Avaleen and her crew were gone to their beds now, along with everyone else who’d attended Rand’s aborted party. All save for the young lords, the knackered-looking servants, and Mat himself.

Sat on Mat’s other side, the dealer was High Lord Maraconn’s eldest, and had no sense at all from what Mat could see. Tall and slender, with a pointed beard even more darkly luxuriant than Reimon’s, he laid a finger alongside his nose. “You think to be lucky with those, Edorion? The way they keep to themselves, you’ll be lucky to catch a whiff of their perfume.” He made a wafting gesture, inhaling deeply with a sigh, and the other lordlings laughed, even Edorion.

A plain-faced youth named Estean laughed loudest of all, scrubbing a hand through lank hair that kept falling over his forehead. Replace his fine yellow coat with drab wool, and he could have passed for a farmer, instead of the son of a High Lord with the richest estates in Tear and in his own right the wealthiest man at the table. He had also drunk much more wine than any of the others.

Swaying across the man next to him, a foppish fellow named Baran Asegora who always seemed to be looking down his sharp nose, Estean poked the dealer with a none too steady finger. Baran leaned back, twisting his mouth around his pipestem as if he feared Estean might throw up.

“That’s good, Carlomin,” Estean gurgled. “You think so too, don’t you, Baran? Edorion won’t get a sniff. If he wants to try his luck ... take a gamble ... he ought to go after the Aiel wenches, like Mat, here. All those spears and knives. Burn my soul. Like asking a lion to dance.” Dead silence dropped around the table. Estean laughed on alone, then blinked and scrubbed fingers through his hair again. “What’s the matter? Did I say something? Oh! Oh, yes. Them.”

Mat barely stopped a scowl. The fool had to bring up the Aiel. The only worse subject would have been Aes Sedai; they would almost rather have Aiel walking the corridors, staring down any Tairen who got in their way, than even one Aes Sedai, and these men thought they had a dozen, at least. He fingered an Andoran silver crown from his purse on the table and pushed it into the pot. Carlomin dealt out the card slowly.

Mat lifted it carefully with a thumbnail, and did not let himself so much as blink. The Ruler of Cups, a High Lord of Tear. The rulers in a deck varied according to the land where the cards were made, with the nation’s own ruler always as Ruler of Cups, the highest suit. These cards were old. He had already seen new decks with Rand’s face or something like it on the Ruler of Cups, complete with the Dragon banner. Rand the ruler of Tear; that still seemed ludicrous enough to make him want to pinch himself. Rand was a shepherd, a good fellow to have fun with when he was not going all over-serious and responsible. Rand the Dragon Reborn, now; that told him he was a stone fool to be sitting there, where Moiraine could put her hand on him whenever she wanted, waiting to see what Rand would do next. Maybe Thom Merrilin would go with him. Only, Thom seemed to be settling into the Stone as if he never meant to leave. Well, Mat was ready to travel alone, if need be.

Yet there was silver in the middle of the table and gold in front of the lordlings, and if he was dealt the fifth ruler, there was no hand in chop could beat him. Not that he really needed it. Suddenly he could feel luck tickling his mind. Not tingling as it did with the dice, of course, but he was already certain no-one was going to beat four rulers. The Tairens had been betting wildly all night, the price of ten farms crossing the table on the quickest hands.

But Carlomin was staring at the deck of cards in his hand instead of buying his fourth, and Baran was puffing his pipe furiously and stacking the coins in front of him as if ready to stuff them into his pockets. The Sanada brothers had an even more serious than usual look about them, Reimon wore a scowl behind his beard, and Edorion was frowning at his nails. Across from him, Haradud looked relieved at the prospect of the games’ end, which was the most sense Mat had seen from him since they’d met. The fool hadn’t won a single hand tonight, and had lost enough coin to buy half the farms in the Theren. Only Estean appeared unaffected; he grinned uncertainly around the table, perhaps already forgetting what he had said. They usually managed to put some sort of good face on the situation if the Aiel came up, but the hour was late, and the wine had flowed freely.

Mat scoured his mind for a way to keep them and their gold from walking away from his cards. One glance at their faces was enough to tell him that simply changing the subject would not be enough. But there was another way. If he made them laugh at the Aiel ...  _ Is it worth making them laugh at me, too? _ Chewing his pipestem, he tried to think of something else.

Baran picked up a stack of gold in each hand and moved to stick them in his pockets.

“I might just try these Sea Folk women,” Mat said quickly, taking his pipe to gesture with. “Odd things happen when you chase Aiel girls. Very odd. Like the game they call Maiden’s Kiss.” He had their attention, but Baran had not put down the coins, and Carlomin still showed no sign of buying a card.

Estean gave a drunken guffaw. “Kiss you with steel in your ribs, I suppose. Maidens of the Spear, you see. Steel. Spear in your ribs. Burn my soul.” No-one else laughed. But they were listening.

“Not quite.” Mat managed a grin.  _ Burn me, I’ve told this much. I might as well tell the rest _ . “Rhuarc said if I wanted to get along with the Maidens, I should ask them how to play Maiden’s Kiss. He said that was the best way to get to know them.” It still sounded like one of the kissing games back home, like Kiss the Daisies. He had never considered the Aiel clan chief a man to play tricks. He would be warier the next time. He made an effort to improve the grin. “So I went along to Rhian and ...” Reimon frowned impatiently. None of them knew any Aiel’s name but Rhuarc, and none of them wanted to. Mat dropped the names and hurried on “... went along dumb as a bull-goose fool, and asked them to show me.” He should have suspected something from the wide smiles that had bloomed on their faces. Like cats who had been asked to dance by a mouse. “Before I knew what was happening, I had a fistful of spears around my neck like a collar. I could have shaved myself with one sneeze.”

The others around the table exploded in laughter, from Reimon’s wheezing to Estean’s wine-soaked bray.

Mat left them to it. He could almost feel the spearpoints again, pricking if he so much as twitched a finger. Rhian, telling him she had never heard of a man actually asking to play Maiden’s Kiss. And then ...  _ Burn me. It was worth it in the end, though. Burn me _ .

Carlomin stroked his beard and spoke into Mat’s hesitation. “You cannot stop there. Go on. When was this? Last night, I’ll wager. When you didn’t come for the game, and no-one knew where you were.”

“I was playing stones with Thom Merrilin that night,” Mat said. “This was days ago. They each took a kiss. If she thought it was a good kiss, they eased up with the spears. If not, they pushed a little harder; to encourage, you might say. That was all. I’ll tell you this; I got nicked less than I do shaving.”

He stuck his pipe back between his teeth. If they wanted to know more, they could go ask to play the game themselves. He almost hoped some of them were fool enough. Bloody Aiel women and their bloody spears. He had not made it to his own bed until daybreak.

“It would be more than enough for me,” Carlomin said dryly. “The Light burn my soul if it would not.” He tossed a silver crown into the centre of the table and dealt himself another card. “Maiden’s Kiss.” He shook with mirth, and another ripple of laughter ran around the table.

Baran bought his fifth card, and Estean fumbled a coin from the heap scattered in front of him, peering at it to see what it was. They would not stop now.

“Savages,” Baran muttered around his pipe. “Ignorant savages. That is all they are, burn my soul. Live in caves, out in the Waste. In caves! No-one but a savage could live in the Waste.”

Reimon nodded. “At least they serve the Lord Dragon. I would take a hundred Defenders and clean them out of the Stone, if not for that.” Baran and Carlomin growled fierce agreement.

It was no effort for Mat to keep his face straight. He had heard much the same before. Boasting was easy when no-one expected you to carry through. A hundred Defenders? Even if Rand stood aside for some reason, the few hundred Aiel holding the Stone could probably keep it against any army Tear could raise. Not that they seemed to want the Stone, really. Mat suspected they were only there because Rand was. He did not think any of these lordlings had figured that out—they tried to ignore the Aiel as much as possible—but he doubted it would make them feel any better.

“Mat.” Estean fanned his cards out in one hand, rearranging them as if he could not decide what order they were meant to go in. “Mat, you will speak to the Lord Dragon, won’t you?”

“About what?” Mat asked cautiously. Too many of these Tairens knew he and Rand had grown up together to suit him, and they seemed to think he was arm in arm with Rand whenever he was out of their sight. None of them would have gone near his own brother if he could channel. He did not know why they thought him a bigger fool.

“Didn’t I say?” The plain-faced man squinted at his cards and scratched his head, then brightened. “Oh, yes. His proclamation, Mat. The Lord Dragon’s. His last one. Where he said commoners had the right to call lords before a magistrate. Who ever heard of a lord being summoned to a magistrate? And for peasants!”

Mat’s hand tightened on his purse until the coins inside grated together. “It would be a shame,” he said quietly, “if you were tried and judged just for having your way with a fisherman’s daughter whatever she wanted, or for having some farmer beaten for splashing mud on your cloak.”

The others shifted uneasily, catching his mood, but Estean nodded, head bobbing so it seemed about to fall off. “Exactly. Though it wouldn’t come to that, of course. A lord being tried before a magistrate? Of course not. Not really.” He laughed drunkenly at his cards. “No fishermen’s daughters. Smell of fish, you see, however you have them washed. A plump farm girl is best.”

Mat told himself he was there to gamble. He told himself to ignore the fool’s blather, reminded himself of how much gold he could take out of Estean’s purse. His tongue did not listen, though. “Who knows what it might come to? More hangings, maybe.”

Edorion gave him a sidelong look, guarded and uneasy. “Do we have to talk about ... about commoners, Estean? What about old Astoril’s daughters? Have you decided which you’ll marry yet?”

“What? Oh. Oh, I’ll flip a coin, I suppose.” Estean frowned at his cards, shifted one, and frowned again. “Medore has two or three pretty maids. Perhaps Medore.”

Mat took a long drink from his silver winecup to keep from hitting the man in his farmer’s face. He was still on his first cup; the two servants had given up trying to add more. If he hit Estean, none of them would lift a hand to stop him. Not even Estean. Because he was the Lord Dragon’s friend. He wished he was in a tavern somewhere out in the city, where some dockman might question his luck and only a quick tongue, or quick feet, or quick hands would see him leave with a whole skin. Now that  _ was _ a fool thought.

Edorion glanced at Mat again, measuring his mood. “I heard a rumour today. I hear the Lord Dragon is taking us to war with Illian.”

Mat gagged on his wine. “War?” he spluttered.

“War,” Reimon agreed happily around his pipestem.

“Are you certain?” Carlomin said, and Baran added, “I’ve heard no rumours.”

“I heard it just today, from three or four tongues.” Edorion seemed to be absorbed in his cards. “Who can say how true it is?”

“It must be true,” Reimon said. “With the Lord Dragon to lead us, holding  _ Callandor _ , we’ll not even have to fight. He will scatter their armies, and we will march straight into Illian. Too bad, in a way. Burn my soul if it isn’t. I would like a chance to match swords with the Illianers.”

“You’ll get no chance with the Lord Dragon leading,” Baran said. “They will fall on their knees as soon as they see the Dragon banner.”

“And if they do not,” Carlomin added with a laugh, “the Lord Dragon will blast them with lightning where they stand.”

Aki Sanada grimaced. “Hardly sporting, that.”

His brother shrugged. “Whatever gets the job done.”

“Illian first,” Reimon said. “And then ... then we’ll conquer the world for the Lord Dragon. You tell him I said so, Mat. The whole world.”

Mat shook his head. A month gone, they would have been horrified by even the idea of a man who could channel, a man doomed to go mad and die horribly. Now they were ready to follow Rand into battle, and trust his power to win for them. Trust the Power, though it was not likely they would put it that way. Yet he supposed they had to find something to hang on to. The invincible Stone was in the hands of the Aiel. The Dragon Reborn was in his chambers a hundred feet above their heads, and  _ Callandor _ was with him. Three thousand years of Tairen belief and history lay in ruins, and the world had been turned on its head. He wondered whether he had handled it any better; his own world had gone all askew in little more than a year. He rolled a gold Tairen crown across the backs of his fingers. However well he had done, he would not go back.

“When will we march, Mat?” Baran asked.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I don’t think Rand would start a war.” Unless he had gone mad already. That hardly bore thinking about.

The others looked as if he had assured them the sun would not come up tomorrow.

“We are all loyal to the Lord Dragon, of course.” Edorion frowned at his cards. “Out in the countryside, though ... I hear that some of the lords, a few, have been trying to raise an army to take back the Stone.” Suddenly no-one was looking at Mat, though Estean still seemed to be trying to make out his cards. “When the Lord Dragon takes us to war, of course, it will all melt away. In any case, we are loyal, here in the Stone. The High Lords, too, I am certain. It is only the few out in the countryside.”

Their loyalty would not outlast their fear of the Dragon Reborn. For a moment, Mat felt as though he were planning to abandon Rand in a pit of vipers. Then he remembered what Rand was. It was more like abandoning a weasel in a henyard. Rand had been a friend. The Dragon Reborn, though ... Who could be a friend to the Dragon Reborn?  _ I’m not abandoning anybody. He could probably pull the Stone down on their heads, if he wanted to. On my head, too _ . He told himself again that it was time to be gone.

“No fishermen’s daughters,” Estean mumbled. “You will speak to the Lord Dragon?”

“It is your turn, Mat,” Carlomin said anxiously. He looked half afraid, though what he feared—that Estean would anger Mat again, or that the talk might go back to loyalty—was impossible to say. “Will you buy the fifth card, or stack?”

Mat realized he had not been paying attention. Everyone but himself and Carlomin had five cards, though Reimon had neatly stacked his facedown beside the pot to show that he was out. Mat hesitated, pretending to think, then sighed and tossed another coin toward the pile.

As the silver crown bounced end over end, he suddenly felt luck grow from trickles to a flood. Every ping of silver against wooden tabletop rang clear in his head; he could have called face or sigil and known how the coin would land on any bounce. Just as he knew what his next card would be before Carlomin laid it in front of him.

Sliding his cards together on the table, he fanned them in one hand. The Ruler of Flames stared at him alongside the other four, the Amyrlin Seat balancing a flame on her palm, though she looked nothing like Siuan Sanche. However the Tairens felt about Aes Sedai, they acknowledged the power of Tar Valon, even if Flames was the lowest suit.

What were the odds of being dealt all five? His luck was best with random things, like dice, but perhaps a little more was beginning to rub off on cards. “The Light burn my bones to ash if it is not so,” he muttered. Or that was what he meant to say.

“There,” Estean all but shouted. “You cannot deny it this time. That was the Old Tongue. Something about burning, and bones.” He grinned around the table. “My tutor would be proud. I ought to send him a gift. If I can find out where he went.”

Nobles were supposed to be able to speak the Old Tongue, though in reality few knew more than Estean seemed to. The young lords set to arguing over exactly what Mat had said. They seemed to think it had been a comment on the heat.

Goose bumps pebbled Mat’s skin as he tried to recall the words that had just come out of his mouth. A string of gibberish, yet it almost seemed he should understand.  _ Burn Moiraine! If she’d left me alone, I wouldn’t have holes in my memory big enough for a wagon and team, and I wouldn’t be spouting ... whatever it bloody is! _ He would also be milking his father’s cows instead of walking the world with a pocketful of gold, but he managed to ignore that part of it.

“Are you here to gamble,” he said harshly, “or babble like old women over their knitting!”

“To gamble,” Baran said curtly. “Three crowns, gold!” He tossed the coins onto the pot.

“And three more besides,” Estean hiccoughed and added six golden crowns to the pile.

Suppressing a grin, Mat forgot about the Old Tongue. It was easy enough; he did not want to think about it. Besides, if they were starting this strongly, he might win enough on this hand to leave in the morning.  _ And if he’s crazy enough to start a war, I’ll leave if I have to walk _ .

Outside in the darkness, a cock crowed. Mat shifted uneasily and told himself not to be foolish. No-one was going to die.

His eyes dropped to his cards—and blinked. The Amyrlin’s flame had been replaced by a knife.

While he was telling himself he was tired and seeing things, she plunged the tiny blade into the back of his hand.

With a hoarse yell, he flung the cards away and hurled himself backward, overturning his chair, kicking the table with both feet as he fell. The air seemed to thicken like honey. Everything moved as if time had slowed, but at the same time everything seemed to happen at once. Other cries echoed his, hollow shouts reverberating inside a cavern. He and the chair drifted back and down; the table floated upward.

The Ruler of Flames hung in the air, growing larger, staring at him with a cruel smile. Now close to life-size, she started to step out of the card; she was still a painted shape, with no depth, but she reached for him with her blade, red with his blood as if it had already been driven into his heart. Beside her the Ruler of Cups began to grow, the Tairen High Lord drawing his sword.

Mat floated, yet somehow he managed to reach the dagger in his left sleeve and hurl it in the same motion, straight for the Amyrlin’s heart. If this thing had a heart. The second knife came into his left hand smoothly and left more smoothly. The two blades drifted through the air like thistledown. He wanted to scream, but that first yell of shock and outrage still filled his mouth. The Ruler of Rods was expanding beside the first two cards, the Queen of Andor gripping the rod like a bludgeon, her red-gold hair framing a madwoman’s snarl.

He was still falling, still yelling that drawn-out yell. The Amyrlin was free of her card, the High Lord striding out with his sword. The flat shapes moved almost as slowly as he. Almost. He had proof the steel in their hands could cut, and no doubt the rod could crack a skull. His skull.

His thrown daggers moved as if sinking in jelly. He was sure the cock had crowed for him. Whatever his father said, the omen had been real. But he would not give up and die. Somehow he had two more daggers out from under his coat, one in either hand. Struggling to twist in midair, to get his feet under him, he threw one knife at the golden-haired figure with the bludgeon. The other he held on to as he tried to turn himself, to land ready to face ...

The world lurched back into normal motion, and he landed awkwardly on his side, hard enough to drive the wind out of him. Desperately he struggled to his feet, drawing another knife from under his coat. You could not carry too many, Thom claimed. Neither was needed.

For a moment he thought cards and figures had vanished. Or maybe he had imagined it all. Maybe he was the one going mad. Then he saw the cards, back to ordinary size, pinned to one of the dark wood panels by his still quivering knives. He took a deep, ragged breath.

The table lay on its side, coins still spinning across the floor where lordlings and servants crouched among scattered cards. They gaped at Mat and his knives, those in his hands and those in the wall, with equally wide eyes. Estean snatched a silver pitcher that had somehow escaped being overturned and began pouring wine down his throat, the excess spilling over his chin and down his chest.

“Just because you do not have the cards to win,” Edorion said hoarsely, “there is no need to—” He cut off with a shudder.

“You saw it, too.” Mat slipped the knives back into their sheaths. A thin trickle of blood ran down the back of his hand from the tiny wound. “Don’t pretend you went blind!”

“I saw nothing,” Reimon said woodenly. “Nothing!” He began crawling across the floor, gathering up gold and silver, concentrating on the coins as if they were the most important thing in the world. The others were doing the same, except Estean, who scrambled about checking the fallen pitchers for any that still held wine. One of the servants had his face hidden in his hands; the other, eyes closed, was apparently praying in a low, breathless whine.

With a muttered oath, Mat strode to where his knives pinned the three cards to the panel. They were only playing cards again, just stiff paper with the clear lacquer cracked. But the figure of the Amyrlin still held a dagger instead of a flame. He tasted blood and realized he was sucking the cut in the back of his hand.

Hastily he wrenched his knives free, tearing each card in half before tucking the blade away. After a moment, he hunted through the cards littering the floor until he found the rulers of Coins and Winds, and tore them across, too. He felt a little foolish—it was over and done with; the cards were just cards again—but he could not help it.

None of the young lords crawling about on hands and knees tried to stop him. They scrambled out of his way, not even glancing at him. There would be no more gambling tonight, and maybe not for some nights to come. At least, not with him. Whatever had happened, it had been aimed at him, clearly. Even more clearly, it had to have been done with the One Power. They wanted no part of that.

“Burn you, Rand!” he muttered under his breath. “If you have to go mad, leave me out of it!” His pipe lay in two pieces, the stem bitten through cleanly. Angrily he grabbed his purse from the floor and stalked out of the hall.


	16. An Offer Accepted

CHAPTER 13: An Offer Accepted

In his darkened bedchamber Rand tossed uneasily on a bed wide enough for five people. He was alone for once, this evening’s events having left him in a foul mood. Company, he’d been able to avoid, but his dreams were more persistent stalkers.

Through a shadowy forest Moiraine was prodding him with a sharp stick toward where the Amyrlin Seat waited, sitting on a stump with a rope halter for his neck in her hands. Dim shapes moved half-seen through the trees, stalking, hunting him; here a dagger blade flashed in the failing light, over there he caught a glimpse of ropes ready for binding. Slender and not as tall as his shoulder, Moiraine wore an expression he had never seen on her face. Fear. Sweating, she prodded harder, trying to hurry him to the Amyrlin’s halter. Darkfriends and the Forsaken in the shadows, the White Tower’s leash ahead and Moiraine behind. Dodging Moiraine’s stick, he fled.

“It is too late for that,” she called after him, but he had to get back. Back.

Muttering, he thrashed on the bed, then was still, breathing more easily for a moment.

He was in the Waterwood back home, sunlight slanting through the trees to sparkle on the pond in front of him. There was green moss on the rocks at this end of the pond, and thirty paces away at the other end a small arc of wildflowers. This was where, as a child, he had learned to swim.

“You should have a swim now.”

He spun around with a start. Min stood there, grinning at him in her boy’s coat and breeches, and next to her, Elayne, with her red-golden curls, in a green silk gown fit for her mother’s palace.

It was Min who had spoken, but Elayne added, “The water looks inviting, Rand. No-one will bother us here.”

“I don’t know,” he began slowly. Min cut him off by twining her fingers behind his neck and pulling herself up on tiptoe to kiss him.

She repeated Elayne’s words in a soft murmur. “No-one will bother us here.” She stepped back and doffed her coat, then attacked the laces of her shirt.

Rand stared, the more so when he realized Elayne’s gown was lying on the mossy ground. The Daughter-Heir was bending, arms crossed, gathering up the hem of her shift.

“What are you doing?” he demanded in a strangled voice.

“Getting ready to go swimming with you,” Min replied. Elayne flashed him a smile, and hoisted the shift over her head to reveal her pale and beautiful body. Min pulled down her trousers, offering him a wonderful view of her curvaceous bottom in the process. They were so beautiful, the pair of them. He wanted them so much.

Rand squeezed his eyes shut. He shouldn’t. He was a threat to them, and all the others. He should banish such dreams forever, and embrace a life of celibacy. It would be for the best. It would be a cold and miserable life, one barely worth living, but it would be a virtuous one, at least.

“Do you not deserve what you want for a change?” Elayne called. She and Min were in the water already, only their heads showing as they swam lazily in the middle of the pond. “Come join us,” she said, lifting a slim arm to beckon.

He shifted his feet, wanting to move but unable to decide which way. What he wanted. The words sounded strange. What did he want? He raised a hand to his face, to wipe away what felt like sweat. Festering flesh almost obliterated the heron branded on his palm; white bone showed through red-edged gaps.

With a jerk, he came awake, lying there shivering in the dark heat, uncomfortably erect. Sweat soaked his smallclothes, and the linen sheets beneath his back. His side burned, where an old wound had never healed properly. He traced the rough scar, a circle nearly an inch across, still tender after all this time. Even Moiraine’s Aes Sedai Healing could not mend it completely.  _ But I’m not rotting yet. And I’m not mad, either. Not yet _ . Not yet. That said it all. He wanted to laugh, and wondered if that mean he was a little mad already.

Dreaming about Min and Elayne, dreaming of them like that ... Well, it was not madness, but it was surely foolishness. Min must hate him now, after how he’d abandoned her. And Elayne had never looked on him as anything but a friend and ally. And if it had been otherwise? What was true of his current lovers would be true of her as well. What man could ask a woman to love him when he knew he had only a few years, if he was lucky, before he went insane, before he began to rot alive? He shivered despite the heat. Knowing he couldn’t have that love just made him want it more. If he was even half a man, he’d explain things gently to Merile and Raine and Saeri and Imoen and the others who thought kindly of him, explain to them why he had to turn his back on them, and then do exactly that. If he was half a man. Instead, he clung to them desperately, as if their warmth could stave off the cold darkness that grew all around, and within him.

_ I need sleep. This accomplishes nothing _ . The High Nobles would be back in the morning, manoeuvring for his favour. For the Dragon Reborn’s favour. They’d probably try to talk him out of hanging Hervaci as well.  _ Maybe I won’t dream, this time _ . He started to roll over, searching for a dry place on the sheets—and froze, listening to small rustlings in the darkness. He was not alone.

The Sword That Is Not a Sword lay across the room, beyond his reach, on a thronelike stand the High Nobles had given him, no doubt in the hopes he would keep  _ Callandor _ out of their sight.

_ Someone wanting to steal  _ Callandor. A second thought came.  _ Or to kill the Dragon Reborn _ . He did not need Thom’s whispered warnings to know that the High Nobles’ professions of undying loyalty were only words of necessity.

He emptied himself of thought and emotions, assuming the void; that much came without effort. Floating in the cold emptiness within himself, thought and emotion outside, he reached for the True Source.

_ Saidin _ filled him like a torrent of white heat and light, exalting him with life, sickening him with the foulness of the Dark One’s taint, like a skim of sewage floating on pure, sweet water. The torrent threatened to wash him away, burn him up, engulf him.

Fighting the flood, he mastered it by bare effort of will and rolled from the bed, channelling the Power as he landed on his feet in the stance to begin the sword-form called Apple Blossoms in the Wind. His enemies could not be many or they would have made more noise; the gently named form was meant for use against more than one opponent.

As his feet hit the carpet, a sword was in his hands, with a long hilt and a slightly curved blade sharp on only one edge. It looked to have been wrought from flame yet it did not feel even warm. The figure of a heron stood black against the yellow-red of the blade. In the same instant every candle and gilded lamp burst alight, small mirrors behind them swelling the illumination. Larger mirrors on the walls and two stand-mirrors reflected it further, until he could have read comfortably anywhere in the large room.

_ Callandor _ sat undisturbed on its stand, and where he had thought to see assassins, or thieves, one beautiful young woman stood hesitant and surprised in the middle of the carpet, black hair falling in shining waves to her shoulders. Her thin, white silk robe emphasized more than it hid. Berelain, ruler of the city-state of Mayene, was the last person he had expected.

After one wide-eyed start, she made a deep, graceful curtsy that drew her garments tight. “I am unarmed, my Lord Dragon. I submit myself to your search, if you doubt me.” Her smile suddenly made him uncomfortably aware that he wore nothing but his smallclothes ... and that he had been recently dreaming of a duo of beautiful women.

_ And I was thinking that  _ her _ clothes didn’t hide much! Burn me! She probably thinks it’s because of her _ . She was a good-looking woman, no-one could deny it, but far too demanding for his taste. He already had plenty of pushy nobles to deal with, so when she had marched into his company earlier, introduced herself and all but demanded they have dinner together, he’d just told her that she was free to leave the Stone and go back to Mayene. That was that, he’d thought. Yet here she was.

_ I’ll be burned if she makes me scramble around trying to cover myself _ . The thought floated beyond the void.  _ I didn’t ask her to walk in on me. To sneak in!  _ Anger and embarrassment drifted along the borders of emptiness, too, but his face reddened all the same; dimly he was aware of it, aware of the knowledge deepening the flush in his cheeks. So coldly calm within the void; outside ... He could feel each individual droplet of sweat sliding down his chest and back. It took a real effort of stubborn will to stand there under her eyes.  _ Search her? The Light help me! _

Relaxing his stance, he let the sword vanish but held the narrow flow connecting him to  _ saidin _ . It was like drinking from a hole in a dike when the whole long mound of earth wanted to give way, the water sweet as honeyed wine and sickening as a rivulet through a midden.

He did not know much of this woman, except that she walked through the Stone as if it were her palace in Mayene. Thom said the First of Mayene asked questions constantly, of everyone. Questions about Rand. Which might have been natural, given what he was, but they made him no easier in his mind. And she had not returned to Mayene. That was not natural. She had been held captive in all but name for months, until his arrival, cut off from her throne and the ruling of her small nation. Most people would have taken the first opportunity to get away from a man who could channel.

“What are you doing here?” He knew he sounded harsh, and did not care. “There were Aiel guarding that door when I went to sleep. How did you come past them?”

Berelain’s lips curved up a trifle more; to Rand it seemed the room had gotten suddenly even hotter. “They passed me through immediately, when I said I had been summoned by the Lord Dragon.”

“Summoned? I didn’t summon anybody.”  _ Stop this _ , he told himself.  _ She’s a queen, or the next thing to it. You know as much about the ways of queens as you do about flying _ . He tried to make himself be civil, only he did not know what to call the First of Mayene. “My lady ...” That would have to do. “... why would I summon you at this time of night?”

She gave a low, rich laugh, deep in her throat; even wrapped in emotionless emptiness it seemed to tickle his skin, make the hairs stir on his arms and legs. Suddenly he took in her clinging garb as if for the first time, and felt himself go red all over again.  _ She can’t mean ... Can she? Light, I’ve barely said two words to her before! _

“Perhaps I wish to talk, my Lord Dragon.” She let the pale robe fall to the floor, revealing a even thinner white silk garment he could only call a nightgown. It left her smooth shoulders completely bare, and exposed a considerable expanse of bosom. He found himself wondering distantly what held it up. It was difficult not to stare. “You are a long way from your home, like me. The nights especially seem lonely.”

“Tomorrow, I will be happy to talk with you.”

“But during the day, people surround you. Petitioners. High Lords. Aiel.” She gave a shiver; he told himself he really ought to look away, but he could as easily have stopped breathing. He had never before been so aware of his own reactions when wrapped in the void. “The Aiel frighten me, and I do not like Tairen lords of any sort.”

About the Tairens he could believe her, but he did not think anything frightened this woman.

_ Burn me, she’s in a strange man’s bedchamber in the middle of the night, only half-dressed, and I’m the one who’s jumpy as a cat in a dog run, void or no _ . It was time to put an end to things before they went too far.

“It would be better if you return to your own bedchamber, my lady.” Part of him wanted to tell her to put on a cloak, too. A thick cloak. Part of him did. “It ... it is really too late for talking. Tomorrow. In daylight.”

She gave him a slanted, quizzical look. “Have you absorbed stuffy Tairen ways already, my Lord Dragon? Or is this reticence something from your Theren? We are not so ... formal ... in Mayene. And I have heard rumours of your prowess ...”

It wasn’t a question of shyness for Rand. He just didn’t fancy the idea of jumping into bed with a complete stranger. That was hardly cause for her to look at him as if he was being weird! “My lady ...” He tried to sound formal; if she did not like formality, that was what he wanted. “I am involved with another woman, my lady.”

“I have heard, though no-one seems certain which one. Or if it is only one. Do you mean the Aes Sedai, my Lord Dragon? The girl from your hometown and the curly-haired Andoran are often in your company. If they really are Aes Sedai. They are quite young—perhaps too young—to wear the ring and the shawl.” Berelain spoke as if Nynaeve and Elayne were children, though she herself could not be any older than Nynaeve. “My Lord Dragon, I do not mean to come between you. Marry her, if she is willing. I would never aspire to wed the Dragon Reborn himself. Forgive me if I overstep myself, but I told you we are not so ... formal in Mayene. May I call you Rand?”

Rand surprised himself by sighing regretfully. There had been a glint in her eye, a slight shift of expression, gone quickly, when she mentioned marrying the Dragon Reborn. If she had not considered it before, she had now. The Dragon Reborn, not Rand al’Thor; the man of prophecy, not the shepherd from the Theren. He was not shocked, exactly; some girls back home mooned over whoever proved himself fastest or strongest in the games at Bel Tine and Sunday, and now and again a man set his eyes on the woman with the richest fields or the largest flocks. He probably should have seen this coming. It was all out in the open now. Who and what he was. Power, wealth and position were his. Infamy masquerading as fame. With that would come the interest of those who hungered for such things. Berelain was the first of them to approach him, but he doubted she would be the last. She wanted something from him, and it wasn’t flowers or a heartfelt kiss. All this flattery, and the pleasures she offered him, were how she thought to get whatever it was. Pity. It would have been nice to think she wanted Rand al’Thor. “It is time for you to go, my lady,” he said quietly.

She stepped closer. “I can feel your eyes on me, Rand.” Her voice was smoky heat. “I am no village girl tied to her mother’s apron, and I know you want—”

“Do you think I’m made of stone, woman?” She jumped at his roar, but the next instant she was crossing the carpet, reaching for him, her eyes dark pools that could pull a man into their depths.

“Your arms look as strong as stone. If you think you must be harsh with me, then be harsh, so long as you hold me.” Her hands touched his face; sparks seemed to leap from her fingers.

Without thinking he channelled the flows still linked to him, and suddenly she was staggering back, eyes wide with startlement, as if a wall of air pushed her.

The unseen, moving wall scraped ripples along the carpet, sweeping along Berelain’s discarded robe, a boot he had tossed aside undressing, and a red leather footstool supporting an open volume of Eban Vandes’  _ The History of the Stone of Tear _ , pushing them along as it forced her almost to the wall, fenced her in. Safely away from him. He tied off the flow—that was all he could think to call what he did—and no longer needed to maintain the shield himself. For a moment he studied what he had done, until he was sure he could repeat it. It looked useful, especially the tying off.

Dark eyes still wide, Berelain felt along the confines of her invisible prison with trembling hands. Her face had lost several shades of tan, though it was still nowhere near as white as her skimpy silk shift. Footstool, boot and book lay at her feet, jumbled with the robe.

“Much as I regret it,” he told her, “we will not speak again, except in public, my lady.” He really did regret it. Whatever her motives, she was beautiful.  _ Burn me, I am a fool! _ He was not sure how he meant that—for thinking of her beauty, or for sending her away. “In fact, it is best you arrange your journey back to Mayene as soon as possible. I promise you that Tear will not trouble Mayene again. You have my word.” It was a promise good only for his lifetime, perhaps only as long as he stood in the Stone, but he had to offer her something. A bandage for wounded pride, a gift to take her mind off being afraid.

But her fear was already under control, on the outside, at least. Honesty and openness filled her face, all efforts at allure gone. “Forgive me. I have handled this badly. I did not mean to offend. In my country, a woman may speak her mind to a man freely, or he to her. Rand, you must know that you are a handsome man, tall and strong. I would be the one made of stone, if I did not see it, and admire. Please do not send me away from you. I will beg it, if you wish.” She knelt smoothly, like a dance. Her expression still said she was being open, confessing everything, but on the other hand, in kneeling she had managed to tug her already precarious gown down until it looked in real danger of falling off. “Please, Rand?”

Even sheltered in emptiness as he was, he gaped at her, and it had nothing to do with her beauty or her near undress. Well, only partly. If the Defenders of the Stone had been half as determined as this woman, half as steadfast in purpose, ten thousand Aiel could never have taken the Stone.

“I am flattered, my lady,” he said diplomatically. “Believe me, I am. But it would not be fair to you. I cannot give you what you deserve.”  _ And let her make of that what she will _ .

“You could give me so much more than I deserve,” she said, her gaze sliding down his body. The reaction his dream had inspired had not yet worn off. His cock defied him by twitching under her scrutiny. She smiled again. “Where is the harm in what I propose? I could take nothing from you that you did not want to give me. And you do want to give me something, don’t you, Rand?”

He scowled, more at himself than at her. “Obviously. But ...”  _ But you don’t love me _ , was what he didn’t say. Pride wouldn’t let such pitiful words pass his lips.

Berelain pressed herself up against the invisible wall between them. His first thought was that she mustn’t have realised what that would do to that impressive bosom of hers, but then he scoffed at his own naivety. She knew damn rightly. “Can’t I just express my admiration and loyalty, my Lord Dragon? My handsome Rand? You don’t have to do anything for me afterwards. Not unless you want to. I could help you with that burden you are carrying, if you would only let me. Won’t you let me? Please?”

His heart wouldn’t stop racing, and his cock refused to shrink back to a decent size. “Burn me, this is a mistake,” he whispered as he undid the ties on her prison.

She fell forward when the wall dissipated, landing on her hands and knees. He expected her to get back to her feet, but she didn’t. Instead, she began crawling across the carpet towards him, smiling up at him all the while. Her breasts, barely contained by that skimpy nightdress, swayed beneath her as she moved. Only when she had reached him did she rise up, and then only until her face was level with his crotch.

“It will be the best mistake you’ve ever made,” she promised. She tugged his smallclothes forwards to free his straining erection. His cock sprang out and the head tapped the Lady First on the cheek, leaving a small trail of clear, sticky fluid. She let loosed a startled gasp and giggled almost girlishly as she took in the sight of him. “Magnificent,” she flattered.

Berelain’s dark eyes stared up at him as she guided the head of his cock towards her open mouth. Rand’s breath shuddered out, and the void fled with thought, when she took him inside. Her skilful tongue traced every line and contour of him, and her soft, elegant hand moved up and down the length of his shaft. It felt altogether wonderful, though the slobbering, clopping sounds she made as she sucked on him were not very conductive to a romantic mood. But then, romance wasn’t what they were about this night.

As much as he was enjoying the feel of her mouth, and the sight of her dark head bobbing on him, Rand wanted more. When she had him well and truly ready, he took her by the arms and pulled her to her feet. Berelain came willingly, almost eagerly in fact.

She tried to kiss his lips but ended up kissing only the side of his neck as he wrapped his arms around her. He ran his hands down the back of her silken nightgown and grasped her rounded buttocks, lifting her clear of the floor. Then he stepped out of his puddled smallclothes, and turned towards the bed.

Berelain tossed her midnight tresses back. “So strong,” she breathed, “so masterful.”

Rand feasted his eyes on the valley between her breasts before lowering his mouth to kiss one. It was as soft and warm as he’d imagined. A sharp rap on his shin told him they had reached the edge of the bed, and he collapsed onto it sideways. Berelain’s eyes were closed as she bounced softly on the thick mattress, her lips curved in what he thought, for one foolish moment, was a genuine smile.

_ Don’t _ , he cautioned himself.  _ That’s not what this is _ .

Placing her hands upon his bare chest, Berelain pushed away and drew one leg up under her. Her smile turned coy as she crawled to the centre of the massive bed, her too-short nightgown riding high on her hips, the short, white pantalettes she wore beneath hugging the generous curves of her bottom.

He might well call himself the Dragon Reborn, and even dare claim he was the Creator’s chosen weapon in the war against the Shadow. He might presume to usurp control of the sovereign nation of Tear, and rule it however he saw fit. But no high and mighty titles could stop Rand from crawling after that sight like a dog in heat.

He soon caught up to her and took hold of the straps of her nightgown, sliding them over her shoulders and pulling the flimsy garment down. The bountiful flesh of her breasts resisted briefly, but unlike his manhood, Berelain’s body was soft and malleable. With a delightful shudder the gown came free and fell down around her hips. His hands found her breasts and squeezed them roughly, while she moaned encouragement. Berelain was tan all over, he saw, as he peered over her shoulder. An even tan, born of nature rather than the sun’s heat. Her wide nipples were a darker brown than the rest of her, and stiff beneath his questing hands, welcome proof of her arousal.

“Magnificent,” he whispered, and truly meant it.

She turned to face him, smiling proudly, and then pushed her shoulders back, regarding him with a raised chin and a regal look in her big, black eyes. It was all he could take.

With a hand on either hip, he pulled her towards him. She fell back on the bed, her breasts bouncing in a way that stoked his lust even higher. Disappointingly, his penis found only rough silk between her obligingly spread legs. Awkwardly, he tried to drag her panties down, but his position between her thighs denied him.  _ Fool sheepherder _ , he thought then,  _ that problem is easily solved. You can afford to buy her new ones _ . He seized her underwear between his hands and ripped them rudely, exposing the neatly trimmed black hairs on Berelain’s womanhood. She soon lay naked before him, breathing deeply and watched him with shining, wide-open eyes.

“Take me,” she said.

So he did. Not bothering with any soft caresses or softer words, Rand took hold of his cock and aimed it at her slick crevice.

“Yesss”, she moaned huskily as he entered her. The word became a drawn out moan as he slid deeper inside, slowly savouring the impossible sweetness, until it became almost a thing of pain. Not bothering to ask how much she could comfortably take, he buried his sword in her to the hilt. Berelain blinked up at her strange new lover with an almost uncertain look in her eyes. It planted a seed of protectiveness in Rand, one that fought with his inflamed lust. Fought and lost.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and hips, crushing her to him. Her tan breasts warred with the toned muscles of his pale, hairless chest. Rand had a hand tangled in the silken crown of her hair and another digging almost cruelly into a smooth buttock. He pulled his cock almost all the way out of her and thrust in again, hard. Again, again, again, groaning under his breath with each stroke. Berelain’s own excited gasps were strangely high-pitched, given her sultry tones of before.

“Rand”, she moaned, as she crossed her ankles behind his back. “Rand”, she moaned as her hands caressed the thick muscles of his shoulders. “Rand”, she moaned before nipping his earlobe with her teeth. “Rand”, with every thrust until his own familiar name began to sound like music. Through the hand on her bottom he held her to him, and felt her muscles clench and relax as she moved in rhythm with him. The heated honey of her grasping sex reducing his resolve and his anger to nothing. Pleasure, only pleasure.

Still thrusting, Rand raised his head from Berelain’s shoulder to behold the strange and wondrous woman who could do so much in so short a time. Her eyes were squeezed shut, small frown lines marring her beautiful face, a blush darkening her cheeks. Still, she gasped his name, her mouth open. Her lips looked soft. He wanted to kiss them but some strange part of him insisted it would be wrong.

As though she could feel his conflict, Berelain reached up to touch his cheek. She trailed her fingers down his face once more and opened those magnificent dark eyes. They reminded him of Min’s ... and with that, he felt it begin.

His rhythm faltered, and Rand began to feel a little desperate. “Ladies first” was a slogan by which any man worth the title lived by, after all. He was usually very attentive to the other person’s pleasure, but he hadn’t been sparing much thought for Berelain’s at all.

Instead of being annoyed, she grinned at his predicament and clasped his head between her hands. She looked right into his eyes, her own alight with mischief and began to wriggle beneath him. “Oh my darling Rand,” she teased artfully, “full to bursting with passion. Give your passion to me, my darling. Let me be your lighthouse, let the waves crash against me. Surging ... until they fill me ...”

“Light! Who talks like that?” he said through gritted teeth.

She gave a throaty laugh. “Hey! Nobles like that sort of thing. Most of them. I’m still learning what you like ... but I learn fast ...” With that, she grabbed one of his taught buttocks in either hand and squeezed, pulling him into her one more time. Her pussy clamped around him, and she rolled her hips in a way that could not be denied.

Rand reared up as he felt that most exquisite of pleasures burst forth, better than  _ saidin _ could ever be. He shouted her name without realising. Wave after wave of pleasure surged through him as his seed filled Berelain’s womb, and some dim corner of his mind wondered if he had made a mistake. But as he looked down and saw the sweat-soaked expanse of her bosom rise and fall with each panting breath, he could not find it within himself to care.

At last he collapsed, his head seeking out that bosom almost of its own accord. He curled up, still on top of her, and savoured a moment of pure bliss. Despite knowing he was the Dragon Reborn, Berelain wrapped her arms around him brushed his wet hair back from his face in a way that he wanted to think of as tender, but knew better than to fantasize was so. He could hear her heartbeat, her breath. Feel them, too.

Minutes passed. The silence took on an awkward quality. Rand had never been a great speaker, and found himself at a loss for words. At last, good manners drove him to climb off the Lady First and sit up. His limp and sticky cock rested on his thigh as her regarded her almost sheepishly.

“So, that’s how they do things in Mayene, then?”

Berelain arched an eyebrow and rose up on one elbow, breasts swaying distractingly. “Not everyone, no ...”

“Of course,” he agreed hastily. “I can’t imagine there are any other women like you. If there were how would the men get any work done?” She looked slightly confused by that.

Rand decided to leave the witty banter to Mat, and resorted to honest truth. “That was incredible, Berelain. Can I call you Berelain?”

“Of course, lover,” she responded coyly. “You already did, after all.”

“Did I?”

“Yes ...” She trailed a hand down her soft stomach to brush the hairs of her pussy. He saw how matted they were with their mingled juices and his heart, only recently slowed began to speed up again.

“Well, as incredible as you are, my lady, I can’t help but feel I’ve given the Theren a bad name,” he began.

“There you would be grievously mistaken, my Lord Dragon. Grievously mistaken,” she interrupted, her eyes shining and lips curving into a smile.

Rand smiled back and continued more confidently. “... but the night, as they say, is young. And so are we.”

Raising her brows, the First reached out with a hand already sticky with she and Rand's mingled fluids and ran her fingers lightly along the length of his sticky manhood. When she felt him respond, she grinned eagerly. “We are indeed,” she purred. “Such a nice change.”

Rand rolled the unresisting Berelain onto her side, taking hold of one slender leg at the knee and lifting it to expose her sex. As he positioned himself behind her, she arched her back, pressing her lush buttocks against his waist. “Take me, my lord. I am bedazzled by your beauty,” she said dramatically. She was a vamp, and an insincere one at that, but somehow the fact that she knew that he knew how insincere she was and did it anyway made it feel okay. Playful.

He suddenly found that he wanted to make her feel as good as she had him. His stiffening cock slid easily into her wet crevice, and she sighed in satisfaction.

Rand fucked Berelain slower this time, savouring the feel of her. His hands kneaded her bountiful breasts, teasing her dark nipples. He kissed the side of her graceful neck as she moaned encouragingly. She tossed her head as he rode her, her silky black hair fell upon his face, tickling him. He inhaled the sweet scent of her, pace increasing.

“Yes,” she groaned. “Just there …” He trailed his hand over her soft belly; sought and found the wet folds of her sex. “Oh, yes,” she whispered, as his fingers explored her wanton body. She clutched the sheets of Rand’s bed in her hands, and pressed herself back against him as he fucked her all the harder.

He rubbed her stiff little nipple between thumb and forefinger. Marvelled at the hot wetness of her womanhood and the rough little hairs that coated it. He cupped her in his hand and found another little nub to stroke. Her toes curled and she kicked out involuntarily.

Rand felt Berelain’s pussy contract around him suddenly. She gritted her teeth, thrust her impressive chest out and came with a wordless shout, her juices flowing freely over his hand and cock. The rocking of his hips slowed when he leaned forward to look upon her beautiful face. She let out soft little moans of approval as he caressed her breasts, riding out the waves of her pleasure, eyes closed lips smiling in satisfaction.

“That’s more like it,” he told himself. Just because she was trying to influence him with sex was no excuse to leave her unsatisfied. Or was it?

He slid out of Berelain’s body and rolled onto his back to ponder the ceiling.  _ It probably should be _ , he thought, after a while.  _ So why does it feel wrong? I bet someone else would think it a perfectly good excuse. Someone more normal _ . It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself wondering at how bizarre his intimate entanglements were, but it brought him no further enlightenment.

“So you brood even here. I approve. The look suits you,” Berelain said.

She was propped up on one elbow now, her hair tousled and her skin flushed, heavy breasts moving enticingly with each deep breath she took. His erection had not faded. Something which her sooty eyes did not fail to notice.

Outside in the darkness, a cock crowed.

To Rand’s surprise, Berelain suddenly stared past him, those eyes going as big as teacups. Her mouth dropped open, and her slim throat corded with a scream that would not come. He sat up, the yellow-red sword flashing back into his hand.

Across the room, one of the stand-mirrors threw his reflection back at him, a tall young man with reddish hair and grey eyes, naked and aroused and holding a sword carved from fire. But this reflection was on its feet, walking towards the bed on which Rand and Berelain rested. As he watched, the reflection stepped out onto the carpet, and raised its sword.

_ I have gone mad _ , he thought. Then.  _ No! She saw it. It’s real! _

Clambering from the bed, Rand fed his fear, his confusion, his disappointment and his nakedness to the flame and felt the void fill him. Grimly, he advanced to meet his greatest enemy.

As he did so, movement to his left caught the corner of his eye. He twisted before he could think, sword sweeping up in The Moon Rises Over Water. The blade slashed through the shape—his shape—climbing out of a mirror on the wall. The form wavered, broke up like dust motes floating on air, vanished. Rand’s reflection appeared in the mirror again, but even as it did, it put hands on the mirror frame. He was aware of movement in mirrors all around the room.

Desperately, he stabbed at the mirror. Silvered glass shattered, yet it seemed that the image shattered first. He thought he heard a distant scream inside his head, his own voice screaming, fading. Even as shards of mirror fell, he lashed out with the One Power. Every mirror in the room exploded silently, fountaining glass across the carpet. The dying scream in his head echoed again and again, sending shivers down his back. It was his voice; he could hardly believe it was not himself who made the sounds.

He spun back to face the one he’d first seen, just in time to meet its attack, Unfolding the Fan to counter Stones Falling Down the Mountain. He might have pressed the attack after batting his opponent’s chopping blade aside, but Rand was keenly aware of his own erection bobbing in front of him, so perilously close to those flashing blades.

Perhaps the other him was as well, for the figure leaped back and dropped into a guard stance that exactly mirrored Rand’s own.

A gasp from the naked woman kneeling on his bed caused Rand to glance backwards, a mistake that almost cost him his life to The Falcon Stoops. He dived out of the way of the thrust just in time, rolling to his feet on the soft carpet. Then he saw what had startled Berelain.

The impossible copy was not alone. As quickly as Rand had smashed the mirrors, two more reflections had escaped. Now they stood facing him, three duplicates of himself down to the puckered round scar on his side, all staring at him, faces twisted with hatred and contempt, with a strange hunger. Only their eyes seemed empty, lifeless. Before he could take a breath, they rushed at him.

Rand stepped sideways, pieces of broken mirror slicing his feet, ever sideways, from stance to stance and form to form, trying to face only one at a time. He used everything Lan had taught him of the sword in their daily practice. And it was barely enough to keep him alive. His opponents matched him blow for blow, seeming to know exactly what he was going to do even before he did it. One would have been an even match for him, three at once, he knew, would be his end.

Had the three fought together, had they supported one another, he would have died in the first minute, but each fought him alone, as if the others did not exist. Even so, he could not stop their blades entirely; in minutes blood ran down the side of his face, his chest, his arms. The old wound tore open, adding its flow to stain his body with red. They had his skill as well as his face, and they were three to his one. Chairs and tables toppled; priceless Sea Folk porcelain shattered on the carpet. The sheets and the mattress were struck by slashing blades as they fought across a floor covered in shards of glass and porcelain, goose feathers swirling in the air around them.

He felt his strength ebbing. None of his cuts was major by itself, except the old wound, but all together ... He never thought of calling for help from the Aiel outside his door. The thick walls would stifle even a death scream. Whatever was done, he must do alone. He fought wrapped in the cold emotionlessness of the void, but fear scraped at its boundaries like wind-lashed branches scratching a window in the night.

His blade slipped past its opponent to slash across a face just below the eyes—he could not help wincing; it was his face—its owner sliding back just far enough to avoid a killing cut. Blood welled from the gash, veiling mouth and chin in dark crimson, but the ruined face did not change expression, and its empty eyes never flickered. It wanted him dead the way a starving man wanted food.

_ Can anything kill them? _ All three bled from the wounds he had managed to inflict, but bleeding did not seem to slow them as he knew it was slowing him. They tried to avoid his sword, but did not appear to realize they had been hurt.  _ If they have been _ , he thought grimly.  _ Light, if they bleed, they can be hurt! They must! _

Staggering, he caught at a small table to steady himself, and then shuddered as pain stabbed his hand. Looking down, he saw an image of himself, no more than six inches tall, draw back its small sword. Instinctively, he grabbed the figure before it could stab again. It writhed in his grip, baring teeth at him. He became aware of small movements all around the room, of small reflections by the score stepping out of polished silver. His hand began to numb, to grow cold, as if the thing were sucking the warmth out of his flesh. The heat of  _ saidin _ swelled inside him; a rushing filled his head, and the heat flowed into his icy hand.

Suddenly the small figure burst like a bubble, and he felt something flow into him—from the bursting—some little portion of his lost strength. He jerked as tiny jolts of vitality seemed to pelt him.

When he raised his head—wondering why he was not dead—the small reflections he had half-glimpsed were gone. The three larger stood wavering, as if his gain in strength had been their loss. Yet as he looked up, they steadied on their feet and came on, if more cautiously.

He backed away, thinking furiously, sword threatening first one and then another. If he continued to fight them as he had been, they would kill him sooner or later. He knew that as surely as he knew he was bleeding. But something linked the reflections. Absorbing the small one—the far-off thought made him queasy, but that was what it had been—had not only brought the others with it, it had also affected the bigger, for a moment at least. If he could do the same to one of them, it might destroy all three.

Even thinking of absorbing them made him vaguely aware of wanting to empty his stomach, but he did not know another way.  _ I don’t know this way. How did I do it? Light, what did I do? _ He had to grapple with one of them, to touch it at least; he was somehow sure of that. But if he tried to get that close, he would have three blades through him in as many heartbeats.  _ Reflections. How much are they still reflections? _

Hoping he was not being a fool—if he was, he might well be a dead one—he let his sword vanish even as his opponents sliced at him. When his carved-fire blade winked out of existence, the others’ did, too. Confusion painted three copies of his face, one a bloody ruin.

In the brief moment of imbalance that followed the failed attacks, he struck out. A right cross to the jaw of one sent the imposter crashing to the floor, a firm kick between the legs of a second doubled him over, stealing some of the ardour that stilled engorged them all. Rand winced in reflexive sympathy but this was no time for fighting fair. The third he seized by the arm and spun into a trip-throw that sent it rolling across the glass covered carpet.

He needed to isolate one of them from the others. And he needed a respite, a moment to catch his breath, to gather himself before attempting to do ... whatever it was that he’d done. So he leaped away from them, onto the bed, rolling across its width. Berelain, huddled against the headboard with a pillow clutched in front of her, kicked her feet as though trying to push herself through the wooden board and the wall behind it. Landing in a crouch on the other side of the bed, he seized the copy of himself that he’d thrown before it could regain its feet, and tried to concentrate on absorbing it. Somehow.

As Rand struggled with himself, the First of Mayene discovered her courage. Rising from the bed, her heavy breasts swaying, she picked up a candlestick from the bedside table and advanced towards the struggling twins, looking back and forth between them with confusion written all over her beautiful face, “Are you doing this?” she asked, her voice a little higher-pitched than usual. “Is this a  _ saidin _ thing? Should I help?”

One of his doubles had climbed onto the torn bed, kicking goose feathers as it padded across warily. Its eyes glistened like glass. It hopped down from the bed while Rand was still struggling to absorb the other one.  _ Work, burn you!  _ he thought desperately as it came closer.

The hunger on its face, his face, did not change when it drew near Berelain. Only the target of that hunger changed. Its hand shot out and seized her by the wrist.

“Rand, is that you?” she whispered, staring up at the imposter with her big dark eyes. It squeezed Berelain’s wrist in its unkind grip, causing her to drop her weapon to the carpet. Then it roughly clamped its mouth to hers. Rand saw Berelain’s shoulders stiffen, but she soon relaxed into the fake’s embrace.

Instinctively, he went to push it off her, realising too late that by doing so he had freed the other copy. It tackled him from behind, knocking him to the glass strewn carpet and locking its arms around his neck in a wrestler’s hold. Rand got a hand between his throat and his opponents forearm, saving himself from the strangle. He attempted to roll but he was matched strength for strength. Only the comforting distance of the void kept him from crying out as broken pieces of glass traced a dozen or more thin cuts down the front of his body. And even with the void in place, he shuddered at the sheer bizarreness of feeling his own erection pressing against the small of his back.

As he struggled with one copy on the floor, another ran its hands down Berelain’s smooth back and grabbed her lush buttocks in a cruel grip. She gasped as it lifted her off her feet, but she spread her thighs obligingly, still unsure if it was truly Rand or not. The real Rand growled his frustration against the arm that pinned him as he watched a perfect copy of his own manhood slide into Berelain’s sex. She moaned as she was penetrated yet again, hands grasping the copy’s shoulders. It began to fuck her with hard, mechanical strokes.

The final copy had recovered its senses, and now struggled to its feet. It’s blood-caked face stared at Rand, who was still unable to defeat his own stranglehold. Two on one—even with all of them unarmed, he might yet die this night. In desperation, Rand bit the arm that held him and worried it savagely. His opponent opened its mouth as though to scream but, eerily, no sound emerged. The final copy took a step towards Rand, but stopped at the sound of Berelain’s groan. It turned towards her, then stared even harder. Its flaccid cock stirred again, twitching its way skywards.

Berelain was held aloft by the hard hands that grasped her bottom, her cheeks parted and her puckered anus visible to all. She was oblivious as the final copy stole up upon her unprotected rear. When it aimed its manhood at her tight hole and began to push forwards, she made a confused sound, glancing over her shoulder. “What is happening?” She gasped. It soon turned to a squawk of surprise as the fake Rand held her by the shoulders and forced its way into her butt inch by inch. Her face spasmed in mingled pain and pleasure. The other Rand did not break his rhythm even for a moment as his fellow copy joined him in fucking the First of Mayene.

By the time the fake had worked its way into Berelain’s butt, she was defeated. She dangled between the two “Rands”, limp and helpless, her luscious breasts squashed against the chest of one and her equally luscious bottom pinned by the hips of the second, her flesh quivering with every hard thrust.

Rand didn’t know what he felt, watching that. Outrage on her behalf, jealousy that it wasn’t really him fucking her, or shameful relief. There was a very real likelihood that Berelain had saved his life, simply by being here and being so irresistible. He wasn’t at all certain he could defeat three perfect copies of himself alone. He wasn’t even sure he could defeat one. But if he was going to make good on the chance she had given him, and save Berelain from whatever those imposters would do to her once they’d had their fill of her body, he would have to find a way to kill himself.

He searched the room and quickly spotted a shard of broken glass that looked knife sized. Working a knee up under himself, he rolled, taking the imposter clinging to his back with him, forcing them both across the glass-littered carpet towards his prize. Berelain, filled with two hard cocks, was moaning incoherently, her face resting against the shoulder of one copy and drool leaking in a most unladylike manner from her mouth. Rand kept forcing his way across the glass-strewn carpet until he finally came within reach of the shard. He stretched towards it and just about managed to touch it with his fingertips. With agonising slowness, he eased the shard towards himself. It seemed to take an eternity before he could grasp it properly, and all the while the quick, wet slapping sounds of the threesome taking place nearby taunted him to haste.

At last Rand seized the glass dagger in his heron-branded hand, heedless of the pain as it cut into him. Careful of the brittle blade, he sliced into the arm of the imposter holding him down. Its silent screams gave no alarm to its fellows as Rand cut the muscles in its arm, winning his freedom. He turned swiftly, pinning it to the floor with his forearm as he thrust the glass into its soft throat. Then he stared in horror as he watched himself die, watched the blood flow, the face grow still, the eyes glaze over.  _ When I meet my destiny at Shayol Ghul, I’ll look just like that _ , he thought as his stomach roiled.

A woman’s cry from behind brought him back to his senses. Rand spun, only to behold the sight of Berelain with her head thrown back in pleasure. Her legs dangled in mid-air, kicking uselessly as she curled her toes and cried out in orgasm.

The two fakes pinning her between them gave no reaction to Berelain’s sweet cries, but simply kept pounding away at her in their merciless, mechanical way. They were oblivious to the real Rand as he advanced towards them, the glass dagger in his hand wet with his own blood.

He stabbed the dagger into the side of the fake who was fucking Berelain’s ass, careful to avoid its ribs. He could have sliced its throat but he didn’t want to get blood all over the poor woman. It fell away, its cock yanked out of Berelain’s gaping butt with an audible pop. The final fake saw its fate coming but could not disentangle itself from Berelain’s embrace in time to avoid it. He lodged the glass shard in its eye and left it there. It fell backwards, dead before it hit the floor, and Rand snatched Berelain by the hips, pulling her free of the fake’s manhood lest it drag her down with it. He held her clear of the hazardous floor while she panted, her gaze unfocused.

Only one of them still moved. Rand planted his foot on the throat of the fake he had gut stabbed, resting his full weight upon it to make sure. Cold soaked into him. Numbness crept along his limbs, through his bones, until he barely felt the shards of mirror, the slivers of porcelain lodged in his flesh. Something close to panic flickered across the emptiness surrounding him. He might have made a fatal mistake. This one was larger than the one he had absorbed, and it was drawing more heat from him. And not only heat. As he grew colder, the glassy grey eyes staring up into his took on life. With chill certainty he knew that if he died, this one would have his life, his memories, would be him.

Stubbornly he fought, struggling harder the weaker he became. He pulled on _saidin_ , trying to fill himself with its heat. Even the stomach-turning taint was welcome, for the more of it he felt, the more _saidin_ suffused him. If his stomach could rebel, then he was still alive, and if he lived, he could fight. But how? How? _What did I do before?_ _Saidin_ raged through him till it seemed that if he survived this attacker, he would only be consumed by the Power. _How did I do it?_ All he could do was pull at _saidin_ , and try ... reach ... strain ...

The copy beneath his foot vanished—Rand felt it slide into him; it was as if he had fallen from a height, flat onto stony ground—and then the bodies of the other two together. The impact sent him staggering backwards until the edge of the bed met the backs of his legs. He sat down, Berelain still in his arms, and stared up at the worked plaster ceiling with its gilded bosses, luxuriating in the fact that he was still breathing.

The Power still swelled in every crevice of his being. He wanted to spew up every meal he had ever eaten. He felt so alive that, by comparison, life not soaked in  _ saidin _ was living a shadow. He could smell the beeswax of the candles, and the oil in the lamps. He could feel every fibre of the blanket under his backside, every silken inch of skin that the limp woman sitting in his lap pressed against him. And he could feel every gash in his flesh, every cut, every nick, every bruise as well. But he held on to  _ saidin _ .

“It’s alright. You’ll be alright now, Berelain. I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he croaked, throat tight with exertion and shame. He should have protected her better.

She stirred. Raised her head. Blinked around them. “What just happened?”

“I’m not sure.”

Perhaps one of the Forsaken had tried to kill him. Or all of them had. It must have been that, unless the Dark One was free already, in which case he did not think he would have faced anything as easy or as simple as this. So he held his link to the True Source.  _ Unless I did it myself. Can I hate what I am enough to try to kill myself? Without even knowing it? Light, I have to learn to control it. I have to! _

Berelain shimmied her way off his lap and onto the bed, then gasped when she saw the state he was in. “You are badly hurt! This wasn’t you at all, was it? Someone attacked us. Or ...” She swallowed and began again. “Or someth ...” She could not finish it.

“I don’t think it was him,” Rand said gently. “It wouldn’t have been that easy if it was him.” He meant it to soothe her, perhaps make her smile—surely a woman as strong as she had shown herself to be could smile, even facing a blood-drenched man—but a shudder ran through her whole body.

As if to ward off the chill, or perhaps Rand’s eyes, she snatched up her nightdress and pulled it over her head, then looked about for the rest of her discarded clothes. Her ripped underwear still lay on his bed, useless now, but her velvet slippers were within reach. Once she’d retrieved them, she began to pick her way across the glass-littered carpet, shards grating under her slippered feet.

Short of the door, she stopped, facing him with an obvious effort. Her eyes could not quite meet his. “I will send the Aiel in to you, if you wish. I could send for one of the Aes Sedai to tend your wounds.”

_ She would as soon be in a room with a Myrddraal, now, or the Dark One himself, but she’s no milksop _ . “Thank you,” he said quietly, “but no. I would appreciate it if you told no-one what happened here. Not yet. I will do what needs to be done.” It had to be the Forsaken.

“As my Lord Dragon commands.” She gave him a tight curtsy and hurried out, perhaps afraid he might change his mind about letting her go.

“As soon the Dark One himself,” he murmured as the door closed behind her.

Painfully, he pushed himself up. Leaving bloody footprints on the carpet, he limped to the stand where  _ Callandor _ rested. Blood from hundreds of cuts covered him. He lifted the sword, and its glassy length glowed with the Power flowing into it. The Sword That Is Not a Sword. That blade, apparently glass, would cut as well as the finest steel, yet  _ Callandor _ truly was not a sword, but instead a remnant of the Age of Legends, a  _ sa’angreal _ . With the aid of one of the relatively few  _ angreal _ known to have survived the War of the Shadow and Breaking of the World, it was possible to channel flows of the One Power that would have burned the channeler to ash without it. With one of the even rarer  _ sa’angreal _ , the flows could be increased as much over those possible with an  _ angreal _ as an  _ angreal _ increased them over channelling naked. And  _ Callandor _ , usable only by a man, linked to the Dragon Reborn through three thousand years of legend and prophecy, was one of the most powerful  _ sa’angreal _ ever made. Holding  _ Callandor _ in his hands, he could level a city’s walls at a blow. Holding  _ Callandor _ in his hands, he could face even one of the Forsaken.  _ It was them. It must have been _ .

Limping to the foot of the bed, he lowered himself onto the chest there and laid  _ Callandor _ across his knees, bloody hands resting on the glowing blade. With that in his hands, even one of the Forsaken would fear him. In a moment he would send for Moiraine to Heal his wounds. In a moment he would speak to the Aiel outside, and become the Dragon Reborn again. But for now, he only wanted to sit, and remember a shepherd named Rand al’Thor.


	17. Reflections

CHAPTER 14: Reflections

By the time Elayne made it to Nynaeve’s room that night, the sun was well below the horizon. There were two lamps burning in the room, one on the small round table by the bed and the other on the mantel above the empty fireplace. Nynaeve lay stretched out on the bed atop the coverlet, fully dressed. With her elbows stuck out, Elayne noted.

She said the first thing that came into her head. “Rand must think I’m a child, Thom is a bard, and Morgase isn’t my mother after all.” Nynaeve gave her the oddest look. “I am a little dizzy for some reason. A nice serving boy with sweet blue eyes offered to help me downstairs.”

“I will wager he did,” Nynaeve said, biting off each word. Rising, she came to put an arm around Elayne’s shoulders. She was so pretty. Elayne shivered in anticipation. “Come over here a moment. There’s something I think you should see,” Nynaeve continued. It appeared to be a bucket of extra water by the washstand. “Here. We’ll both kneel down so you can look.”

Elayne did, but there was nothing in the bucket but her own reflection in the water. She wondered why she was grinning that way. Then Nynaeve’s hand went to the back of her neck, and her head was in the water.

Flailing her hands, she tried to straighten up, but Nynaeve’s arm was like an iron bar. You were supposed to hold your breath under water. Elayne knew you were. She just could not remember how. All she could do was flail and gurgle and choke.

Nynaeve hauled her up, water streaming down her face, and she filled her lungs. “How dare—you,” she gasped. “I am—the Daughter-Heir of—” She managed to get out one wail before her head went back in with a splash. Seizing the bucket with both hands and pushing did no good. Drumming her feet on the floor did no good. She was going to drown. Nynaeve was going to drown her. It was the most tragic thing she could imagine. She’d thought she cared about her!

After an Age she was back out in the air again. Sodden strands of hair hung all across her face. “I think,” she said in the steadiest voice she could find, “that I am going to sick up.”

Nynaeve got the big white-glazed basin down from the washstand just in time, and held Elayne’s hair back while she brought up everything she had ever eaten in her life. A year later—well, hours anyway; it seemed that long—Nynaeve was washing her face and wiping her mouth, bathing her hands and wrists. There was nothing solicitous in her voice, though.

“How could you do this? Whatever possessed you? I might expect a fool man to drink until he can’t stand, but you! And tonight.”

“I only had one cup,” Elayne muttered. She could not have had more than two. Surely not.

“A cup the size of a pitcher.” Nynaeve sniffed, helping her to her feet. Hauling her, really. “Did you forget we are supposed to be questioning the prisoners? Or do you just not care?”

She had forgotten, in fact. She didn’t want to admit that, though. “I got distracted by the drama at the party. Have you heard that Rand has ordered High Lord Hervaci to be hanged?”

“Light! Why? That’s not like him at all.”

With Nynaeve distracted, Elayne was able to tiptoe over to the dresser and steady herself by leaning against it without being noticed. The flat look in the other woman’s eyes didn’t change. “Hervaci forced himself on a serving girl. Rand was furious.”

Nynaeve pressed her lips together and gave her braid a sharp tug. “Well ... I suppose I can’t criticise his decision too much, then. But that’s his problem to deal with. We have our own. Moiraine is meeting us, remember?”

Elayne nodded, a decision she immediately regretted. “The Black Ajah. Yes. I’ll make sure they are safely shielded,” she said, while rubbing her forehead.

“In that state? You won’t be channelling anything. And if you try, I’ll shield you myself!”

“Why? It’s better if it’s me. You know you cannot channel unless you are angry, and ...” She realized the other woman was surrounded by the glow of  _ saidar _ . And had been for some time, she thought. Her own head felt stuffed full of wool; thought had to burrow through. She could barely sense the True Source. “Perhaps it would be for the best if you held the shield this time,” she allowed graciously. Then she swallowed a burp.

While letting out a long sigh, Nynaeve strode to the door and jerked it open. She gestured perfunctorily for her to follow, but was out in the hallway before the rebuke could form on Elayne’s lips.  _ How very rude! One would think I was a servant, from the way she’s behaving _ .

She took her time about following, just to show that would not be bullied. That the floor continued to sway like a ship underway had nothing to do with it. She didn’t need Nynaeve to show her the way. They used the same room for this thus-far fruitless task each time.

She was still making her careful way along the corridors when she encountered Moiraine coming from the other direction. Her Warder was with her, and they were being preceded by one of the Maidens, a straw-haired woman named Careen. They seemed to be in rather a hurry.

Elayne frowned. “Is something wrong?”

“Rand al’Thor has been wounded, Aes Sedai,” Careen said. Moiraine, who had opened her mouth to reply, pressed it closed again with an annoyed look for the Aiel woman.

Elayne turned on her heel and fell in with the others as they hurried along, the Black Ajah forgotten for now. Her head still felt strangely light but if Rand was hurt she had to be there.

“You do not look well,” Moiraine said as they walked. The Aes Sedai moved as briskly as her dignity would allow. Elayne wished she could say that dignity was the cause of her own pace.

“I am worried about Rand,” she said. Moiraine’s eyes were too knowing. Come to think of it, the sidelong glance she got from Lan was too knowing as well. “Perhaps we should hurry?”

They reached the foot of a winding stairwell that she knew would lead them to the floor Rand’s rooms were on. Moiraine stopped there and gestured with an open palm. “After you.”

She tried to go quickly. Truly she did. It proved a lot harder than she’d expected, though, what with her legs refusing to move properly. For all her haste, she had the rather embarrassing feeling that she was delaying the people climbing behind her.

She reached the top eventually, and stepped out into a shadowed corridor nearly at the top of the Stone. There she found herself staring at the backs of a High Lord and two of the nobleman’s personal guards. Only the Defenders were allowed to wear armour inside the Stone, but these three had swords at their hips. That was not unusual, of course, but their presence here, on this floor, in the shadows, staring intently at the bright light at the far end of the hall, that was not usual at all. That light came from the anteroom in front of the chambers Rand had taken.

They had made no effort to be quiet in climbing the stairs, but the three men were so intent in their watching that none of them noticed the new arrivals at first. Then one of the red-coated bodyguards twisted his head as if working a cramp in his neck; his mouth dropped open when he saw them. Biting off an oath, the fellow whirled to face the newcomers, baring a good hand of his swordblade. The other was only a heartbeat slower. Long strides took Lan and Careen past Elayne. The Maiden had veiled, and now held one of her short spears as though she meant to use it soon. The Warder simply stared, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. Both of the Tairen bodyguards stood tensed, ready, but their eyes shifted uneasily, sliding off Lan’s.

The High Lord Torean, white streaking his dark, pointed beard, moved languidly, as if at a ball. Pulling a too sweetly scented handkerchief from his sleeve, he dabbed at a knobby nose that appeared not at all large when compared with his ears. A fine silk coat with red satin cuffs only exaggerated the plainness of his face. He inclined his head slightly. “The Light illumine you,” he said politely. His glance touched Moiraine’s ageless face and flinched away, though his expression did not change. “You are well, I trust?” Perhaps too politely. He looked Elayne over from top to bottom.

Surprise made her scowl slow to form. She’s been looked at by men before, of course, but never in such a casual, self-assured way. It was, she found, rather offensive.

“The Light illumine you, High Lord Torean,” Moiraine said, before Elayne could make a sentence of her tangled thoughts. “It is well for you to help keep watch over the Dragon Reborn. Some men in your place might resent him being here.”

Torean’s thin eyebrows twitched. “Prophecy has been fulfilled, and Tear has fulfilled its place in that prophecy. Perhaps the Dragon Reborn will lead Tear to a still greater destiny. What man could resent that? But it is late. A good night to you.” He eyed Elayne again, pursing his lips, and walked off down the hall just a bit too briskly, away from the anteroom’s lights. His bodyguards followed close behind him.

“Odious man,” Elayne muttered. “And his son is nearly as bad. I pity the poor woman who ends up married to him.”

Lan watched the High Lord and his guards vanish around a distant corner. Only then did he speak. “His armsmen did not take their hands off their swords until he was ten paces clear of us.”

Moiraine nodded. “Perhaps association with the Dragon Reborn no longer carries the weight it once did. We must be swift.”

Before they reached the end of the hallway, Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron came hurrying out of the bright lights of the anteroom, clutching a thin white nightdress tightly around her with both arms. The dress was so short that it didn’t even reach her knees, and so sheer that the body beneath was only barely obscured. If the First of Mayene had been walking any faster, she would have been running.

Other than a slight, vexed sound, Moiraine took no notice of her, and Lan and Careen strode right by, but Elayne stopped dead in her tracks. Berelain had a certain reputation, and ... No. He wouldn’t. The woman looked preoccupied, almost frightened even, but she noticed Elayne’s stare and looked at her curiously. She was very beautiful, dark in all the ways that Elayne was fair, a bit older than she was but a long way from being old, and brimming with confidence. Her full lips pursed thoughtfully when she saw who was watching her. Then she smiled.

“Better luck next time.”

A sudden fury gripped Elayne by the throat, much as she wanted to grip Berelain, who didn’t even wait for a response. She just strolled off down the corridor, slower now, her hips swaying in a way that couldn’t help but draw attention to her generous curves. It almost looked as though she wasn’t wearing any underwear ...

Down the corridor, Torean suddenly stepped out of a side hallway to seize Berelain’s arm. He was talking a torrent, but Elayne could not make out more than a handful of scattered words, something about her overstepping herself in her pride, and something else that seemed to be Torean offering her his protection. Her reply was short, sharp, and even more inaudible, delivered with lifted chin. Pulling herself free roughly, the First of Mayene walked away, back straight, the sway gone now. On the point of following, Torean saw Elayne watching. Dabbing at his nose with his handkerchief, the High Lord vanished back into the crossing corridor.

“They would be a matched pair,” Elayne growled, wishing she had said it to their faces, diplomacy be damned.

No-one challenged her when she entered the antechamber to Rand’s rooms. The officer in charge of the Defenders of the Stone this night looked rather agitated, though, and there was quiet muttering among his men. She hurried past to where a group of Aiel Maidens were milling about the open doors to one of the many rooms in Rand’s suite. His bedroom, she knew, though simply for reference’s sake. She’d never been there, of course, and now that she saw it, she gasped, though not for a reason she might have liked.

Broken mirrors hung on the walls and broken glass covered the floor, along with shards of shattered porcelain and feathers from the slashed mattress. Open books lay tumbled among overturned chairs and benches. And Rand was sitting at the foot of his bed, slumped against one of the bedposts naked with eyes closed and hands limp atop  _ Callandor _ , which lay across his knees. He looked as if he had taken a bath in blood.

Eyes wide and hands clasped in front of her mouth, Elayne drew closer. There was blood on the floor and on the bedsheets, too, and a great many slivers of glass protruded from Rand’s poor body. He showed no sign that he even felt them, but she winced in sympathy. So many little daggers, all stabbing into you like that, ready to be broken off inside ... Even the thought was horrible.

Amongst all the ruin, Elayne’s eyes were drawn to something small. Something innocuous and unimportant, some might have said. Not to her. A pair of fine white pantalettes were lying discarded on the bed. They looked to have been ripped, as if by someone who just couldn’t wait long enough to remove them in the normal manner. She had a very good idea of who they belonged to, and it made her want to cry.

“I would like to know what happened,” Moiraine was saying. She and Lan were already inside, standing over Rand.

When he raised his head to look at the Aes Sedai, his face was a blood-smeared mask. Moving faster than a startled cat, Elayne hopped behind one of the pillars. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She found herself praying that he hadn’t seen her, and not truly understanding why.

* * *

Moiraine hid her dismay as she surveyed the scene in Rand’s bedchamber. She could find no sign that  _ saidar _ had been used, and there were no bodies to be seen, no evidence that he had been attacked. That teased a far more frightening possibility.  _ He cannot go mad yet. The work is not yet done _ .

Glass crunched under Lan’s boots as he crossed the carpet to Rand. Tearing a strip from a wildly sliced linen sheet, he wadded it against the wound in Rand’s side. Rand’s hands tightened on the transparent sword at the pressure, then relaxed. Blood soaked through almost immediately. Cuts and gashes covered him from the soles of his feet to his head; slivers of glass glittered in many of them. Even so, the only immediate source of danger she could see was the loss of blood. That, and the possibility that the Dragon Reborn had just tried to flay himself alive.

“Not me,” Rand said finally, in a near whisper. “One of the Forsaken.”

She didn’t like that he thought he could read her mind. She liked it even less that his guess came so close of the truth. No sign of that annoyance showed on her face. “Are you certain?”

“It had to be, Moiraine. It had to be.”

A tall Aielman strode into the room, his dark red hair touched with grey. Behind him the Tairen officer’s plumes bobbed as he argued with the Maidens; he was still arguing when Careen pushed the door shut.

Through the bond they shared, she felt Lan tense. As always when they met, his and Rhuarc’s icy blue stares nearly struck sparks.

The clan chief of the Taardad Aiel surveyed the room as if he suspected enemies hiding behind a drape or an overturned chair. He had no visible weapon except the heavy-bladed knife at his waist, but he carried authority and confidence like weapons, quietly, yet as surely as if they were sheathed alongside the knife. And his  _ shoufa _ hung about his shoulders; no-one who knew the slightest about Aiel took one for less than dangerous when he wore the means to veil his face.

Moiraine certainly did not, even while embracing  _ saidar _ as she was. None of the Aiel in the Stone had yet indicated that they held a vendetta against her for the actions of her late aunt, Queen Laina, but the possibility was ever in her thoughts. She was ready to disabuse them of their arrogance should any try to act on that possible-vendetta.

“That Tairen fool outside sent word to his commander that something had happened in here,” Rhuarc said, “and rumours are already sprouting like corpse moss in a deep cave. Everything from the White Tower trying to kill you to the Last Battle fought here in this room.” Rand opened his mouth but Rhuarc raised a forestalling hand. “I happened to meet Berelain, looking as if she had been told the day she would die, and she told me the truth of it. And it does look to be the truth, though I doubted her.”

Rand gave a painful bark of a laugh. “I told her to keep quiet. It seems the Lord Dragon doesn’t rule Mayene.” He sounded more wryly amused than anything else.

“I have daughters older than that young woman,” Rhuarc said. “I do not believe she will tell anyone else. I think she would like to forget everything that happened tonight.”

Rand was quiet for a moment, then sighed, “That would probably be for the best.”

Lan returned his attention to the wounded youth. Moiraine knew he felt sympathy for him, but none would have guessed it from his words. “I thought you were old enough to shave without someone to guide your hand.”

Rhuarc smiled, a slight smile but the first she had ever seen from him in Lan’s presence. “He is young yet. He will learn.”

Lan glanced back at the Aielman, then returned the smile, just as slightly.

Sparing the two men a brief, withering look that moved neither, she gathered her skirts and crossed the carpet to Rand with as much serenity as she could manage while avoiding stepping on all that broken glass. She could not Heal herself, and Aes Sedai should not be seen hopping through the Stone’s corridors.

Lan dropped his hand and moved out of her way. The wadded cloth stayed against Rand’s side, held by congealing blood. From head to foot the blood was beginning to dry in black streaks and smears, while the slivers of glass in his skin glittered in the lamplight. Lan had rightly focused his attention on the unhealing wound in Rand’s side. She touched the blood-caked cloth with her fingertips. It was the only scrap of cloth on Rand’s muscular body, she couldn’t help but notice. He was covered in cuts, his skin looking more red than white, but he didn’t flinch at her touch. It was, she had to admit, an impressive display of self-control. Especially coming from a youth she had seen trembling before a Myrddraal’s stare not so very long ago. She was surprised by the response of her own body, but that, too, she kept hidden.

Annoyed with herself as much as with the situation, she pulled her hand away, leaving the cloth in place. “At least you are alive. What happened can wait. Try to touch the True Source.”

“Why?” Rand asked in a wary voice. “I cannot Heal myself, even if I knew how to Heal. No-one can. I know that much.”

Questions! He questioned her at every turn, balked at even the simplest of tasks, demanded explanations for everything. The stubbornness she could deal with. It might even be said to be a virtue. But the distrust infuriated her. Had she not devoted her life to finding him and seeing him fulfil his destiny? Yet he treated her as if she was no different from the likes of Torean.

Moiraine had to take a deep breath to calm herself before she trusted herself to speak. “Only some of the strength for Healing comes from the Healer. The Power can replace what comes from the Healed. Without it, you will spend tomorrow flat on your back and perhaps the next day as well. Now, draw on the Power, if you can, but do nothing with it. Simply hold it. Use this, if you must.” She did not have to bend far to touch  _ Callandor _ .

He moved the  _ sa’angreal _ from under her hand. “Simply hold it, you say.” He sounded about to laugh out loud. “Very well.”

Nothing happened that she could see, of course. A woman could no more see a man’s weaving than he could hers. Rand sat there like the survivor of a lost battle, looking at her. Being so close to a male channeler armed with a  _ sa’angreal _ of  _ Callandor _ ’s potency was more unnerving than Moiraine would have cared to admit.

After a time Rand sighed. “I cannot even reach the void. I can’t seem to concentrate.” A quick grin cracked the blood drying on his face. “I do not understand why.” A thick red thread snaked its way down past his left eye.

“Then I will do it as I always have,” Moiraine said, and took his head in her hands, careless of the blood that ran over her fingers.

Rand lurched to his feet with a roaring gasp, as if all the breath were being squeezed from his lungs, back arching so his head nearly tore free of her grasp. One arm flung wide, fingers spread and bending back so far it seemed they must break; the other hand clamped down on  _ Callandor _ ’s hilt, the muscles of that arm knotting visibly into cramps. He shook like cloth caught in a windstorm. Dark flakes of dried blood fell, and bits of glass tinkled onto the chest and floor, forced out of cuts closing up and knitting themselves together.

Almost as soon as it began, it was done. She took her hands away, and Rand slumped, catching the bedpost to hold himself on his feet. It was difficult to say whether he clutched the bedpost or  _ Callandor _ more tenaciously. When Moiraine tried to take the sword from his hand, he drew it away from her firmly, even roughly.

Her mouth tightened momentarily, but she contented herself with pulling the wad of cloth from his side, using it to scrub away some of the surrounding smears. She couldn’t help but notice, now that he was on his feet, his lap no longer covered by the blade, that he was quite well endowed. Perhaps that was why he had gathered so many troublesome female admirers. The old wound was a tender scar again. The other injuries were simply gone. The mostly dried blood that still covered him could have come from someone else.

Moiraine frowned. “It still does not respond,” she murmured, half to herself. “It will not heal completely.”

“That is the one that will kill me, isn’t it?” he asked her softly, then quoted, “ ‘His blood on the rocks of Shayol Ghul, washing away the Shadow, sacrifice for man’s salvation’.”

“You read too much,” she said sharply, “and understand too little.”

“Do you understand more? If you do, then tell me.”

“He is only trying to find his way,” Lan said suddenly. “No man likes to run forward blindly when he knows there is a cliff somewhere ahead.”

That angered her, too. Lan almost never disagreed with her when anyone could overhear. He and Rand had been spending a good deal of time together, though, practicing the sword. He took the boy’s side too often these days.

“He needs to be in bed. Will you ask that washwater be brought, and another bedchamber prepared? This one needs a thorough cleaning and a new mattress.” Lan nodded and put his head into the anteroom for a moment, speaking quietly.

“I will sleep here, Moiraine.” Letting go of the bedpost, Rand pushed himself erect, grounding  _ Callandor _ ’s point on the littered carpet and resting both hands on the hilt. If he leaned a little on the sword, it did not show much. And at least the pose brought him close to decency. “I won’t be chased any more. Not even out of a bed.”

“ _ Tai’shar _ Manetheren,” Lan murmured.

Every. Time. Even with the simplest, most sensible proposals, he still balked. This time even Rhuarc looked startled at the foolishness on display. Rand wore a quizzical little smile, as if wondering what she would try next. A mocking little smile that she would have done almost anything to wipe from his face.

Rhuarc did not appear to care what happened next; it was hard to tell with that stance of his, somehow standing with his back straight and slouching at the same time. He could have been bored enough to sleep where he stood or ready to draw his weapon; his manner suggested either, or both. She noticed that he was eyeing the doors, however.

“Stay where you are!” Moiraine did not look away from Rand, and her outflung finger pointed at Rhuarc. He shrugged and folded his arms.

“Stubborn,” Moiraine muttered. This time the word was for Rand. “Very well. If you mean to stand there until you drop, you can use the time before you fall on your face to tell me what occurred here. I cannot teach you, but if you tell me perhaps I can see what you did wrong. A small chance, but perhaps I can.” Her voice sharpened. “You must learn to control it, and I do not mean just because of things like this. If you do not learn to control the Power, it will kill you. You know that. I have told you often enough. You must teach yourself. You must find it within yourself.”

“I did nothing except survive,” he said in a dry voice. She opened her mouth, but he went on. “Do you think I could channel and not know it? I didn’t do it in my sleep. This happened awake.” He wavered, and caught himself on the sword.

“Even you could not channel anything but Spirit asleep,” Moiraine said coolly, “and this was never done with Spirit. I was about to ask what did happen.”

“You probably won’t believe me,” Rand sighed. “I’m not sure even  _ I _ believe it happened. And I was there.” But he told them nonetheless.

Soon after he began speaking, Rand glanced behind him at the chest, a quick look, as if he did not want it observed. She noticed. A few strands of Air were all it took to stir the slivers of silvered glass that were scattered across the lid of the chest. They slid off onto the carpet as though pushed by an unseen broom. The look he gave her mixed wariness with gratitude. One would think she was a monster from the way he behaved sometimes.  _ I am not cruel. I simply do what I must _ . He sat down slowly and went on. She couldn’t help but noticed that there was no mention of Berelain in the tale. That in itself was of no account, but what else was he leaving out?

“It must have been one of the Forsaken,” Rand finished at last. “Maybe Sammael. Mat said he’s in Illian. Unless one of them is here in Tear. Could Sammael reach the Stone from Illian?”

“Not even if he held  _ Callandor _ ,” Moiraine told him. “There are limits. Sammael is only a man, not the Dark One.”

“Then one of them is here. In the city.” Rand put his head down on his wrists, but jerked himself erect immediately, glaring at those in the room. “I’ll not be chased again. I’ll be the hound, first. I will find him—or her—and I will—”

“Not one of the Forsaken,” Moiraine cut in. “I think not. This was too simple. And too complex.”

“No riddles, Moiraine. If not the Forsaken, who? Or what?” Rand asked, calm yet firm.

She hesitated to answer, and not just because she didn’t care to respond to a demand, even one delivered in such a tone. The only theory she had was just that. A theory.

“As the Seals holding the Dark One’s prison weaken,” she said after a time, “it may be inevitable that a ... miasma ... will escape even while he is still held. Like bubbles rising from the things rotting on the bottom of a pond. But these bubbles will drift through the Pattern until they attach to a thread and burst.”

“Light! You mean what happened to me is going to start happening to everybody?”

“Not to everyone. Not yet, at least. In the beginning I think there will only be a few bubbles slipping through cracks the Dark One can reach through. Later, who can say? And just as  _ ta’veren _ bend the other threads in the Pattern around them, I think perhaps  _ ta’veren _ will tend to attract these bubbles more powerfully than others do. Yet in the months to come—the years, should we be lucky enough to have that long—I fear a good many people will see things to give them white hairs, if they survive.”

“Mat,” Rand said. “Do you know if he ...? Is he ...?”

“I will know soon enough,” Moiraine replied calmly. “What is done cannot be undone, but we can hope.” She prayed that he was safe. The Dragon Reborn might be the most important part of this _ ta’maral’ailen _ , but the other two  _ ta’veren _ must surely have crucial roles to play as well. If one of them died ...

“He is well. Or was. I saw him on my way here,” Rhuarc said.

“Going where?” Moiraine demanded.

“He’s on a horse and halfway to the city gates by now I’ll bet,” Rand said sadly.

“He looked to be heading for the servants’ quarters,” the Aielman told her. He knew that the two of them were  _ ta’veren _ , if not as much else as he thought he did, and he knew Mat well enough to add, “Not the stables, Aes Sedai. The other way, toward the river. And there are no boats at the Stone’s docks.” He did not stumble over words like “boat” and “dock” the way most of the Aiel did, although in the Waste such things existed only in stories.

Though as surprised as Rand was, she nodded as if she had expected nothing else.

“You should be more concerned by the possibility of his leaving,” she told Rand. “What would you do without the support of the other  _ ta’veren _ ?”

“What they least expect.” His eyes looked like morning mist covering the dawn, blue-grey with a feverish glow seeping through. His voice had a knife edge. “That is what I have to do in any case. What everyone least expects.”

“And what is that?” she asked quietly.

Rand closed his eyes. “I only know I have to catch them by surprise. Catch everyone by surprise,” he muttered fiercely.

One of the doors opened, and Renay and Amindha slipped in. Both of the Aiel women were tall, but the former was as slender as a reed, and the latter might well have weighed as much as Lan. Neither had her spears to hand. Instead, Amindha was carrying a large white bowl and a fat pitcher with steam rising from the top. Renay had towels folded under her arm.

“Why are you bringing this?” Moiraine demanded.

Renay shrugged. “She would not come in.”

Rand barked a laugh. “Even the servants know enough to stay clear of me. Put it anywhere.”

“Your time is running out, Rand,” Moiraine said. “The Tairens are becoming used to you, after a fashion, and no-one fears what is familiar as much as what is strange. How many weeks, or days, before someone tries to put an arrow in your back or poison in your food? How long before one of the Forsaken strikes, or another bubble comes sliding along the Pattern?”

“Don’t try to harry me, Moiraine.” He was blood filthy, totally naked, more than half leaning on  _ Callandor _ to stay sitting up, but he managed to fill those words with quiet command. “I will not run for you, either.”

“Choose your way soon,” she said. “And this time, inform me what you mean to do. My knowledge cannot aid you if you refuse to accept my help.”

“Your help?” Rand said wearily. “I’ll take your help. But I will decide, not you. I want to sleep. All of you, go away. Please. We will talk tomorrow.”

She crossed the room to Renay and Amindha, and the two women leaned close so she could speak for their ears alone. “He will try to balk at being tended to. Do not let him. Ensure that he is washed and rested.” The Aiel women looked at Rand as they listened. They didn’t look afraid, Aiel rarely did, but there was the acknowledgement of risk in their eyes, as if Rand were a large animal that would be dangerous if they misstepped.

Moiraine turned back to Rand. “We will talk tomorrow. You cannot sit like a partridge waiting for a hunter’s net.” She was moving for the door before Rand could reply. Lan looked at Rand as if about to say something, but followed her without speaking.

“We do what we have to.” Rand did not look up from the clear hilt between his hands. “We all do what we have to.”

“That is  _ ji’e’toh _ ,” Renay said as she approached him.

“Go away,” Rand said tiredly. “Just put that down and go away.”

“If you can stand up,” she said cheerfully, “we will. Only stand.”

There was the sound of water splashing into a bowl. “We have tended to wounded before,” Amindha said in soothing tones. “And I used to wash my brothers when they were little.”

Rhuarc followed her out of the room and pushed the door shut, cutting off the rest.

The rumour had, as promised, spread by then, and the concerned and the curious had begun to converge. Merile was there already, trying to persuade Careen to let her by, while Raine was glaring at the Aiel as if thinking of trying to force her way past. Ten paces beyond them, the Tairen officer was staring at the doors, trying to pretend the distance was his choice and had nothing to do with the Aiel women watching him.

No sooner had she emerged than Tam and Uno came rushing into the anteroom, only half dressed but clutching the swords at their hips. As Rhuarc went to meet them, she searched for Elayne. The girl had been uncharacteristically shy in not entering the room, especially after having invited herself along in the first place.

She found her standing behind one of the pillars, staring at the tiles between her toes, lost in thought. Moiraine was no expert when it came to matters of the heart, but she could still read Elayne easily enough. She shook her head. How much simpler things would be if Rand would just stop involving himself with every woman he met. Almost every woman.

“He will live. The means of his attack is the greater concern, but you need not concern yourself with that,” she told her. Elayne just nodded, not even bothering to ask for details. Precisely the kind of foolishness that resulted from these kinds of entanglements.

Rhuarc was offering similar assurances to the others, but they were feeling more talkative.

Tam rubbed at his stubbled chin. “Shaving? It’s been a long time since he cut himself doing that.”

“I say this as a joke, Tam al’Thor. I do not call question on your teaching of him.”

Rand’s father studied the Aielman carefully. That was another potential distraction that could have been avoided if people had simply done as she wished. “You do not treat him the way the Tairens do,” Tam said quietly. “No bowing and scraping. I don’t think I have heard one of you call him Lord Dragon.”

“The Dragon Reborn is a wetlander prophecy,” Rhuarc said. “Ours is He Who Comes With the Dawn.”

“I thought they were the same. Else why did you come to the Stone? I was told you admitted that the Aiel are the People of the Dragon, just as the Prophecies say.”

Rhuarc ignored the last part. “In your Prophecies of the Dragon, the fall of the Stone and the taking of  _ Callandor _ proclaim that the Dragon has been Reborn. Our prophecy says only that the Stone must fall before He Who Comes With the Dawn appears to take us back to what was ours. They may be one man, but I doubt even the Wise Ones could say for sure. If Rand is the one, there are things he must do yet to prove it.”

“What things?” Tam demanded.

“If he is the one, he will know, and do them. If he does not, then our search still goes on.” Something unreadable in the Aielman’s voice pricked Moiraine’s ears.

Tam’s, too, it seemed. “And if he isn’t the one you search for? What then, Rhuarc?” he asked.

“Sleep well and safely, Tam al’Thor.” Rhuarc’s soft boots made no sound on the black marble as he walked away.

The Tairen officer was still staring past the Maidens, failing to mask the anger and hatred on his face. If the Aiel decided Rand was not He Who Comes With the Dawn ... Moiraine studied the Tairen officer’s face and thought of the Maidens not being there, of the Stone empty of Aiel.

“Blasted savages,” Uno muttered. “They can’t be trusted. These Tairens neither. Me and my men should take up the watch again.”

“That might be for the best,” Tam said slowly.

Moiraine did not entirely agree, but decided not to forestall him this time. What would really be for the best would be for them to leave this place while they still could. But how was she to make Rand see that before it was too late?


	18. Behind the Scenes

CHAPTER 15: Behind the Scenes

Thom Merrilin sprinkled sand across what he had written to blot the ink, then carefully poured the sand back into its jar and flipped the lid shut. Riffling through the papers scattered in rough piles across the table—six tallow candles made fire a real danger, but he needed the light—he selected a crumpled sheet marred by an inkblot. Carefully he compared it with what he had written, then stroked a long white moustache with a thumb in satisfaction and permitted himself a leathery-faced smile. The High Lord Carleon himself would have thought it was his own hand.

_ Be wary. Your husband suspects _ .

Only those words, and no signature. Now if he could arrange for the High Lord Tedosian to find it where his wife, the High Lady Alteima, might carelessly have left it ...

A knock sounded at the door, and he jumped. No-one came to see him at this time of the night. “A moment,” he called, hastily stuffing pens and inkpots and selected papers into a battered writing chest. “A moment while I put on a shirt.”

Locking the chest, he shoved it under the table where it might escape casual notice and ran an eye over their windowless room to see if he had left anything out that should not be seen. Hoops and balls for juggling littered the floor, and lay among his shaving things on a single shelf with fire wands and small items for sleight of hand. His gleeman’s cloak, covered with loose patches in a hundred colours, hung from a peg on the wall along with his spare clothes and the hard leather cases holding his harp and flute. A woman’s diaphanous red silk scarf was tied around the strap of the harp case, but it could have belonged to anyone.

He was not sure he remembered who had tied it there; he tried to pay no more attention to one woman than any other when performing, and all of it lighthearted and laughing. Make them laugh, even make them sigh, but avoid entanglements.

The reason for that turned over in their bed and frowned at the door. Dena’s black hair was tousled from sleep, but her eyes were sharp. While he couldn’t see it, he knew that the hand under her pillow would be clutching a knife. The days when she’d welcomed surprises had passed when Queen Galldria’s thugs had tried to kill them in Cairhien.

The knock came again, in triplicate this time.

“Shouldst I answer it, Master Merrilin?” asked the second girl. By rights, Saeri should have left for her own bed hours ago but she had been so engrossed in her lessons, and Thom too busy with his own work to sleep yet, so he’d decided there was no harm in letting her stay longer.

She half rose from her chair, but he waved her back down. “I’m coming.” He limped to the door irritably. Once he had drawn oohs and aahs from people who could hardly believe, even while they watched, that a rawboned, white-haired old man could do backsprings and handstands and flips, limber and quick as a boy. The limp had put an end to that, and he hated it. The leg ached worse when he was tired. He jerked open the door, and blinked in surprise. “Well. Come in, Mat. I thought you would be hard at work lightening lordlings’ purses.”

“They didn’t want to gamble any more tonight,” Mat said sourly, dropping onto a three-legged stool. His coat was undone and his hair dishevelled. His brown eyes darted around, never resting on one spot long, except when he saw Dena sitting up in bed, clad in her white nightgown, but their usual twinkle, suggesting that the lad saw something funny where no-one else did, was missing tonight.

Thom frowned at him, considering. Mat never stepped across this threshold without a quip about the shabby room. He accepted Thom’s explanation that his sleeping beside the servants’ quarters would help people forget that he had arrived in the shadow of Aes Sedai, but Mat seldom let a chance for a joke pass. If he realized that the room also assured that no-one could think of Thom having any connection to the Dragon Reborn, Mat, being Mat, probably thought that a reasonable wish. It had taken Thom all of two sentences, delivered in haste during a rare moment when no-one was looking, to make Rand see the real point. Everyone listened to a gleeman, everyone watched him, but no-one really saw him or remembered who he talked to, as long as he was only a gleeman, with his hedgerow entertainments fit for country folk and servants, and perhaps to amuse the ladies. That was how Tairens saw it. It was not as if he were a bard, after all.

What was bothering the boy to bring him down here at this hour? Probably one or another of the young women, and some old enough to know better, who had let themselves be caught by Mat’s mischievous grin. Still, he would pretend it was one of Mat’s usual visits until the lad said otherwise.

“I’ll get the stones board. It is late, but we have time for one game.” He could not resist adding, “Would you care for a wager on it?” He would not have tossed dice with Mat for a copper, but stones was another matter; he thought there was too much order and pattern in stones for Mat’s strange luck.

“What? Oh. No. It’s too late for games. Thom, did ...? Did anything ... happen down here?” Leaning the stones board against a table leg, Thom dug his tabac pouch and long-stemmed pipe out of the litter remaining on the table. “Such as what?” he asked, thumbing the bowl full. He had time to stick a twist of paper in the flame of one of the candles, puff the pipe alight and blow out the spill before Mat answered.

“Such as Rand going insane, that’s what. No, you’d not have had to ask if it had.”

“Still thy viper’s tongue!” Saeri declared angrily. “Thou will not slander my lord in my hearing. Or elsewise!” Mat gave the little girl’s wrath about as much attention as might be expected. Thom didn’t know why she was so intent on learning to speak in High Chant, but he was secretly glad of it. So few of his audiences had wanted to hear him tell a story in that form during his wanderings. It made for a nice change. She was getting better at it, but she still didn’t quite have the knack. Too many phrases from the Common Tongue kept leaking in.

He wasn’t in the mood to correct her just then, though. A prickling made Thom shift his shoulders, but he blew a blue-grey streamer of smoke as calmly as he could and took his chair, stretching his gimpy leg out in front of him. Dena’s self-control was not yet so ingrained. Alarmed, she pushed the covers aside and climbed from the bed. “What do you mean?” Her eyes darted from Thom to their empty bags, piled in a corner. She’d urged him to leave more than once already, and no doubt would soon do so again.

Mat drew a deep breath, then let everything out in a rush. “The playing cards tried to kill me. The Amyrlin, and the High Lord, and ... I didn’t dream it, Thom. That’s why those puffed-up jackdaws don’t want to gamble anymore. They’re afraid it will happen again. Thom, I’m thinking of leaving Tear.”

The prickling felt as if he had blackwasp nettles stuffed down his back. Why had he not left Tear himself long since? Much the wisest thing. Hundreds of villages lay out there, waiting for a gleeman to entertain and amaze them. But if he did, Rand would have no-one except Moiraine to keep the High Nobles from manoeuvring him into corners, and maybe cutting his throat. She could do it, of course. Using different methods than his. He thought she could. She was Cairhienin, which meant she had probably taken in the Game of Houses with her mother’s milk. And she would tie another string to Rand for the White Tower while she was about it. Mesh him in an Aes Sedai net so strong he would never escape. But if the boy was going mad already ...

_ Fool _ , Thom called himself. A pure fool to stay mixed in this because of something fifteen years in the past. Staying would not change that; what was done was done.  _ I am a fool! I should be out of here tonight! _

Dena looked Mat over, searching for bloodstains on his rumbled clothes, and finding none. “You don’t look hurt. Are you sure you aren’t just drunk?”

“I’ve been drunk before, Dena,” Mat said indignantly. “I know the difference. And I’m not so dumb that I’d get drop dead drunk while trying to fleece some bloody nobles out of their coin.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she said, pursing her lips and crossing her arms. Her breasts moved under the loose garment when she did so, and Thom’s eyes weren’t the only ones the motion drew. “Did you get much from them?”

A shadow of Mat’s usual grin crossed his face. “A bit. Not as much as I’d wanted but I lightened their purses, that’s for sure.”

Dena nodded her approval and smiled back at him.

Saeri looked confused. “But for what purpose dost thou employ this trade? Those men are my lord’s vassals. Art thou a simple brigand?”

“Look, kid, do you ever think that maybe you should keep clear of things you don’t understand?” Mat said tightly. “Nobles. Gambling. Older men. You know, that sort of stuff.”

She sat up straight in her chair, her book forgotten. “I am not so foolish as thou thinkest me. Thou speakest of my love for my lord, and his for me, and seek to shame me. Thou hast failed, and ever will. Our love is pure and good.”

Mat snorted. “The madness must be catching. All the more reason I should get out of here. And take Imoen with me, whatever she says.”

“Fiend! Imoen, too, will not be parted from our lord’s embrace.” She said nothing of her own embrace, but Thom had noticed the two girls kissing in a quiet corner once. He hadn’t mentioned it, of course, no more than he’d told Mat of the ways that Imoen had been assisting him. She was a clever girl, quick of foot and hand, and would make an excellent spy some day, but her cousin seemed to think youngsters more innocent than they were. It was a curious blind spot in him.

Dena shook her head disgustedly. “I knew he was trouble the moment I laid eyes on him.” For once, it wasn’t Mat that that description was being thrown at.

Saeri was not so astute as she thought. “Just so, Dena, just so. Trouble thou are, Matrim. Mend thy ways, lest the Shadow find purchase in thee. I shall not watch only my purse but thy actions in future. Do not fall into evil.”

Mat gave her a flat look. “You’re an idiot.”

The girl’s nostrils flared in anger. “I will sit here and listen to this no more.” Setting aside  _ The Great Hunt of the Horn _ , she stalked from the room, slamming the door behind her as she went.

“Pay her no heed, Mat. She comes here every once in a while to pick Thom’s mind about High Chant. Girl’s not right in the head, if you ask me,” Dena said.

Mat sighed tiredly. “She’s not the only one. So sooner we leave, the better.”

Thom was roiling inside, his stomach churning acid, but he had spent long years learning to keep his face straight before ever he put on a gleeman’s cloak. It wasn’t just worry over Rand’s mental state that had him upset. There was Dena’s mental state to consider as well. He’d noticed the way she looked at Mat. He puffed three smoke rings, one inside the other, and said, “You have been thinking of leaving Tear since the day you walked into the Stone.”

He meant it for both of them, but Mat was the first to speak. Perched on the edge of the stool, he shot him an angry look. “And I mean to. I do. Why not come with me, Thom? You and Dena. There are towns where they think the Dragon Reborn hasn’t drawn a breath yet, where nobody’s given a thought to the bloody Prophecies of the bloody Dragon in years, if ever. Places where they think the Dark One is a grandmother’s tale, and Trollocs are travellers’ wild stories, and Myrddraal ride shadows to scare children. You could play your harp and tell your stories, Dena could sing, and I could find a game of dice. We could live like nobles, travelling as we want, staying where we want, with no-one trying to kill us.”

Dena sighed. “That’s the life.”

It all hit too close for comfort for Thom. They were right, but ... Well, he was a fool and there it was; he just had to make the best of it. “If you really mean to go, Mat, then why haven’t you?”

“Moiraine watches me,” he said bitterly. “And when she isn’t, she has somebody else doing it.”

“I know. Aes Sedai don’t like to let someone go once they lay hands on them.” It was more than that, he was sure, more than what was openly known, certainly, but Mat denied any such thing, and no-one else who knew was talking either, if anyone besides Moiraine did know. It hardly mattered. He liked Mat—he even owed him, in a fashion, for what he’d done for Elayne—but Mat and his troubles were a street-corner raree compared to Rand. “But I cannot believe she really has someone watching you all the time.”

“As good as. She’s always asking people where I am, what I’m doing. It gets back to me. Do you know anybody who won’t tell an Aes Sedai what she wants to know? I don’t. As good as being watched.”

“You could avoid eyes if you put your mind to it. I’ve never seen anyone as good at sneaking about as you. I mean that as a compliment.”

“Hey! You said I was the best at sneaking,” Dena objected.

“You would be, if only you weren’t too pretty to escape notice,” said Thom, thinking fast.

Dena looked mollified, and even gave him a small, secret smile, but Mat was grumbling under his breath.

“Something always comes up. There’s so much gold to be had here. And there’s a big-eyed girl in the kitchens who likes a little kiss and tickle, and one of the maids has hair like silk, to her waist, and the roundest ...” He trailed off as if he had suddenly realized how foolish he sounded.

“Have you considered that maybe it’s because—”

“If you mention  _ ta’veren _ , Thom, I’m leaving.”

Thom changed what he had been going to say. “—that maybe it’s because Rand is your friend and you don’t want to desert him?”

“Desert him!” The boy jumped up, kicking over the stool. “Thom, he is the bloody Dragon Reborn! At least, that’s what he and Moiraine say. Maybe he is. He can channel, and he has that bloody sword that looks like glass. Prophecies! I don’t know. But I know I would have to be as crazy as these Tairens to stay.” He paused. “You don’t think ... You don’t think Moiraine is keeping me here, do you? With the Power?”

Dena put a calming hand on his shoulder but she looked concerned, too.

“I do not believe she can,” Thom said slowly. He knew a good bit about Aes Sedai, enough to have some idea how much he did not know, and he thought he was right on this.

Mat raked his fingers through his hair. “Thom, I think about leaving all the time, but ... I get these strange feelings. Almost as if something was going to happen. Something ... Momentous; that’s the word. It’s like knowing there’ll be fireworks for Sunday, only I don’t know what it is I’m expecting. Whenever I think too much about leaving, it happens. And suddenly I’ve found some reason to stay another day. Always just one more bloody day. Doesn’t that sound like Aes Sedai work to you?”

Thom swallowed the word  _ ta’veren _ and took his pipe from between his teeth to peer into the smouldering tabac. He did not know much about  _ ta’veren _ , but then no-one did except the Aes Sedai, or maybe some of the Ogier. “I was never much good at helping people with their problems.”  _ And worse with my own _ , he thought. “With an Aes Sedai close to hand, I’d advise most people to ask her for help.”  _ Advice I’d not take myself _ .

“Ask Moiraine!”

“Better her than Alanna. That one you should avoid at all costs.” If not for the bond Rand had told him about, he’d have considered arranging an “accident” for Alanna. She was more dangerous than any of the Tairen nobles. “I suppose that is out of the question in this case,” he continued. “But Nynaeve was your Wisdom back in Emond’s Field. Village Wisdoms are used to answering people’s questions, helping with their problems.”

Mat gave a raucous snort of laughter. “And put up with one of her lectures about drinking and gambling and ...? Thom, she acts like I’m ten years old. Sometimes I think she believes I’ll marry a nice girl and settle down on my father’s farm.”

“Some men would not find it an objectionable life,” Thom said quietly.

“Well, I would. I want more than cows and sheep and tabac for the rest of my life. I want—” Mat shook his head. “All these holes in my memory. Sometimes I think if I could just fill them in, I’d know ... Burn me, I don’t know what I’d know, but I know I want to know it. That’s a twisty riddle isn’t it?”

“I’m not certain even an Aes Sedai can help with that. A gleeman surely can’t.”

“I said no Aes Sedai!”

Thom sighed. “Calm yourself, boy. I was not suggesting it.”

“So you want something, but you don’t know what it is. Or how to get it. And you have no intention of asking for help. Is that right?” When Mat didn’t respond to Dena’s questions with anything more than a sour look, she burst out laughing. “You are the manliest man I’ve ever met, Matrim Cauthon. No wonder the girls like you so much.”

He essayed an uncertain smile. “Thanks?”

Dena’s eyes slid over to Thom, and he saw speculation there. It reminded him of the discussion they’d had, months back, concerning what they both wanted from this relationship. A mature and wise discussion to have, he’d decided, though one that had meandered in some unexpected directions. He’d meant what he’d said. He wanted her to experience everything that life had to offer. She’d maintained that she could do all of that with him, which was a sweet flattery but one he knew to be untrue. He was much older than she was. The simple passage of time would part them while Dena was still a relatively young woman. And he didn’t want her to feel she had wasted her youth on a relationship with no long-term prospects.

While Thom stroked his moustaches and mulled over the question behind that look, Mat crossed his arms defensively. “I am leaving. As soon as I can fetch my things and find a horse. Not a minute longer.”

“In the middle of the night? The morning will do.” He refrained from adding,  _ If you really do leave _ . “Sit down. Relax. I have a jar of wine here, somewhere.”

Mat hesitated, glancing at the door. Finally he jerked his coat straight. “The morning will do.” He sounded uncertain, but he picked up the overturned stool and set it beside the table. “But no wine for me,” he added as he sat down. “Strange enough things happen when my head is clear. I want to know the difference.”

Just that easily the lad was diverted. Pulled along by an even stronger  _ ta’veren _ named Rand al’Thor, was how Thom saw it. It occurred to him to wonder if he was caught in the same way. His life had certainly not been headed toward the Stone of Tear and this room when he first met Rand, but since then it had been twitched about like a kite string. If he decided to leave, say if Rand really had gone mad, would he find reasons to keep putting it off?

If he was caught, too, Thom decided, it would be worth it to help one man, at least, keep free of Aes Sedai. Worth it, to make a payment on that fifteen-year-old debt.

Suddenly and strangely content, he looked at Dena and gave the nod she’d been waiting for.


	19. A Union of Rogues

CHAPTER 16: A Union of Rogues

Thom watched as Dena stole up behind Mat and leaned down to rest her arms on his shoulders. Her mouth was close enough to his ear for her breath to tickle, as he well knew from past experience.

“If you aren’t going to leave, what will you do with the rest of your night, Mat? Play stones? Sounds boring to me. Are you sure you can’t think of anything more interesting?” she teased.

“Stones is only boring if you play it wrong,” Mat said. He shifted on his stool, and darted a surreptitious glance Thom’s way.

For his part, Thom continued to smoke impassively.

“You’re good at playing with your stones, then? I imagine you must be, to have the success you’ve had.”

“Ah. Sure. I know my, my way around a stones board,” Mat said nervously.

Thom knew the boy well enough to know he wouldn’t have been half so nervous if he and Dena had been alone. It was Thom’s presence that had his knees clacking. It was needless. He’d promised Dena he’d teach her everything he knew, and indulge her every desire. He meant to do just that this night. But it was still amusing to watch Mat squirm, so he said nothing.

“What else do you know your way around?” Dena whispered. While Mat was still trying to frame a response, she bit him lightly on the ear.

He started. “Burn me! What are you doing?”

“Seducing you,” she said, while kissing his neck. “I’m surprised I have to explain it. I guess you’re more sheltered than you pretend.”

“I’m not, not even a little sh-heltered,” he stammered, his eyes darting to Thom and away again.

Dena slid her hands down under Mat’s loose shirt to caress his chest. “I’ve seen you watching me, Mat. I know you want me. Your trousers look a bit tight all of a sudden ...”

“Blood and ashes! What do you expect?”

She chuckled. “I expect you to blush as red as a beet and then run away. Poor sheltered boy ...”

His jaw firmed. “I told you I’m not sheltered.”

She craned her head forward, leaning on his shoulder, offering her mouth. “Prove it.”

Mat might not have been the sheltered boy she teased him about being, but he was definitely still young. Unable to turn down a dare, he planted his lips on hers and kissed her like a man on a mission. Thom smoked on.

He knew Dena was enjoying herself, for she began stripping Mat of his clothes as they kissed. That was to be tonight’s lesson, then. Well. He’d enjoyed the company of several women at once a good few times over the course of his life. He could hardly begrudge Dena her curiosity. And Mat was just the type of person she gravitated towards. Independent, rebellious, down-to-earth and eager for more.

When they came up for air, Thom tapped out his pipe, drawing Mat’s wary attention. He rose from his seat and limped past the two youths to go sit at the top of the bed.

Dena grinned at him and then reached down to pull up her nightdress, revealing her slender legs, the dark tuft of hair that crowned her sex, her pretty breasts. By the time she tossed the garment aside, Mat was cursing under his breath while tearing at his own clothes.

He was soon on her again, eager hands darting all over her smooth flesh while he pushed her back towards the bed. A soft gasp escaped her when he squeezed the cheeks of her skinny bottom. They fell onto the bed together, and Thom watched as she pushed Mat’s trouser down over his arse. Before she had even freed him, the boy slid a hand between her legs and began stirring her passion.

He didn’t have to do it for long. After a few minutes, Dena pushed him off her and turned around to face Thom. Her face, always so expressive, was lit with excitement. She got up on her hands and knees, and offered herself to Mat.

Kicking free of the last of his clothes, the boy was understandably eager to kneel behind her and guide his cock towards her pussy. Thom watched their faces as they tasted each other’s sex, and tried to silence the whispers of jealousy that rose within him.

Dena’s breasts and hair shook as Mat rode her. She was soon panting from the intensity of it. For Mat’s part, his obvious reluctance to mess with Thom’s girl had disappeared completely as soon as he saw her naked. Thom snorted to himself. The boy was no fool, but he was quite simple in some ways.

The sound he’d made drew Dena’s attention. She gave him an apologetic look before reaching back to push Mat off her. Lusty he might be, but he still stopped when told, albeit with a confused look on his face. It lasted only long enough to Dena to crawl towards Thom and begin undoing the front of his breeches, then it became a grin. Shuffling over, Mat returned his cock to Dena’s body, but rode her slower this time.

When she freed Thom’s by-now-hard cock, she brought it quickly to her lips. Her dark eyes never left his as she lowered her mouth over it. Her lips and tongue caressed him lovingly, and Thom’s jealousy left him completely.

With the slapping of Mat’s hips against hers rocking them both, she was unable to take Thom all the way in, as she was prone to, but that didn’t matter. Dena had become quite the expert at pleasuring him in the time they’d known each other, and she brought that expertise to bear now, seeking out and finding all his weakest spots. She soon had him breathing as heavily as Mat.

She didn’t let him finish in her mouth this time, though. Instead, she abandoned his cock completely when she felt it twitching, and leaned over to kiss him, her slick pussy sliding along, and then leaving, Mat’s cock as she did so.

“Enjoying yourself?” Thom said huskily.

“My heart is racing,” Dena confessed.

He grunted. “I can think of something you might enjoy even more ...”

She was a bold one, his Dena. But even she could blush in the right circumstances. “I think I know what you mean. I’ve had the same thought ...”

“Do you want to know what it’s like?”

She nodded silently, unwilling to admit it, even to him.

Thom guided her hips to his, but it was Dena who took his cock in hand and positioned it. She kissed him with her lower lips as well, and then slid down onto him, her hot young pussy gripping him tightly. She stayed in place once situated. Waiting.

Mat licked his lips when Thom reached down and spread Dena’s soft cheeks to expose her tight little ass. He’d already taught her to like having it fucked, and Mat’s long, thin cock was slick with her juices. He was sure she would enjoy what was about to happen.

He was right, too. He carefully watched the play of expressions that flittered across Dena’s face as Mat eased himself into her back passage. There was pain, yes, but far more pleasure to be seen there.

What pain there had been disappeared when the two men began moving inside her at the same time. Dena moaned loudly, her eyes rolling back in her skull.

Knowing she was happy was enough for Thom. He began fucking her in earnest, so lost in the moment that he found himself intent, perhaps foolishly, on matching the pace set by his young friend. Together, they fucked Dena into a twitching orgasmic mess. She crouched between them, her hips hardly moving, taking everything they had to give her while crying out wordlessly over and over. It was hard to tell how many times she came, but by the time Thom felt his own pleasure grow imminent, she had collapsed upon his chest, her head resting lightly on his shoulder while Mat ravaged her ass in the merciless manner of the young and ever-horny.

A sheen of sweat covered the boy’s leanly muscled and hairless chest by then. He threw back his head and gritted his teeth as he came, something which Dena was too far gone to acknowledge with anything more than a light sigh. Thom was more pleased than he would have ever admitted to have outlasted the youngster. His hair might have gone as white as snow, and his leg might not work the way it should anymore, but he still had it.

Satisfied, he relaxed into the pleasure of Dena’s sex, rolling his hips and letting happen what nature intended to happen. As pleasure washed over him, he combed his fingers through her hair fondly. She had a bright future ahead of her, this girl. With and without him.


	20. Questions and Answers

CHAPTER 17: Questions and Answers

Nynaeve fluttered the painted silk fan vigorously as she mulled over the prisoners’ words, glad the nights were at least a little cooler than the days. Tairen women carried the fans all the time—the nobles, at least, and the wealthy—but as far as she could see they did no good at all except when the sun was down, and not much then. Even the lamps, great golden, mirrored things on silvered wall brackets, seemed to add to the heat. She and the other Accepted ... the remaining Accepted, had gathered to question the two Black sisters, this time hoping to get something more useful out of them than they had so far, since Moiraine had agreed to help. Agreed, and then left without explanation after a bare five minutes. Bringing the woman into it at all hadn’t sat easily with her, but having her leave so soon was just infuriating.

“Did she give any hint of why they wanted her, Aviendha? Or who wanted her, for that matter?” she asked.

Seated cross-legged on the floor beside the door, large green eyes startling in her dark tanned face, the Aiel woman shrugged. In coat and breeches and soft boots,  _ shoufa _ looped about her neck, she appeared unarmed. Her cousin Dailin sat on the opposite side of the door. They were not her guards but they had been acting that way lately, when they weren’t blathering on about Nynaeve saving Dailin’s life. “Careen whispered her message to Moiraine Sedai. It would not have been proper to listen. I am sorry, Aes Sedai.”

Nynaeve sniffed, while refusing to fiddle with the Great Serpent ring on her right hand, the golden serpent biting its own tail. As Accepted, she and the others should have been wearing it on the third fingers of their left hands, but letting the High Nobles believe that they had a dozen full Aes Sedai inside the Stone kept them on their best manners, or what passed for manners among Tairen nobles. Moiraine did not lie, of course; she never said they were more than Accepted. But she never said they were Accepted, either, and let everyone think what they wanted to think, believe what they thought they saw. Moiraine could not lie, but she could make truth dance a fine jig. All Aes Sedai could. Nynaeve still didn’t much like being associated with them, but she couldn’t deny that the association had its uses sometimes.

She went to the narrow window, the casements of which Ronelle had swung open in the hope of catching a night breeze. On the broad River Arindrelle below bobbed the lanterns of a few fishing boats that had not ventured downriver.

“Tanchico,” she muttered. “There is nothing for it but to go to Tanchico, it seems.” She gave an unconscious hitch to her green dress, with its wide neck that bared her shoulders. It was not as scandalously revealing as the red one she’d once been forced to wear by that cad Valan Luca, but it was still too revealing for a Theren woman to be wearing. Not that Rand would agree, of course, incorrigible as he was. She wondered what Lan thought of it. Green was one of his favourite colours ... “Nothing for it.”

“Perhaps,” Pedra said loudly. “Myself, I am not convinced.”

The Accepted were sat around a long, narrow table, polished till it glistened, which ran down the middle of the room. A tall chair stood at the end near Nynaeve, lightly carved and touched here and there with gilt, quite plain for Tear, while the sidechairs had progressively lower backs, until those at the far end seemed little more than benches. Nynaeve had no idea what purpose the Tairens had put the room to. She and the others used it for questioning two prisoners taken when the Stone fell. Most of the other Accepted were here now, all save Elayne—the drunken little fool!—and Ilyena, who was still too traumatised by whatever Be’lal had done to her to leave her room very often. There wasn’t a woman among them who didn’t shoot a murderous glance at the two prisoners standing by the far wall at least once every minute. Nynaeve understood. She did the same whenever she didn’t have something else to occupy her mind other than remembrances of how they had been treated in that dungeon.

She’d spoken to each of them in private, and done whatever she could for them, but she suspected the memories would always haunt them. Dani looked as stern as ever, but her frown was more worried than demanding now. Her fellow Domani, Theodrin, no longer smiled as easily as she once had. Her attention was turned from their friends to the prisoner who had degraded her, and there was no doubt that the willowy Accepted hungered for revenge. Little Emara and big Ronelle put their heads together whenever they wanted to talk, which was to say near constantly. Dark Mayam sat alone, lost in darker thoughts, but Keestis and Shimoku had recovered a fair measure of poise. Though one was slight and black-haired, and the other tall with hair like spun gold, they mirrored each other in their composure, faces still, legs crossed, and hands folded before them on the table as they considered the prisoners.

Pedra, too, had been changed by the experience, despite having been relatively unscathed by their time as captives of the Black Ajah. She’d gotten louder lately, whether because she wanted to protect her more vulnerable companions or because she felt she had something to prove now, Nynaeve could not say.

“You think it more likely they’d come all the way to Tear only to turn around and head back upriver to Saldaea? Doesn’t seem very efficient,” said Dani, in response to Pedra’s comment.

“The Shadow has never been known for its good sense,” said the quiet Kaltori, Shimoku.

“In that, they are not alone,” Pedra muttered, her dark gaze stabbing at Nynaeve.

Did she blame her for their defeat and capture? She was right to, if so. Nynaeve had been and was responsible for their well-being, and she had failed them utterly. The need to balance those scales drove her like a wagoner’s crop. It was why they did this here. She could not force her charges to go down to the dungeons, though Rand had ordered all of the implements that had decorated the guardroom walls melted or burned. Besides, this brightly lit room, with its clean-swept green tile floor and its wall panels carved with the Three Crescents of Tear, was a sharp contrast to the grim, grey stone of the cells, all dim and dank and dirty. That had to have some softening effect on the two women in prisoners’ rough-woven woollens.

Only that drab brown dress, however, would have told most people that Joiya Byir, standing beyond the table with her back turned, was a prisoner at all. Every line of her proclaimed that she stared rigidly at the far wall of her own choice, and for no other reason. Nynaeve was too calm to see it anymore, but she knew that thumb-thick flows of Air were holding Joiya’s arms to her sides and lashing her ankles together. A cage woven of Air kept her eyes straight ahead. Even her ears were stopped up, so she could not hear what anyone said until they wanted her to.

“Is the shield sound?” she demanded. The looks the other Accepted gave her made her reach for the wrist-thick braid that hung over her shoulder. They all knew about her block.

“The prisoners are secure, Nynaeve. There’s no need to worry,” Keestis said in a tone that was more placating than Nynaeve cared for. The mental block that prevented her from channelling unless she was angry was annoying enough without having to put up with being condescended to over it.

Theodrin had offered to help her break her block. Or to try to help, anyway. She was a wilder, like Nynaeve, and had experience in dealing with such things. They had spent much of the day before working on breaking it. And they had failed miserably. That was what really hurt. The failure. Theodrin was even-tempered, good-humoured, patient; she said it could not be done in one session; her own block had taken months to demolish, and she had finally realized she was channelling long before going to the Tower. Still, failure hurt, and worst of all, if anyone ever discovered that she had cried like a baby in Theodrin’s comforting arms when she knew she was failing ...

She wished she could blame her current discomfort on the memory of that incident, but she simply could not be easy in the same room with a Darkfriend who had the ability to channel, even if she was shielded. Worse than just a Darkfriend. Black Ajah. Murder was the least of Joiya’s crimes. She should have been bowed down under her weight of broken oaths, blasted lives and blighted souls.

Joiya’s fellow prisoner, her sister in the Black Ajah, lacked her strength. Standing stoop-shouldered at the far end of the table, head down, Amico Nagoyin seemed to sink in on herself under Nynaeve’s glare. There was no need to shield her. Amico had been Stilled during her capture. Still able to sense the True Source, she would never again touch it, never again channel. The desire to, the need to, would remain, as sharp as the need to breathe, and her loss would be there for as long as she lived,  _ saidar _ forever out of reach. The way Theodrin was looking at her reminded Nynaeve that it was the least the traitor deserved.

Amico murmured something at the tabletop. “What?” Nynaeve demanded. “Speak up.”

Amico raised her face humbly on its slender neck. She was still a beautiful woman, with large, dark eyes, but there was something different about her that Nynaeve could not quite put her finger on. Not the fear that made her clutch her coarse prisoner’s dress with both hands. Something else. Swallowing, Amico said, “You should go to Tanchico.”

“You’ve told us that twenty times,” Nynaeve said roughly. “Fifty times. Tell us something new. Name names we do not already know. Who still in the White Tower is Black Ajah?”

“I do not know. You must believe me.” Amico sounded tired, utterly beaten. Not at all the way she had sounded when they were the prisoners and she the gaoler. “Before we left the Tower, I knew only Liandrin, Chesmal and Rianna. No-one knew more than two or three others, I think. Except Liandrin. I have told you everything I know.”

“Then what use are you to us?” Theodrin asked coldly. While Amico flinched and tried to shrink in on herself even more, Nynaeve went to stand behind Theodrin’s chair and rest her hands on her shoulders. The Domani had always been a kind woman. She hoped the desire for vengeance would not ruin her.

“I overheard Liandrin that once, talking to Temaile,” Amico said wearily, starting a tale she had told them many times. In the first days of her captivity she had tried to improve her story, but the more she elaborated the more she had tangled herself in her own lies. Now she almost always told it the same way, word for word. “If you could have seen Liandrin’s face when she saw me ... She would have murdered me on the spot had she thought I had heard anything. And Temaile likes to hurt people. She enjoys it. I only heard a little before they saw me. Liandrin said there was something in Tanchico, something dangerous to ... to him.” She meant Rand. She could not say his name, and a mention of the Dragon Reborn was enough to send her into tears. “Liandrin said it was dangerous to whoever used it, too. Almost as dangerous as to ... him. That is why she had not already gone after it. And she said being able to channel would not protect him. She said, ‘When we find it, his filthy ability will bind him for us’.” Sweat ran down her face, but she shivered almost uncontrollably.

Not a word had changed.

“I’ve heard enough of this. Let us see if the other has anything new to say.”

“Get back in your place, scum,” Theodrin said coldly.

Amico turned to face the far wall, waiting patiently to be bound. She might not be able to see the flows that Mayam was weaving, but Nynaeve could at least see Amico stiffen as the flows of Air touched her, then slump, half supported by the flows, as if to show how little she was resisting.

Aviendha shuddered, the way she had taken to doing whenever she knew the Power was being channelled near her. Nynaeve would have ignored it had Aviendha not abruptly said, “Her face. Amico’s face. She does not have the look she did, as if the years had passed her by. Not as much as she did. Is that because she was ... because she was Stilled?” she finished in a breathless rush. She almost never spoke unless addressed by Moiraine or one of the others but she had picked up a few habits being so much around them. No woman of the Tower could speak of Stilling without a chill.

Frowning, Dani rose from her seat and moved down the table, to where she could see Amico’s face more clearly. Nynaeve didn’t think it necessary. Now that the Aiel had pointed it out, she knew what it was about Amico’s appearance that had been bugging her. The so-called “ageless face” of an Aes Sedai had faded from her.

“You have sharp eyes, Aviendha,” said Dani, her examination complete, “but I don’t know if this has anything to do with Stilling. It must, though, I suppose. I don’t know what else could cause it.”

“Relatively few Aes Sedai have ever been burned out, Aviendha, and far fewer Stilled,” Nynaeve said.

“Burned out” was what it was called when it happened by accident; officially, Stilling resulted from trial and sentence. For that, most Aes Sedai seemed to see it the same, except when teaching Novices or Accepted. While women might be Stilled, men were “Gentled”, must be Gentled, before they went mad. Only now there was Rand, and the Tower did not dare Gentle him.

Nynaeve clasped her hands at her waist as she continued. “Stilling is not a thing anyone would choose to study, you understand. It is generally accepted to be irreversible. What makes a woman able to channel cannot be replaced once it is removed, any more than a hand that has been cut off can be Healed back into existence.” At least, no-one had ever been able to Heal Stilling. There had been attempts but even a hint of success at Healing a woman who had been Stilled was nonexistent. “Aside from that one hard fact, little is known. Women who are Stilled seldom live more than a few years. They seem to stop wanting to live; they give up. As I said, it is an unpleasant subject.”

Aviendha shifted uncomfortably. “I only thought that might be it,” she said in a low voice.

“I think you might be right,” said Dani, looking away from beautiful Amico in disgust, “but Aes Sedai are very fond of their traditions, and don’t like to have them questioned.”

Mayam huffed a low laugh. Like Dani, Aes Sedai traditions had held her back from the shawl longer than might have been thought right by an outsider. Longer than Nynaeve thought right in Dani’s case, if not in Mayam’s.

_ Because she is too fond of male company? What about you, then? What right have you to judge any woman, given what you’ve done? _ a traitorous voice whispered at the back of her mind. She squashed it as firmly as she could. The Women’s Circle would not have let Mayam braid her hair, and that was that.

“Let’s see if Joiya still tells the same tale, too,” Keestis said.

Joiya must have been stiff from standing so still for so long, but she turned smoothly to face them when her invisible shackles evaporated. The sweat beading her forehead could not diminish her dignity and presence, any more than her drab, rough dress lessened the sense of her being there by choice. She was a handsome woman with something motherly about her face despite its ageless smoothness, something comforting. But the dark eyes set in that face made a hawk’s look kind. She smiled at them, a smile that never reached those eyes. “The Light illumine you. May the hand of the Creator shelter you.”

“I will not hear that out of you.” Nynaeve’s voice was quiet and calm, but she gripped the end of her braid in her fist.

“I have repented my sins,” Joiya said smoothly. “The Dragon is Reborn, and he holds  _ Callandor _ . The Prophecies are fulfilled. The Dark One must fail. I can see that, now. My repentance is real. No-one can walk so long in the Shadow that she cannot come again to the Light.”

Nynaeve’s fury grew with every lying word that slithered out of the Darkfriend’s mouth. Lies should not have been possible for an Aes Sedai, not outright lies. The very first of the Three Oaths, taken with the Oath Rod in hand, should have seen to that. But whatever oaths to the Dark One were sworn on joining the Black Ajah, they seemed to sever all Three Oaths.

The good news was that  _ saidar _ was hers again. The bad news was that she didn’t trust herself to use it without also battering Joiya senseless.

“Give us your tale again,” Dani said, when Nynaeve’s silence lingered too long. “Use different words, this time. I am tired of listening to memorized stories.” That was clever. If she was lying, there was more chance she would trip herself up telling it differently. “We will hear you out.”

Joiya shrugged. “As you wish. Let me see. Different words. The false Dragon, Mazrim Taim who was captured in Saldaea, can channel with incredible strength. Perhaps as much as Rand al’Thor, or nearly so, if the reports can be believed. Before he can be brought to Tar Valon and Gentled, Liandrin means to break him free. He will be proclaimed as the Dragon Reborn, his name given as Rand al’Thor, and then he will be set to destruction on such a scale as the world has not seen since the War of the Hundred Years.”

“That is impossible,” Nynaeve broke in. “The Pattern will not accept a false Dragon, not now that Rand has proclaimed himself.”

“Is that what Moiraine told you?” Joiya asked with a touch of contempt. “Moiraine has spent little time in the Tower since she was raised, and not much more with her sisters anywhere. I suppose she knows the workings of village life, perhaps even something of the politics between nations, but she does claim certainty about matters learned only through study and discussion with those who know. Still, she might be correct. Mazrim Taim might well find it impossible to proclaim himself. But if others do it for him, is there a difference that matters?”

“Go on,” Pedra said harshly. “And remember, different words.”

“Of course,” Joiya replied, as though responding to a gracious invitation, but her eyes glittered like chips of black glass. “You can see the obvious result. Rand al’Thor will be blamed for the depredations of ... Rand al’Thor. Even proof that they are not the same man may well be dismissed. After all, who can say what tricks the Dragon Reborn can play? Perhaps put himself in two places at once. Even the sort who have always rallied to a false Dragon will hesitate in the face of the indiscriminate slaughter and worse laid at his feet. Those who do not shrink at such butchery will seek out the Rand al’Thor who seems to revel in blood. The nations will unite as they did in the Aiel War ...” She gave Aviendha and Dailin an apologetic smile, incongruous beneath those merciless eyes. “... but no doubt much more quickly. Even the Dragon Reborn cannot stand against that, not forever. He will be crushed before the Last Battle even begins, by the very ones he was meant to save. The Dark One will break free, the day of Tarmon Gai’don will come, and the Shadow will cover the earth and remake the Pattern for all time. That is Liandrin’s plan.” There was not a hint of satisfaction in her voice, but no horror, either.

It was a plausible story, more plausible than Amico’s tale of a few eavesdropped sentences, but Nynaeve believed Amico and not Joiya. Perhaps because she wanted to. A vague threat in Tanchico was easier to face than this fully fleshed plan to turn every hand against Rand.  _ No _ , she thought.  _ Joiya is lying. I am sure she is. She is too smooth. Every word out of her mouth drips with poison _ . Yet they could not afford to ignore either story. But they could not chase after both, not with any hope of success. They’d already lost one battle against the Black Ajah, and lost four good women as consequence. She could not afford to lose another, not a battle, and certainly not a friend.

She was so lost in such grim thoughts that she jumped when the door banged open, and Moiraine strode in, with Elayne following. The Daughter-Heir was frowning at the floor in front of her toes, lost in dark thoughts, but Moiraine ... For once the Aes Sedai’s serenity had vanished; fury painted her face.


	21. Doorways

CHAPTER 18: Doorways

“Rand al’Thor,” Moiraine told the air in a low, tight voice, “is a mule-headed, stone-willed fool of a ... a ... a man!”

Elayne lifted her chin angrily. Her childhood nurse, Lini, used to say you could weave silk from pig bristles before you could make a man anything but a man. But that was no excuse for Rand.

“We breed them that way in the Theren.” Nynaeve was suddenly all half-suppressed smiles and satisfaction. “Theren women never have any trouble with them.”

Moiraine’s brows drew down as if she were about to reply to Nynaeve in harder kind. Elayne stirred, but she could not find anything to say that would head off argument. Rand kept dancing through her head. He had no right! But what right did she have?

Pedra spoke instead. “What did he do, Moiraine Sedai?”

The Aes Sedai’s eyes swung to her, a stare so hard that the younger woman stepped back. But Moiraine’s gaze settled on Joiya and Amico, the one watching her warily, the other bound and unaware of anything but the far wall.

Elayne gave a small start at realizing Joiya was not bound. Hastily she checked the shield blocking the woman from the True Source, and found it sound. She shouldn’t have needed to check since it was Keestis holding the shield, and she hoped her friend hadn’t noticed her do so. The truth was that Joiya frightened her nearly to death, but Nynaeve was no more scared of the woman than Moiraine was. Sometimes it was difficult being as brave as the Daughter-Heir of Andor should be. She often found herself wishing she could manage as well as Nynaeve did. Or Dani, or Keestis, or Aviendha. None of them would have hidden behind a pillar being consoled by one of the Maidens while Rand was bleeding in the next room.

“The guards,” Moiraine muttered as if to herself. “I saw them in the corridor still, and never thought.” She smoothed her dress, composing herself with an obvious effort. Elayne did not believe she had ever seen Moiraine so out of herself as tonight. But then, the Aes Sedai had cause.  _ No more than I do. Or do I? _

Had it been any of the Accepted who was off balance, Joiya would surely have said something, subtle and of two meanings, calculated to upset them a little more. If they had been alone, at least. With Moiraine, she only watched uneasily, silently.

Moiraine walked the length of the table, her calm restored. Joiya was nearly a head the taller, but had she also been dressed in silks, there would have been no doubt which was in command of the situation. Joiya did not quite draw back, but her hands tightened on her skirts for a moment before she could master them.

“I have made arrangements,” Moiraine said quietly. “In two weeks, an escort of Aes Sedai will arrive. Then you will be taken upriver by ship, to Nesum and then on to the Tower. There they are not so gentle as we have been. If you have not found the truth so far, find it before you reach the Shining Walls, or you will assuredly go to the gallows in the Traitor’s Court. I will not speak to you again unless you send word that you have something new to tell. And I do not want to hear a word from you—not one word—unless it is new. Believe me, it will save you pain in Tar Valon. Aviendha, Dailin, will you tell the captain to bring in two of his men?” Elayne blinked as the Aiel women unfolded themselves and vanished through the doorway; sometimes they could be so still they seemed not to be there.

Joiya’s face worked as if she wanted to speak, but Moiraine stared up at her, and finally the Darkfriend turned her eyes away. They glittered like a raven’s, full of black murder, but she held her tongue.

To Elayne’s eyes a golden-white glow suddenly surrounded Moiraine, the glow of a woman embracing  _ saidar _ . Only another woman trained to channel could have seen it. The flows holding Amico unravelled more quickly than Elayne could have managed. She was stronger than Moiraine, potentially, at least. In the Tower, the women teaching her had been almost unbelieving at her potential, and at Nynaeve’s. Nynaeve was the strongest of them all—when she could manage to channel. But Moiraine had the experience. What they were still learning to do, Moiraine could do half asleep. Yet there were some things Elayne could do, and the others, that the Aes Sedai could not. It was a small satisfaction in the face of how easily Moiraine cowed Joiya.

Freed, able to hear, Amico turned and became aware of Moiraine for the first time. With a squeak, she dropped a curtsy as deep as any new Novice. Joiya was glaring at the door, avoiding anyone’s gaze. Nynaeve, arms crossed and knuckles white from gripping her braid, was giving Moiraine a stare almost as murderous as Joiya’s. Into that walked the captain with two more Defenders in black and gold on his heels. Aviendha and Dailin slipped in behind them, the former more reluctantly than the latter.

The grizzled officer, two short white plumes on his rimmed helmet, shied as his eyes met Joiya’s, though she did not even seem to see him. His gaze skittered from woman to woman uncertainly. The mood of the room was trouble, and a wise man did not want any part of trouble among this sort of women. The two soldiers clutched their tall spears to their sides almost as if they feared they might have to defend themselves. Perhaps they did fear it.

“You will take these two back to their cells,” Moiraine told the officer curtly. “Repeat your instructions. I want no mistakes.”

“Yes, Ae—” The captain’s throat seemed to seize. He gulped a breath. “Yes, my lady,” he said, watching her anxiously to see if that would do. When she only continued to look at him, waiting, he gave an audible sigh of relief. “The prisoners are to talk to no-one except myself, not even each other. Twenty men in the guardroom and two outside each cell at all times, four if a cell door has to be opened for any reason. I myself will watch their food prepared and take it to them. All as you have commanded, my lady.” A hint of question tinged his voice. A hundred rumours floated through the Stone concerning the prisoners, and why two women needed to be guarded so heavily. And there were whispered stories about the Aes Sedai, each darker than the last.

“Very good,” Moiraine said. “Take them.”

It was not clear who was more eager to leave the room, the prisoners or the guards. Even Joiya stepped quickly, as if she could not bear keeping silent near Moiraine for another moment.

Keestis let out a sigh as soon as they were gone. “Light, that was unpleasant. I cannot be in the same room as one of those creatures without my skin crawling.”

“For what it’s worth, you don’t let it show,” said Theodrin, and won herself a relived smile.

Elayne was certain she had done as good a job of keeping her face calm since entering the room, but Dani came to her, put an arm around her, and spoke softly. “What is the matter, Elayne? You look about to cry.”

The concern in her voice made Elayne feel like bursting into tears.  _ Light!  _ she thought _. I will not be that silly. I will not! _ “A weeping woman is a bucket with no bottom.” Lini had been full of sayings like that.

“Three times—” Nynaeve burst out at Moiraine, “only three!—you have consented to help us question them. This time you vanish before we begin, and now you calmly announce you are sending them off to Tar Valon! If you will not help, at least do not interfere!”

“Do not presume on the Amyrlin’s authority too far,” Moiraine said coolly. “She may have set you to chase Liandrin, but you are still only Accepted, and woefully ignorant, whatever letter you carry. Or did you mean to keep questioning them forever before reaching a decision? You Theren people seem to work at avoiding decisions that must be made.” Nynaeve opened and closed her mouth, eyes bulging, as if wondering which accusation to answer first, but Moiraine turned to Elayne. “Pull yourself together, Elayne. How you can carry out the Amyrlin’s orders if you think every land has the customs you were born to, I do not know. And I do not know why you are so upset.”

“What do you mean?” Keestis asked. “What customs? What are you talking about?”

“Moiraine Sedai!” Pinch-mouth Pedra reminded her sharply.

“Moiraine Sedai. Forgive me.”

“Berelain was in Rand’s chambers,” Elayne said in a small voice before she could stop herself. Her eyes flickered guiltily toward Nynaeve.

“And that upsets you?” Dani said, frowning thoughtfully.

Moiraine gave Elayne a reproachful look and sighed. “Do not let your disgust with Berelain overcome your sense. I know what you feel for Rand, but you must realize by now that nothing can come of it. He belongs to the Pattern, and to history.”

“Wait. You ... and  _ him _ ?” Pedra’s beady eyes almost managed to look large, so shocked was she. One would have thought Elayne had just confessed herself a Darkfriend, to go by the woman’s expression.

She wasn’t entirely surprised. Anyone who associated with the Dragon Reborn was bound to have their character called into question, especially those who associated with him in a more intimate manner. She’d always known that. Her fellow hunters had been too stunned by their own recent capture, mistreatment and escape to truly comprehend the scale of what had happened in Tear that night. Realisation had come later, and with it the frantic speculations.

That Pedra would be most opposed to the idea was hardly a surprise. That one had future Red written all over her. Shimoku didn’t really need to shudder like that, though. And Mayam had no right to be shaking her head at Elayne as though she was some manner of simpleton.

“You do be such a pretty girl, Elayne. And highly ranked. I’m sure you could do much better,” Emara said kindly. Sitting close, with her arm across the smaller girl’s shoulders, Ronelle nodded agreement.

Perhaps feeling they were mirroring the two pillow-friends too much, Dani released Elayne and stepped away. Her sharp, dark eyes flickered between Elayne and Nynaeve, and her equally dark brows were trying to reach her hairline. “You really can’t judge a book by its cover, I guess,” she whispered.

“The Dragon Reborn,” Keestis said, just as softy. She was staring at Elayne as though at a stranger.

“I never said that ...” No. She was tired of pretending. And of waiting, the Light help her! “Fine then! Yes, I admit it. I think Rand al’Thor is quite the dish, actually. And I fully intend to feast on him. Would anyone like to make an issue of that?” She raised her chin and glared around the room. Their expressions didn’t change much but at least they didn’t treat her to any more of their mockery.

“You do not know what your future holds, Elayne. Neither of us can be certain that our quarry will not yet slip away. But we can be certain of our duty, and yours does not lie with Rand.”

Emara looked confused. “Do you be saying you have a beau of your own, Moiraine Sedai?”

The Aes Sedai appeared regretful of having spoken. “Perhaps I only meant we share an ignorance. Do not read too much into a few words.” She looked at Nynaeve consideringly. “Should I ever choose a man— _ should _ , I say—it will not be Lan. That much I will say.”

That was a sop to Nynaeve, but Nynaeve did not seem to like hearing it. Nynaeve had what Lini would have called “a hard patch to hoe”, loving not just a Warder but a man who tried to deny returning her love. Fool man that he was, he talked of the war against the Shadow he could not stop fighting and could never win, of refusing to dress Nynaeve in widow’s clothes for her wedding feast. Silly things of that sort. Elayne did not see how Nynaeve put up with it. She was not a very patient woman.

“If you are finished chatting about men,” Nynaeve said acidly, as though to prove just that, “perhaps we can go back to what is important?” Gripping her braid hard, she picked up speed and force as she went along, like a waterwheel with the gears disengaged. “How are we to decide whether Joiya is lying, or Amico, if you send them away? Or whether they both are? Or neither? I don’t relish dithering here, Moiraine, no matter what you think, but I have walked into too many traps to want to walk into another. And I don’t want to run after Jak-o’-the-Wisps, either. I ... we ... are the ones the Amyrlin sent after Liandrin and her cronies. Since you don’t seem to think they are important enough to spare more than a moment to help us, the least you can do is not crack our ankles with a broom!”

She seemed about to rip that braid free and try to strangle the Aes Sedai with it, and Moiraine wore a dangerously cool crystalline calm that suggested she might be ready to teach again the lesson on holding her tongue that she had taught Joiya. It was, Elayne decided, time for her to stop moping. She did not know how she had fallen into the role of peacemaker among these women—sometimes she wanted to take them all by the scruff of the neck and shake them—but her mother always said no good decision was ever made in anger. “You might add to your list of what you want to know,” she said, “why were we summoned to Rand? That is where Careen took us. He is alright, now, of course. Moiraine Healed him.” She could not repress a shudder, thinking of her brief glimpse inside his chamber, but the diversion worked a charm.

“Healed!” Nynaeve gasped. “What happened to him?”

“He almost died,” the Aes Sedai said, as calmly as if she were saying he had a pot of tea. Elayne saw some of the others tremble as they listened to Moiraine’s dispassionate report, and felt a little better about the state of her own nerves. Bubbles of evil drifting through the Pattern. Reflections leaping out of mirrors. Rand a mass of blood and wounds. Almost as an afterthought, Moiraine added that she was sure Perrin and Mat had experienced something of the same, but that Mat, for one, had escaped unharmed. Perrin was too far away for her to speculate on his welfare, but the naked worry on Nynaeve’s face said that she was speculating enough for both of them.  _ Moiraine must have ice instead of blood. No, she was heated enough about Rand’s stubbornness _ . But now she could have been discussing whether a bolt of silk was the right colour for a dress.

“And these ... these things will keep on coming?” Dani said when Moiraine finished. “Is there nothing we can do to stop it? Or that ... that  _ he _ can do?”

The small blue stone dangling from Moiraine’s hair swung as she shook her head. “Not until he learns to control his abilities. Perhaps not then. I do not know if even he will be strong enough to push the miasma away from himself. At the least, though, he will be better able to defend himself.”

“Can’t you do something to help him?” Nynaeve demanded. “You are the one of us who is supposed to know everything, or pretends to. Can’t you teach him? Some part of it, anyway? And don’t quote proverbs about birds teaching fish to fly.”

“You would know better,” Moiraine replied, “if you had taken the advantage of your studies that you should have. You should know better. You want to know how to use the Power, Nynaeve, but you do not care to learn about the Power.  _ Saidin _ is not  _ saidar _ . The flows are different, the ways of weaving are different. The bird has a better chance.”

“I tried once. It didn’t work,” Elayne said. Nynaeve only responded with a curt nod. She had already known of Elayne’s interest in Rand as surely as Elayne knew of hers in Lan. Elayne liked to think that was why their own relationship was often so strained. What were they to each other? They had warmed each other’s beds on several occasions since moving into the Stone, but had slept apart just as often.

“What is al’Thor being stubborn about, now, Moiraine Sedai?” Pedra asked.

Nynaeve opened her mouth to defend Rand, but Elayne cut in. “He can be stubborn as a stone, sometimes.” Nynaeve shut her mouth with a snap; they both knew how true that was.

Moiraine eyed them, considering. At times, Elayne was not sure how much the Aes Sedai trusted them. Or anyone. “He must move,” the Aes Sedai said at last. “Instead, he sits here, and the Tairens already begin to lose their fear of him. He sits here, and the longer he sits, doing nothing, the more the Forsaken will see his inaction as a sign of weakness. The Pattern moves and flows; only the dead are still. He must act, or he will die. From a crossbow bolt in his back, or poison in his food, or the Forsaken banding together to rip his soul from his body. He must act or die.” Elayne winced at each danger on her list; that they were real only made it worse.

“And you know what he must do, don’t you?” Nynaeve said tightly. “You have this action planned.”

Moiraine nodded. “Would you rather he go haring off alone once more? I dare not risk it. This time he might be dead, or worse, before I find him.”

That was true enough. Rand hardly knew what he was doing. And Elayne was sure Moiraine had no wish to lose the little guidance she still gave him. The little he allowed her to give.

“Will this plan affect our hunt?” Keestis asked.

Mayam and Theodrin, who had been sitting apart, each woman lost in her own thoughts, got up and came closer then. All of the Accepted were intent on Moiraine’s words.

“Share your plan with us, please,” said Dani, a hint of demand creeping out from behind her polite words.

“Yes, do,” Elayne said, surprising herself with a cool echo of Dani’s tone. Confrontation was not her way when it could be avoided; her mother always said it was better to guide people than try to hammer them into line.

If their manner irritated Moiraine, she gave no sign of it. “As long as you understand that you must keep it to yourselves. A plan revealed is a plan doomed to fail. Yes, I see you do understand.” Elayne certainly did; the plan was dangerous, and Moiraine was not sure it would work. “Sammael is in Illian,” the Aes Sedai began.

She got no further than that before being interrupted.

“ _ Who _ be in Illian? That do be nothing to jest of, Aes Sedai.” Emara looked as horrified as one might expect on hearing such news, her already pale skin going even paler. She was an Illianer by birth, and still had family there.

“It is no jest, I’m afraid. Sammael is posing as the Lord Brend as surely as Be’lal was posing as the High Lord Samon.”

Elayne studied her carefully. How had Moiraine known that? She was not part of the Inner Circle, and hadn’t been there when Rand shared the news. Could Mat have told her himself? It didn’t seem likely.

Emara shot to her feet. “Fortune! I must warn my mother. She must flee the country, and take the rest of the family with her.” Ronelle stood up and took hold of her hand.

“If you wish, though it may not be necessary.” While the various Accepted absorbed that horrible news, with frowns and shudders aplenty, Moiraine continued calmly. “The Tairens are always as ripe for war with Illian as the other way around.”

“Not all Tairens,” Mayam muttered, but Moiraine spoke right over her.

“They have been killing each other off and on for a thousand years, and they speak of their chance for it as other men speak of the next feastday. I doubt even knowing of Sammael’s presence would change that, not with the Dragon Reborn to lead them. Tear will follow Rand eagerly enough in that enterprise, and if he brings Sammael down, he—”

“Light!” Nynaeve exclaimed. “You not only want him to start a war, you want him to seek out one of the Forsaken! No wonder he is being stubborn. He is not a fool, for a man.”

“He must face the Dark One in the end,” Moiraine said, still calm. “Do you truly think he can avoid the Forsaken now? As for war, there are wars enough without him, and every one worse than useless.”

“Any war is useless,” Elayne began, then faltered as comprehension suddenly filled her. Sadness and regret had to show on her face, too, but certainly comprehension. Her mother had lectured her often on how a nation was led as well as how it was governed, two very different things, but both necessary. And sometimes things had to be done for both that were worse than unpleasant, although the price of not doing them was worse still.

Moiraine gave her a sympathetic look. “It is not always pleasant, is it? Your mother began when you were just old enough to understand, I suppose, teaching you what you will need to rule after her.” Moiraine had grown up in the Royal Palace in Cairhien, not destined to reign, but related to the ruling family and no doubt overhearing the same lectures. “Yet sometimes it seems ignorance would be better, to be a farm woman knowing nothing beyond the boundaries of her fields.”

“More riddles?” Nynaeve said contemptuously. “War used to be something I heard about from peddlers, something far away that I didn’t really understand. I know what it is, now. Men killing men. Men behaving like animals, reduced to animals. Villages burned, farms and fields burned. Hunger, disease and death, for the innocent as the guilty. What makes this war of yours better, Moiraine? What makes it cleaner?”

“It is against the Shadow,” quiet little Shimoku said with surprising firmness. “That makes it better.”

“That is one way of looking at it, but an overly simple one. Elayne?” Moiraine said quietly.

She shook her head—she did not want to be the one to explain this—but she was not sure even her mother sitting on the Lion Throne could have kept silent under Moiraine’s compelling, dark-eyed stare. “War will come whether Rand begins it or not,” she said reluctantly. Nynaeve looked at her in disbelief; the incredulity faded from her as she continued. “The Forsaken will not stand idly and wait. Sammael cannot be the only one to have seized a nation’s reins, just the lone one we know. They will come after Rand eventually, in their own persons perhaps, but certainly with whatever armies they command. And the nations that are free of the Forsaken? How many will cry glory to the Dragon banner and follow him to Tarmon Gai’don, and how many will convince themselves the fall of the Stone is a lie and Rand only another false Dragon who must be put down, a false Dragon perhaps strong enough to threaten them if they do not move against him first? One way or another, war will come.” She cut off sharply. There was more to it, but she could not, would not, tell them that part.

Moiraine was not so reticent. “Very good,” she said, nodding, “yet incomplete.” The look she gave Elayne said she knew Elayne had left out what she had on purpose. Hands folded calmly at her waist, she addressed Nynaeve and the others. “Nothing makes this war better, or cleaner. Except that it will cement the Tairens to him, and the Illianers will end up following him just as the Tairens do now. How could they not, once the Dragon banner flies over Illian? Just the news of his victory might decide the wars in Valreis and Arad Doman in his favour; there are wars ended for you.”

It was Dani’s turn to scowl then. Rand hadn’t done anything to start any wars in Arad Doman—he hadn’t even visited that country—but the mere rumour of his existence had inspired men to declare for him and make war on their neighbours in his name. Elayne hoped Dani and Theodrin wouldn’t blame Rand for that.

Moiraine spoke on, uncaring of the Domani’s worries. “In one stroke he will make himself so strong in terms of men and swords that only a coalition of every remaining nation from here to the Blight can defeat him, and with the same blow he shows the Forsaken that he is not a plump partridge on a limb for the netting. That will make them wary, and buy him time to learn to use his strength. He must move first, be the hammer, not the nail.” The Aes Sedai grimaced slightly, a hint of her earlier anger marring her calm. “He must move first. And what does he do? He reads. Reads himself into deeper trouble.”

Nynaeve looked shaken, as if she could see all the battles and death; Emara’s grey eyes were large with horrified understanding. Their faces made Elayne shiver. One had watched Rand grow up; the other had grown up in the place he would bring war to if Moiraine had her way.

“How can reading put him in trouble?” Theodrin asked.

“He has decided to find out for himself what the Prophecies of the Dragon say.” Moiraine’s face remained cool and smooth, but suddenly she sounded almost as tired as Elayne felt. “They may have been proscribed in Tear, but the Chief Librarian had nine different translations in a locked chest. Rand has them all, now. I pointed out the verse that applies here, and he quoted it to me, from an old Kaltori translation.

“ ‘Power of the Shadow made human flesh, wakened to turmoil, strife and ruin. The Reborn One, marked and bleeding, dances the sword in dreams and mist, chains the Shadowsworn to his will, from the city, lost and forsaken, leads the spears to war once more, breaks the spears and makes them see, truth long hidden in the ancient dream.’ ”

She grimaced. “It applies to this as well as it does to anything. Illian under Sammael is surely a forsaken city. Lead the Tairen spears to war, chain Sammael, and he has fulfilled the verse. The ancient dream of the Dragon Reborn. But he will not see it. He even has a copy in the Old Tongue, as if he understood two words. He runs after shadows, and Sammael, or Rahvin, or Lanfear may have him by the throat before I can convince him of his mistake.”

“He is desperate.” Nynaeve’s gentle tone was not for Moiraine, Elayne was sure, but for Rand. “Desperate and trying to find his way.”

“So am I desperate,” Moiraine said firmly. “I have dedicated my life to finding him, and I will not let him fail if I can prevent it. I am almost desperate enough to—” She broke off, pursing her lips. “Let it be enough that I will do what I must.”

“But it isn’t enough,” Nynaeve said sharply. “What is it you’ll do?”

“You have other matters to concern you,” the Aes Sedai said. “The Black Ajah—”

“No!’ Elayne’s voice was knife-edged and commanding, her knuckles a hard white where she gripped her skirts. “You keep many secrets, Moiraine, but tell us this. What do you mean to do to him?” An image flashed in her mind of seizing Moiraine and shaking the truth out of her if need be.

The others were staring at the three of them, no doubt shocked to see two Accepted accost an Aes Sedai in such a manner. Elayne could hardly blame them, but this was Rand they were talking about.

Moiraine was angered enough by their presumptions for spots of colour to appear on her cheeks, but she still answered. “Do to him? Nothing. Oh, very well. There is no reason you should not know. You have seen what the Tairens call the Great Holding?”

Oddly for a people that feared the Power so, the Tairens held in the Stone a collection of objects connected to the Power second only to that in the White Tower. Elayne, for one, thought it was because they had been forced to guard  _ Callandor _ so long, whether they wanted or not. Even the Sword That Is Not a Sword might seem less than what it was when it was one among many. But the Tairens had never been able to make themselves display their prizes. The Great Holding was kept in a filthy series of crowded rooms buried even deeper than the dungeons. When Elayne had first seen them, the locks on the doors had long since rusted shut, where the doors had not simply collapsed from dry rot.

“We spent an entire day down there,” Nynaeve said. “To see if Liandrin and her friends took anything. I don’t think they did. Everything was buried in dust and mould. It will take ten riverboats to transport all of it to the Tower. Perhaps they can make some sense of it there; I surely could not.” The temptation to prod Moiraine was apparently too great to avoid, for she added, “You would know all this if you had given us a little more of your time.”

Moiraine took no notice. She seemed to be looking inward, examining her own thoughts, and she spoke almost to herself. “There is one particular  _ ter’angreal _ in the Holding, a thing like a redstone doorframe, subtly twisted to the eye. If I cannot make him reach some decision, I may have to step through.” The small blue stone on her forehead trembled, sparkling. Apparently she was not eager to take that step.

At the mention of  _ ter’angreal _ , Elayne instinctively touched the bodice of her dress. She had sewn a small pocket there herself, to hide the stone ring it now held. That ring was a  _ ter’angreal _ , powerful in its way, and Moiraine was not one of the few women who knew she had it.

They were strange things,  _ ter’angreal _ , fragments of the Age of Legends like  _ angreal _ and  _ sa’angreal _ , if more numerous.  _ Ter’angreal _ used the One Power instead of magnifying it. Each had apparently been made to do one thing and one thing alone, but though some were used now, no-one was sure if those uses were anything like what they had been made for. The Oath Rod, on which a woman took the Three Oaths on being raised Aes Sedai, was a  _ ter’angreal _ that made those oaths a part of her flesh and bone. The last test a Novice took on being raised to Accepted was inside another  _ ter’angreal _ that ferreted out her most heartfelt fears and made them seem real—or perhaps took her to a place where they were real. Odd things could happen with  _ ter’angreal _ . Aes Sedai had been burned out or killed, or had simply vanished, in studying them. And in using them.

“I saw that doorway,” Elayne said. “In the last room at the end of the hall. My lamp went out and I fell three times before I made it to the door.” A slight flush of embarrassment reddened her cheeks. “I was afraid to channel in there, even to relight the lamp. Much of it looks rubbish, to me—I think the Tairens simply grabbed anything that anyone hinted might be connected to the Power—but I thought if I channelled, I might accidentally empower something that wasn’t rubbish, and who knows what it might do.”

“And if you had stumbled in the dark and fallen through the twisted doorway?” Moiraine said wryly. “That needs no channelling, only to step through.”

“To what purpose?” Nynaeve asked.

“To gain answers. Three answers, each true, about past, present or future.”

Elayne’s first thought was for the children’s tale,  _ Bili Under the Hill _ , but only because of the three answers. A second thought came on its heels, and not to her alone. She spoke while Nynaeve and Dani were still opening their mouths. “Moiraine, this solves our problem. We can ask whether Joiya or Amico is telling the truth. We can ask where Liandrin and the others are. The names of the Black Ajah still in the Tower—”

“We can ask what this thing is that is dangerous to the Dragon Reborn,” Shimoku put in, and Nynaeve added, “Why haven’t you told us of this before? Why have you let us go on listening to the same tales day after day when we could have settled it all by now?”

The Aes Sedai winced and threw up her hands. “You rush in blindly where Lan and a hundred Warders would tread warily. Why do you think I have not stepped through? Days ago I could have asked what Rand must do to survive and triumph, how he can defeat the Forsaken and the Dark One, how he can learn to control the Power and hold off madness long enough to do what he must.” She waited, hands on hips, while it sank in. None of them spoke. “There are rules,” she went on, “and dangers. No-one may step through more than once. Only once. You may ask three questions, but you must ask all three and hear the answers before you may leave. Frivolous questions are punished, it seems, but it also seems what may be serious for one can be frivolous coming from another. Most importantly, questions touching the Shadow have dire consequences.

“If you asked about the Black Ajah, you might be returned dead, or come out a gibbering madwoman, if you came out at all. As for Rand ... I am not certain it is possible to ask a question about the Dragon Reborn that does not touch the Shadow in some way. You see? Sometimes there are reasons for caution.”

“How do you know all this?” Nynaeve demanded. Planting fists on hips she confronted the Aes Sedai. “The High Nobles surely never let Aes Sedai study anything in the Holding. From the filth down there, none of it has seen sunlight in a hundred years or more.”

“More, I should think,” Moiraine told her calmly. “They ceased their collecting nearly three hundred years gone. It was just before they stopped completely that they acquired this  _ ter’angreal _ . Up until then it was in the possession of the Firsts of Mayene, who used its answers to help keep Mayene out of Tear’s grasp. And they allowed Aes Sedai to study it. In secret, of course; Mayene has never dared anger Tear too openly.”

“If it was so important to Mayene,” Nynaeve said suspiciously, “why is it here, in the Stone?”

“Because Firsts have made bad decisions as well as good in trying to keep Mayene free of Tear. Three hundred years ago the High Lords were planning to build a fleet to follow Mayener ships and find the oilfish shoals. Halva, the then First, raised the price of Mayener lamp oil well above that of oil from Tear’s olives, and to further convince the High Lords that Mayene would always put its own interests behind those of Tear, made them a gift of the  _ ter’angreal _ . She had already used it, so it was no further good to her, and she was almost as young as Berelain is now, apparently with a long reign ahead of her and many years of needing Tairen goodwill.”

“She was a fool,” Elayne muttered. “My mother would never make such a mistake.”

“Perhaps not,” Moiraine said. “But then, Andor is not a small nation cornered by a much larger and stronger one. Halva  _ was _ a fool as it turned out—the High Lords had her assassinated the very next year—but her foolishness does present me with an opportunity, if I need it. A dangerous one, yet better than none.”

Nynaeve muttered to herself, perhaps disappointed that the Aes Sedai had not tripped herself up.

“It leaves the rest of us right where we were.” Pedra sighed. “Not knowing who is lying, or whether they both are.”

“Question them again, if you wish,” Moiraine said. “You have until they are put on the ship, though I very much doubt either will change her tale now. My advice is to concentrate on Tanchico. If Joiya speaks truly, it will take Aes Sedai and Warders to guard Mazrim Taim, not just Accepted. I sent a warning to the Amyrlin by pigeon when I first heard Joiya’s story. In fact, I sent three pigeons, to make sure one reaches the Tower.”

“So kind of you to keep us informed,” Elayne murmured coolly. The woman did go her own way. Just because they were only pretending to be full Aes Sedai was no reason for Moiraine to keep them in the dark. The Amyrlin had sent them out to hunt the Black Ajah.

Moiraine inclined her head briefly, as if accepting the thanks for real. “You are welcome. Remember that you are the hounds the Amyrlin set after the Black Ajah.” Her slight smile at Elayne’s start said she knew exactly what Elayne had been thinking. “The decision on where to course must be yours. You have pointed that out to me, as well,” she added drily. “I trust it will prove an easier decision than mine. And I trust you will sleep well, what sleep is left before daybreak. A good night to you.”

“That woman ...” Elayne muttered when the door had closed behind the Aes Sedai. “Sometimes I could almost strangle her.” She dropped into one of the chairs at the table and sat frowning at her hands in her lap.

“But you’d still rather complain about her than ask Alanna to help. Are you ever going to explain why?” said Mayam.

Pedra nodded briskly. “Indeed.”

_ I’d sooner kiss a snake on the nose, than ask that woman for anything _ , Elayne thought. “We have our reasons,” she said.

Nynaeve gave a grunt that might have been agreement as she went to a narrow table against the wall where silver goblets and spice jars stood next to two pitchers. One pitcher, full of wine, rested in a gleaming bowl of now mostly melted ice, brought all the way from the Spine of the World packed in chests of sawdust. Ice in the summer to chill a High Noble’s drink; Elayne could barely imagine such a thing.

“A cool drink before bed will do us all good,” Nynaeve said, busying herself with wine and water and spices. “All except you, Elayne.”

As little as she liked being bossed about, she wasn’t fit to argue with that. She still felt strange from the wine she’d drank earlier that night.

Elayne lifted her head as Keestis took a seat next to her. “Did you mean what you said, Elayne? About ... him?”

“Strange to say, but I find that part even harder to believe than the existence of an all-knowing door,” Dani said as she took the chair on Elayne’s other side.

Elayne sighed. “Do you remember what Min used to say, all the jokes about my sharing my husband? I sometimes wonder if that was a viewing she did not tell me about.”

“And you’d be okay with that?” Keestis asked incredulously.

“Of course not! I mean, not with the likes of Berelain, at least. Maybe if ... Oh, I don’t know!” Maybe if it was a woman that she loved, too, like Min. Maybe then ... but not Berelain, the Light burn her!

Pedra’s lips had gotten even thinner than usual. The look she gave Elayne was not friendly. “I refuse to listen to this. And I don’t drink anyway; it’s a filthy habit. A good night to you all.”

She strode to the door, where Aviendha and Dailin were still stationed. The Aiel women looked rather confused over all they had heard. Pedra paid them no mind as she let herself out.

“She just brightens up the room, doesn’t she?” Mayam said once the door had closed behind Pedra’s back.

“As soon as she leaves it,” Dani said wryly. She and Mayam shared a laugh that Elayne was in no mood to take part in.

“Regardless, any man would be lucky to have you, Elayne,” Keestis said kindly. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about. I mean, other than ... You know. The, ah, madness, and the Dark One, and—”

“That is nothing I want to talk about,” Elayne said tightly.

“Then what about the Tower? You know the prohibitions,” Ronelle said. “No men allowed.”

Elayne shook her head. “That was never an issue for me. I am the Daughter-Heir of Andor. A husband was always going to be required, whether the Tower likes it or not.”

“I do understand that, of course,” said Emara, who had been her House’s heir before going to Tar Valon to become Aes Sedai. “I would have had to do the same myself, if I did stay in Illian. If you do be decided on this one, then what be stopping you?”

“Berelain was in his chambers.” Elayne said in a small voice.

Theodrin sighed. “Whatever she intends, Berelain won’t keep her mind on one man long enough to make him love her. Two days ago she was casting eyes at Rhuarc. In two more, she’ll be smiling at someone else. I know the type. She is like Else Grinwell. You remember her? The Novice who spent all her time out at the practice yards fluttering her eyelashes at the Warders?”

“She was not just fluttering her eyelashes, in his bedchamber at this hour. She was wearing even less than usual, if that is possible!”

Theodrin exchanged looks with her fellow Domani. Neither woman rushed to assure her that nothing had happened. “Do you mean to let her have him, then?” Dani asked at last.

“No!” Elayne said it very fiercely, and she meant it, but in the next breath she was full of despair. “Oh, Dani, I do not know what to do. I love him. I want to marry him. Light! What will Mother say? I would rather spend a night in Joiya’s cell than listen to the lectures Mother will give me.” Andoran nobles, even in royal families, married commoners often enough that it hardly occasioned comment—in Andor, at least—but Rand was not exactly the usual run of commoner. Her mother was quite capable of actually sending Lini to drag her home by her ear.

Nynaeve sniffed. “Morgase can hardly say much if Mat is to be believed. Or even half believed. This Lord Gaebril your mother is mooning after hardly sounds the choice of a woman thinking with her head.”

“I am sure Mat exaggerated,” Elayne replied primly. Her mother was too shrewd to make herself a fool over any man. If Lord Gaebril—she had never even heard of him before Mat spoke his name—if this fellow dreamed he could gain power through Morgase, she would give him a rude awakening.

Nynaeve and Shimoku brought trays with goblets of spiced wine on them to the table, and small green-and-gold woven straw mats to put them on so the damp would not mar the table’s polish. Beads of condensation were running down the goblets’ shining sides. Elayne’s thirst warred with her upset stomach.

Nynaeve looked troubled as she set a goblet before every remaining woman who was not named Elayne Trakand. She wasn’t angry for once, just troubled. Thoughtful. And perhaps a little sad.

“So,” she said, taking a chair, “What do you mean to do about this? If that chit Berelain has her claws into him, it will not be easy to pry them loose. Are you sure you want to go to the effort? You know what he is. You know what lies ahead of him, even setting the Prophecies aside. Madness. Death. How long does he have? A year? Two? Or will it begin before summer’s end? He is a man who can channel.” She bit off each word in tones of iron. “Remember what you were taught. Remember what he is.”

Elayne held her head high and met Nynaeve stare for stare. “It does not matter. Perhaps it should, but it doesn’t. Perhaps I am being foolish. I do not care. I cannot change my heart to order, Nynaeve.”

Suddenly Nynaeve smiled. “I had to be sure,” she said warmly. “You must be sure. It isn’t easy loving any man, but loving this man will be harder yet.” Her smile faded as she went on. “My first question still has to be answered. What do you mean to do about it? Berelain may look soft—she certainly makes men see her so!—but I do not think she is. She will fight for what she wants. And she’s the kind to hold hard to something she doesn’t particularly want, just because someone else does want it.”

“This was all supposed to be different,” Elayne sighed. “I thought I would meet a man, learn to know him over months or years, and slowly I would come to realize I loved him. That is the way I always thought it would be. But I knew loved Rand five minutes after I first set eyes on him.” Now that was foolish. Only, it was true, and she did not care if it was foolish. She would tell her mother the same to her face, and Lini. Well, perhaps not Lini. Lini had drastic ways of dealing with foolishness, and she seemed to think Elayne had not aged beyond ten. “As matters stand, though, I don’t even have the right to be angry with him. Or Berelain.” But she was.  _ I would like to slap his face till his ears ring for a year! I’d like to switch her all the way to the ship that takes her back to Mayene! _ Only, she did not have the right, and that made it all the worse. Infuriatingly, a plaintive tone touched her voice. “What can I do? He has never looked at me twice. Have you seen the present he bought me? It’s a little stuffed bear. The kind of thing you would buy a child.”

Most of the women around the table winced, though none winced harder than tiny Emara, who had been the butt of so many jokes about her height and child-like countenance. Elayne was shamed to recall having laughed at some of those jokes herself. They didn’t seem very funny anymore.

“Before you ask the Domani, as they always do in these situations, I never learned any of those techniques before being sent to the Tower,” Dani said. “I am no-one’s idea of a seductress.”

“You could be if you wanted to,” Elayne said reassuringly. It was true. She might be stern and direct, but Dani was a fine looking woman. “But I don’t want to seduce him. I just want him to realise he loves me.”

The other women exchanged some rather unflattering looks. Theodrin let her mouth drift closed again, whatever she had been about to say going unsaid.

“I expect you aren’t interested in fighting a, a duel over him?” Shimoku asked hesitantly. “No, of course not. Who would do such a thing?”

“Don’t be absurd!” Nynaeve barked, but Elayne wasn’t the only one studying Shimoku carefully. She’d heard some odd tales about Kaltori women. Unlikely ones, she’d always thought, but perhaps there was some truth to them, after all.

Mayam rolled her eyes. “Light! You are all such virgins. Just wear something revealing, smile at him, and ask him to kiss you. It’s not algebra.”

Pretty Keestis flushed pink. “You say that like it’s an insult. We’re Accepted. We’re supposed to be virgins.”

“Precisely,” said Shimoku, folding her arms beneath her modest bosom.

“Mayeners believe in speaking out.” Elayne’s voice held a brittle edge. “Perhaps that is the best way. Just tell him right out. At least he’ll know how I feel, then. At least I’ll have some right to—”

She stole Keestis’ spiced wine while it was sitting there unattended, and tilted her head back, drinking deep. Speak out? Like some Mayener hussy! Setting the empty goblet back on the small mat, she drew a deep breath and murmured, “What will Mother say?”

“What’s more important,” Nynaeve said gently, “is what you will do when we have to leave here. Whether it’s Tanchico, or the Tower, or somewhere else, we will have to go. What will you do when you’ve just told him you love him, and you must leave him behind? If he asks you to stay with him? If you want to?”

“I will go.” There was no hesitation in Elayne’s reply, but a touch of asperity. The other woman should not have had to ask. “If I must accept him being the Dragon Reborn, he must accept that I am what I am, that I have duties. I want to be Aes Sedai, Nynaeve. It isn’t some idle amusement. Neither is the work we have to do. Could you really think I would abandon you all? And our hunt?”

Dani hurried to assure her that the thought had never crossed her mind; Nynaeve did the same, but slowly enough to give herself the lie.

Elayne looked at the gathered women. “In truth, I feared you might tell me I was foolish fretting over a thing like this when we have the Black Ajah to worry about.”

Some of the others looked like that had wanted to tell her just that, but were too polite to say it. Not Nynaeve though.

“Rand is not the only one who might die next year, or next month,” the former Wisdom said. “We might, too. Times are not what they were, and we cannot be, either. If you sit and wish for what you want, you may not see it this side of the grave.”

It was a chilling sort of reassurance, but Elayne nodded. She was not being silly. If only the Black Ajah could be settled so easily. She pressed the empty silver goblet to her forehead for the coolness. What was she to do?  _ I should sleep on it. In the morning I will be calmer _ . In the morning perhaps the room would have stopped its slow spin around the table, too.


	22. Playing with Fire

CHAPTER 19: Playing with Fire

In the morning she wished she were dead.

With sunlight barely in the sky, the dining hall was empty except for Elayne. Head in her hands, she stared at a cup Nynaeve had set on the table before going back to the nearest kitchen to fetch more of whatever foul concoction was surely lurking in that unassuming vessel. Every time she breathed, she could smell it; her nose tried to clench. Her head felt ... It was not possible to describe how her head felt. Had someone offered to cut it off, she might have thanked him.

“Are you alright?”

She jerked at the sound of Thom’s voice and barely stifled a whimper. “I am quite alright, thank you.” Talking made her head throb. He fiddled with one of his moustaches uncertainly. “Your stories were wonderful last night, Thom. What I remember of them.” Somehow she managed a small self-deprecating laugh. “I am afraid I don’t remember very much of anything except sitting there listening. I seem to have eaten some bad apple jelly.” She was not about to admit to drinking all that wine; she still had no idea how much. Or to making a fool of herself when she spoke to him. Above all, not that. He seemed to believe her, from the relieved way he took a chair.

Nynaeve appeared, trailed by a pair of servants. She handing Elayne a damp cloth as she sat down. She also pushed the cup with its horrible brew closer. Elayne pressed the cloth to her forehead gratefully.

Thom waited until the servants had placed their bowls of breakfast porridge on the table and gone on their way before speaking. And even then he kept his voice low. “Will you be attending the execution? Much will be learned from watching those who do.”

“That is not talk fit for a dinner table, Thom Merrilin,” Nynaeve scolded.

“My apologies, Mistress al’Meara. I did not mean to upset your tender sensibilities,” Thom said with tortured dignity. “I thought you might be interested in knowing who among the High Nobles is most eager to see young Rand dead. Please forgive me for my error.”

When she peeked from behind her cloth, she found Nynaeve looking ready to explode. There was nothing Elayne wanted more that morning than to curl up in bed and feel sorry for herself, but someone had to stop Nynaeve from bouncing poor Thom off the walls.  _ Why does it always have to be me, though? _

“There is no choice, is there?” she sighed. Setting the cloth down carefully, she used both hands to pick up the cup in front of her. The thick, grey-green liquid tasted worse than it smelled. Shuddering, she made herself keep swallowing. When it hit her stomach, for an instant she felt like a cloak flapping in a high wind. “It tastes like death,” she gasped when she’d finished it all.

Nynaeve sniffed. “If you don’t stop acting like such a baby, I’ll get you another stuffed bear.”

That brought back more memories of last night, memories that made her cringe nearly as much as the vile mixture had.  _ I can’t believe I told them about the bear. I can’t believe she’d mock me with it either! _

“You can be such a, a ...” Nynaeve raised one dark eyebrow, daring her to say it. Elayne sighed. “Such a nanny sometimes. You’re only a few years older than me, you know.”

She sniffed again. “Seven years is a lot more than a few. And you learn a lot more out in the real world than you do in some palace.”

Elayne sighed again. Nynaeve was a wonderful woman, in many ways, but—Light!—she could be hard work at times.

Thom rubbed at his moustaches. “In some ways that is true. In others, not. I will send young Imoen to you after Lord Postiles has breathed his last. She can appraise you—and Rand—of my observations.”

“You better not be getting her involved in anything unsavoury, Merrilin. Not if you know what’s good for you,” Nynaeve warned, braid in hand.

Standing, Thom looked down at her with a wicked glint in his blue eyes. “Unsavoury? Why, I can’t imagine a good Therener doing anything that could be called that. Especially not a relative of Mat’s.”

He limped off, looking rather pleased with himself, leaving Nynaeve to tug her braid and Elayne to lament the cruelty of wine. Though ... her head was actually feeling a little better now, come to think of it; Nynaeve’s vile mixture seemed to be working. She took a spoon of porridge to wash the taste from her mouth. It reminded her that she was hungry so she set to with a will. As her head cleared, she recalled the resolution she’d voiced to her friends the night before, the one about confronting Rand and confessing her feelings to him, and found that she almost missed the wine-born illness of earlier.

The sun was well above the horizon by the time she felt fit to present herself at the doors to Rand’s chambers. Nynaeve came with her, and it was hard to say which woman had dragged her feet more on the way there. Every time she had gotten annoyed with Nynaeve’s slow pace, she’d recalled her own trepidation about what they were doing, and had slowed down so much that even Nynaeve drew ahead of her.

Elayne wore a long-sleeved dress of pale blue silk, cut in the Tairen fashion, and pulled low after some little discussion—not with Nynaeve, of course, but with her less conservative friends. Aviendha had given her a necklace of sapphires, like a deep morning sky, which she said showed up the blue of her eyes, and another strand to weave into her red-gold curls. The Aiel woman had a tidy store of such things somehow. There was more to her than the unsmiling stoic she so often seemed. That was intriguing, but Elayne had other things to think about this day.

For all she had known they were there, she still let out a small gasp when the Aiel guards glided to their feet with startling suddenness. Embarrassed, she gathered as much dignity as she could and met them stare for stare. It seemed to have no effect on these sun-dark men. The six were _Shae’en_ _M’taal_ , Stone Dogs, and appeared relaxed for Aiel, meaning they seemed to be looking everywhere, seemed ready to move in any direction.

Nynaeve hadn’t gasped, and didn’t bother with dignity one bit. She just planted her firsts on her hips and glared at the towering guards. “We’re here to check on Rand’s wounds. You can just go right back to throwing dice, or whatever foolishness you get up to when you think no-one’s watching.”

Her excuse was plainly that, if they knew much about Healing, but that likelihood was small; few people did, and Aiel probably less than most. They were not making any move to stop Elayne and her, of course. But these men were all so tall, so stone-faced, and they carried those short spears and horn bows as if using them would be as natural as breathing, and as easy. With those chill eyes regarding her so intently, it was all too easy to remember stories of black-veiled Aiel, without mercy or pity, of the Aiel War and the men like these who had destroyed every army sent against them until the last, who had only turned back to the Waste after fighting the allied nations to a standstill during three blood-soaked days and nights before Tar Valon itself. She very nearly embraced  _ saidar _ .

Sansu, the Stone Dogs’ leader, nodded, looking down at Elayne and Nynaeve with a touch of respect. He was a towering, iron jawed man, with arms as thick as tree trunks. “They may be troubling him. He is in a foul mood this morning.” He grinned, just a quick flash of white teeth, in understanding of a temper when wounded. “He has chased off a group of these High Lords already, and threw one of them out himself. What was his name?”

“Torean,” another man replied. He had an arrow nocked, the short, curved bow held almost casually. His grey eyes rested on the two women for an instant, then went back to searching among the anteroom’s columns.

“Torean,” Sansu agreed. “I thought he would slide as far as those pretty carvings ...” He pointed a spear to the ring of stiff-standing Defenders. “... but he came short by three paces. I lost a good Tairen hanging, all hawks in gold thread, to Mangin.” The other man gave a brief, contented smile.

“We have to see him,” Elayne said, a slight tremor in her voice.

Sansu made a bow, grounding the point of one spear on the black marble. “Of course, Aes Sedai.” Those last few steps to Rand’s chambers took more effort than she would ever have imagined mere steps could take.

No evidence of last night’s horror remained, unless it was the absence of mirrors; lighter patches marked the wall panels where those hanging there had been taken away. Not that the room came anywhere near neatness; books lay everywhere, on everything, some lying open as if abandoned in the middle of a page, and the bed was still unmade. Mercifully, there was no sign of the underwear that had been sitting on it when she’d last visited. The crimson draperies were pulled open on all the windows, facing westward toward the river that was Tear’s heartvein, and  _ Callandor _ sparkled like polished crystal on a huge gilded stand of surpassing gaudiness. Scant breezes off the river kept the room surprisingly cool compared to the rest of the Stone.

Rand sat in his shirtsleeves, sprawled in a chair with one leg over the arm and a leather-bound book propped against his knee. At the sound of their footsteps, he snapped the book shut and dropped it among the others on the scroll-worked carpet, bounding to his feet ready to fight. The scowl on his face faded as he took in who they were.

“I thought you were ... someone else,” he mumbled, sharing out embarrassed glances between them. “Some ... people want things I can’t give. Things I will not give.” Suspicion grew on his face with shocking suddenness, and his tone hardened. “What do you want? Did Moiraine send you? Are you supposed to convince me to do what she wants?”

“Don’t be a complete woolhead. I do not want you to start a war,” Nynaeve said scornfully.

“We came to ... to help you, if we can,” Elayne added. She wished she didn’t sound like she was pleading with him. Almost as much as she wished her stomach would sit still. Whether it was the wine from last night, or her own ragged nerves, she felt as if a kaleidoscope of butterflies was flapping around in there.

“You know about her plans for ...” he began roughly, then made a sudden shift. “Help me? How? That is what Moiraine says.”

“Do not lump me in with her!” Nynaeve yelled.

He was taken aback by her outburst, and so was Elayne. Nynaeve was oftentimes emotional, but usually in a contained way. She was the boiling pot that must inevitably flip its lid; not the open fire throwing sparks this way and that. Why was she being so strange this morning? It was Elayne who should be out of sorts!

“I wouldn’t. Of course. You know I wouldn’t,” Rand said. He sounded hurt. His eyes flickered over the Great Serpent rings on their fingers, a brief glance and then he turned his face away to try to hide his frown, the frown that gave the lie to his spoken assurance.

Elayne couldn’t find it in her to be offended at his doubt. It was a question that had haunted her thoughts on many a night this past year. What would she do if it came to a choice between Rand and the White Tower? It was far from impossible that such a thing might happen, and she had never been able to find a sound answer to her own doubts. So she couldn’t blame him for sharing them.

Nynaeve could. “You muscle-brained lummox! After all I’ve done for you! After all we’ve ... after all we’ve done for you. I don’t even know why I bothered coming here.”

He sighed. “Probably because you’re heart is as golden as your tongue is sharp. I’m sorry, Nynaeve. I know you, you would never ... I mean ... Light! You wouldn’t believe some of the things these people say! They are actually surprised I killed him. Genuinely surprised, as if the reason is some elaborate riddle, written in a strange language. I hate this.”

Even with his shoulders slumped, he was still far taller than either of them. Elayne wanted to comfort him, but Nynaeve got there first, rather annoyingly. Her anger was gone, too. “Why don’t you just ... No. I suppose you can’t leave, can you? You have a job to do.” She reached out, and came within a hair’s breadth of touching him, but then jerked her hand away as though she’d been scalded. “We can’t deny it, no matter how much we might want to.”

He grinned as if he knew what she was thinking, and went on in better humour. “You are here to help me, you say. With what? I don’t suppose you know how to make a High Lord keep his word when I’m not staring over his shoulder. Or how to stop unwanted dreams? I could surely use help with—” Eyes darting to Elayne and back to her, he made another abrupt shift. “What about the Old Tongue? Did you learn any of that in the White Tower?” Without waiting for an answer, he began rooting through the volumes scattered across the carpet. There were more on the chairs, among the tumbled bedclothes. “I have a copy here ... somewhere ... of ...”

“Rand, I cannot read the Old Tongue,” Nynaeve said. She shot a look at Elayne, warning her not to admit to any such knowledge. She nodded agreement. They had not come to translate the Prophecies of the Dragon for him. She’d be happy to do that later, if things went well. “We had other things to learn.”

He straightened from the books with a sigh. “It was too much to hope.” For a moment he seemed on the point of saying more, but stared at his boots.

Nynaeve gave Elayne a solemn nod. “Well, there are plenty of other things you need help with. Governing and channelling and such. But I’m too busy, so Elayne will have to do.”

She just about managed to stop herself from wincing. The woman was supposed to be helping her make her move on Rand. “She’ll have to do” wasn’t exactly a great recommendation!

Suspicion flashed across his face again. It was unnerving how his mood changed so quickly. “I have more chance of reading the Old Tongue than you do of helping me channel. Are you sure this isn’t Moiraine’s doing? Did she send you here? Thinks she can convince me by some roundabout way, does she? Some twisty Aes Sedai plot I’ll not see the point of until I am mired in it?” He grunted sourly and pulled a dark green coat from the floor behind one of the chairs, shrugging into it hastily. “I agreed to meet some more of the High Nobles this morning. I need to tell them a few things about taxes. They seem to think they can take as much from a farmer in a poor year as a good without beggaring him. If I don’t keep an eye on them, they just find ways to get around what I want. They’ll learn sooner or later. I rule Tear, now. Me. The Dragon Reborn. I will teach them. You will have to excuse me.” He frowned. “And I suppose you have to get back to questioning those Darkfriends.”

“Yes. I do. I’m very busy,” Nynaeve said, biting off each word. When Rand just stared at her, she spun on her heel, stalked over to the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Elayne was not certain Rand realized she was still in the room, the way he stared after Nynaeve with a half-bewildered expression. Now and again he shook his head as if arguing with himself, or trying to straighten his mind. She was content to wait him out. Anything that put off the moment a while longer. She took a seat and concentrated on maintaining an outward composure, back straight and head high, hands folded in her lap, a calmness on her face that could have rivalled Moiraine’s best. Butterflies the size of hedgehogs frolicked in her stomach.

It was not fear of him channelling. She wanted to trust him, and she had to. It was what she wanted to happen that had her trembling inside. She had to concentrate not to finger her necklace or fiddle with the strand of sapphires in her hair. Was her perfume too heavy? No. Nynaeve said he liked the smell of roses. The dress. She wanted to tug it up, but ...

He turned, saw her sitting in her chair, and gave a start, eyes widening with what seemed very close to panic. She was glad to see it; the effort of keeping her own face serene had leaped tenfold as soon as his eyes touched her. Those eyes were blue now, like a misty morning sky.

He recovered on the instant, wiping his hands once nervously on his coat. “I did not realize you were still—” Flushing, he cut off; forgetting her presence might be taken as an insult. “I mean ... I didn’t ... that is, I ...” He took a deep breath, made a quite unnecessary bow, and began again. “Forgive my rudeness, my lady. I was distracted.”

She put on a tone of mock severity. “If you call me that again, I shall call you my Lord Dragon. And curtsy. Even the Queen of Andor might curtsy to you, and I am only Daughter-Heir.”

“Light! Don’t do that.” He seemed uneasy out of all proportion to the threat.

“I will not, Rand,” she said in a more serious voice, “if you call me by my name. Elayne. Say it.”

“Elayne.” He spoke awkwardly, yet, delightfully, as if he were savouring the name, too.

“Good.” It was absurd to be so pleased; all he had done was say her name, after all.

“Sorry. This isn’t the first time you’ve asked me to do that, is it? It just seems strange. I don’t know why. I’m a fool, I suppose.”

“If you tell me one more time that you are a fool, I may begin to believe it.” Her voice was calm, with a light enough tone to let him know she did not really mean what she said. “I saw a Cairhienin lord’s fool, once, a man in a funny striped coat, too big for him and sewn with bells. You would look silly wearing bells.”

“I suppose I would,” he said ruefully. “I will remember that.” His slow grin was wider this time, warming his whole face.

The butterflies’ wings flogged her for haste, but she occupied herself with straightening her skirts. She had to go slowly, carefully.  _ If I don’t, he’ll think I am just a foolish girl. And he will be right _ . The butterflies in her belly were beating kettledrums, now.

“Would you like a flower?” he asked suddenly, and she blinked in confusion.

“A flower?”

“Yes.” Striding to the bedside table, he scooped up a double handful of feathers from the porcelain bowl and held them out to her. “Souvenirs from last night. I used some to make one for the majhere this morning, when they were fixing the room. You’d have thought I had given her the Stone. But yours will be much prettier,” he added hastily. “Much prettier. I promise.”

“Rand, I—”

“I will be careful. It takes only a trickle of the Power. Just a thread, and I will be very careful.”

Trust. She had to trust him. It was a small surprise to realize that she did. “I would like that, Rand.”

For long moments he stared at the fluffy mound in his hands, a slow frown on his face. Abruptly he let the feathers fall, dusting his hands. “Flowers,” he said. “That’s no fit gift for you.” Her heart went out to him; clearly he had tried to do something with  _ saidin _ and failed. Masking disappointment in action, he took up some of the candleholders—a golden set and a silver one—and frowned down at them. This time, whatever he was doing had a visible effect. The metal melted before her eyes, swiftly becoming liquid. She started in alarm but, though it should have been scalding hot, he showed no sign of pain as the bright metal flowed around his fingers, the silver and gold melding together into one long, thin, gleaming river. It was a cloth, she soon realised. A cloth of precious metal. Sighing in relief, Rand began gathering it over his arm. “Now this is a proper gift for the Daughter-Heir of Andor. You could have a seamstress make ...” He floundered over what a seamstress might make from a twelve feet length of gold-and-silver cloth, less than two feet wide.

“I am sure a seamstress will have many ideas,” she told him diplomatically. Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, she knelt for a moment to collect the feathers he had dropped into the square of pale blue silk.

“The maids will take care of that,” he said as she tucked the small bundle securely into her belt pouch.

“Well, this bit is done.” How could he understand that she would keep the feathers because he had wanted them to be a flower? He shifted his feet, holding the glittering folds as if he did not know what to do with them. “The majhere must have seamstresses,” she told him. “I will give that to one of them.” He brightened, smiling; she saw no reason to tell him she meant it as a gift. Those thundering butterflies would not let her hold back any longer. “Rand, do you ... like me?”

“Like you?” he frowned. “Of course, I like you. I like you very much.”

Did he have to look as if he did not understand at all? “I am fond of you, Rand.” She was startled that she said it so calmly; her stomach seemed to be trying to writhe up into her throat, and her hands and feet felt like ice. “More than fond.” That was enough; she was not going to make a fool of herself.

_ He has to say more than “like”, first _ . She almost giggled hysterically.  _ I will keep control of myself. I will not let him see me behave like a moon-eyed girl. I will not _ .

“I am fond of you,” he said slowly.

“I am not usually so forward.” No; that might make him think of Berelain. There was red in his cheeks; he  _ was _ thinking of Berelain. Burn him! Her voice came as smooth as silk. “Soon I will have to go, Rand. To leave Tear. I may not see you again for months.”  _ Or ever _ , a tiny voice cried in her head. She refused to listen. “I could not go without letting you know how I feel, as I should have done when last we parted.” Or as he should have done, more properly.  _ Light! Why do I have to be the one to say it? This is so hard! _ But she forged ahead, nonetheless. “And I am ... very fond of you.”

“Elayne, I am fond of you. I feel ... I want ...” The scarlet spots on his cheeks grew. “Elayne I don’t know what to say, how to ...”

Suddenly it was her face that was flaming. He must think she was trying to force him into saying more.  _ Aren’t you? _ the small voice mocked, which only made her cheeks hotter. “Rand, I am not asking for ...” Light! How to say it? “I only wanted you to know how I feel. That is all.” Berelain would not have let it go at that. Berelain would have been wrapped around him by now. Telling herself she would not let that half-dressed snip better her, she moved closer to him, took the glittering cloth from his arm, and dropped it on the carpet. For some reason he seemed taller than he ever had before. “Rand ... Rand, I want you to kiss me.” There. It was out.

“Kiss you?” he said as if he had never heard of kissing before. “Elayne, I don’t want to promise more than ... I mean, I can’t offer you what you deserve. You know how little time I have. And ... you must know that, that there are others. It’s just that ... I  _ am _ fond of you, Elayne. More than fond. I don’t want to hurt you. I just do not want you to think I ...”

She had to laugh at him, with all his confused earnestness. “I do not know how things are done in the Theren, but in Caemlyn you don’t wait until you are betrothed before kissing a girl. And it does not mean you must become betrothed, either. But perhaps you do not know how—” His arms went around her almost roughly, and his lips came down on hers. Her head spun; her toes tried to curl up in her slippers. Some time later—she was not certain how long—she realized she was leaning against his chest, knees trembling, trying to gulp air.

“Forgive me for interrupting you,” he said. She was glad to hear a touch of breathlessness in his voice. “I am just a backward shepherd from the Theren.”

“You are uncouth,” she murmured against his shirt, “and you did not shave this morning, but I would not say you are backward.”

“Elayne, I—”

She put a hand over his mouth. “I do not want to hear anything from you that you do not mean with your whole heart,” she said firmly. “Not now, or ever.”

He nodded, not as if he understood why, but at least as if he understood that she meant what she said. Straightening her hair—the strand of sapphires was tangled beyond mending without a mirror—she stepped out of his encircling arms, not without reluctance; it would be all too easy to remain there, and she had already been more forward than she had ever dreamed of before. Speaking up like that; asking for a kiss. Asking! She was not Berelain.

Berelain. Perhaps Min had had a viewing. What Min saw, happened, but she would not share him with Berelain. Perhaps she needed to do a bit more plain speaking. Obliquely plain, at least. “I expect you will not lack for company after I go. Just remember that some women see a man with their hearts, while others see no more than a bauble to wear, no different than a necklace or a bracelet. Remember that I will come back, and I am one who sees with her heart.” He looked confused, at first then a little alarmed. She had said too much, too fast. She had to divert him. “Do you know what you have not said to me? You have not tried to frighten me away by telling me how dangerous you are. Don’t try now. It is too late.”

“I did not think of it.” Another thought came to him, though, and his eyes crinkled with suspicion. “Did you and Nynaeve scheme this up between you?”

She managed to combine wide-eyed innocence with mild outrage. “How could you even consider such a thing? Do you imagine women would parcel you out like a package? You think a good deal of yourself. There is such a thing as being overproud.” He did look confused, now. Quite satisfactory.

There was a rap at the door, and Sansu looked in. At first the Aielman had his head down, but after a quick glance at them he raised it. Colour flooded Elayne’s face as she realized he had suspected that he might be interrupting something he should not see. She very nearly embraced  _ saidar _ and taught him a lesson.

“The Tairens are here,” Sansu said. “The High Lords you were expecting.”

“I will go, then,” she told Rand. “You must tell them about—taxes, was it not? Think on what I have said.” She did not say “think of me”, but she was sure the effect would be the same.

He reached out as if to stop her, but she slipped away from him. She had no intention of putting on a display in front of Sansu. The man was Aiel, but what must he think of her, wearing perfume and sapphires at that hour of the day? It required real effort not to pull the neckline of her dress up higher.

The High Lords entered as she reached the door, a cluster of greying men in pointed beards and colourful, ornate coats with puffy sleeves. They crowded out of her way with reluctant bows, their bland faces and polite murmurs not hiding their relief that she was leaving.

She glanced back once from the doorway. A tall, broad-shouldered young man in a plain green coat among the High Lords in their silks and satin stripes, Rand looked like a stork among peacocks yet there was something about him, a presence that said he commanded there by right. The Tairens recognized it, bending their stiff necks reluctantly. He thought probably they bowed just because he was the Dragon Reborn, and perhaps they thought so, too. But she had seen men, like Gareth Bryne the Captain-Commander of her mother’s Guards, who could have dominated a room in rags, with no title and no-one knowing their name. Rand might not know it, but he was such a man. He had not been when she first saw him, but he was now. She pulled the door shut behind her.

The Aiel around the entrance glanced at her, and the captain commanding the ring of Defenders in the middle of the anteroom stared uneasily, but she barely noticed them. It was done. Or at least it was begun. Two weeks she had before Joiya and Amico were put on that ship, two weeks at most to twine herself so firmly into Rand’s thoughts that he had no room for Berelain. Or if not that, firmly enough that she stayed inside his head until she had the chance to do more. She had never thought she might do a thing like this, stalk a man like a huntress stalking a wild boar. The butterflies were still gambolling in her stomach. At least she had not let him see how nervous she was. And it occurred to her that she had not once thought of what her mother would say. With that, the flutterings vanished. She did not care what her mother said. Morgase had to accept her daughter as a woman; that was all there was to it.

The Aiel bowed as she moved away, and she acknowledged them with a gracious nod that would have done Morgase proud. Even the Tairen captain looked at her as if he could see her new serenity. She did not think she would be troubled by butterflies again. For the Black Ajah perhaps, but not for Rand.


	23. Hard Heads

CHAPTER 20: Hard Heads

Ignoring the High Lords in their anxious semicircle, Rand watched the door close behind Elayne with wonder in his eyes. Dreams coming true, even only this much, made him uneasy. A swim in the Waterwood was one thing, but he would never have believed a dream where she came to him like this. She had been so cool and collected, while he was tripping over his own tongue. And Nynaeve ... There had been a message in her brief visit but he didn’t dare guess at it. Why was it women could go to pieces or fly into a rage at the smallest thing, yet never flicker an eyelash at what left you gaping? He’d have to ask her in person. That was how he preferred it: honest and direct. Hints left too much room for misunderstandings.

“My Lord Dragon?” Sunamon murmured even more diffidently than usual. Word of this morning must have spread through the Stone already; that first lot had nearly run on their way out, and it was doubtful Torean would show his face, or his filthy suggestions, anywhere Rand was. Even if he had indeed “had his fill” of Berelain—which he hadn’t—a woman was not some toy to be handed around!

Sunamon essayed an ingratiating smile, then smothered it, drywashing his plump hands, when Rand only looked at him. Carleon and Tedosian, false self-effacement in every line of their thick bodies, surely never realized there was anything suspicious in never looking at one another. But then, Rand might never have noticed if not for Thom’s note, found in the pocket of a coat just back from being brushed.

“The Lord Dragon wished to see us?” Sunamon managed.

“Taxes,” he barked. The Tairens did not move, but they gave the impression of stepping back. How he hated dealing with these men; he wanted to dive back into the books.

“It is a bad precedent, my Lord Dragon, lowering taxes,” Meilan said in an oily voice. The lean, grey-haired man was tall for a Tairen, only a few inches shorter than Rand, and hard as any Defender. He held himself in a stoop in Rand’s presence; his dark eyes showed how he hated it. But he had hated it when Rand told them to stop crouching around him, too. None of them straightened, but Meilan especially had not liked being reminded of what he did. “The peasants have always paid easily, but if we lower their taxes, when the day comes that we raise them back to where they now are, the fools will complain as bitterly as if we had doubled the present levy. There might well be riots when that day comes, my Lord Dragon.”

Rand strode across the room to stand before  _ Callandor _ ; the crystal sword glittered, outshining the gilt and gemstones surrounding it. A reminder of who he was, of the power he could wield. “You will have riots if you drive men off their farms.” Three books stood in a stack almost by Meilan’s feet.  _ The Treasures of the Stone of Tear _ ,  _ Travels in the Waste _ , and  _ Dealings with the Territory of Mayene _ . The keys lay in those, and in the various translations of  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ , if he could only find them and fit them to the proper locks. He pushed his mind back to the High Lords. “Do you think they will watch their families starve and do nothing?”

“The Defenders of the Stone have put down riots before, my Lord Dragon,” Sunamon said soothingly. “Our own guards can keep peace in the countryside. The peasants will not disturb you, I give you my assurance.”

“There are too many farmers as it is.” Carleon flinched at Rand’s glare. “It is the civil war in Cairhien, my Lord Dragon,” he explained hurriedly. “The Cairhienin can buy no grain, and the granaries are bursting. This year’s harvest will go to waste as it is. And next year ...? Burn my soul, my Lord Dragon, but what we need is for some of those peasants to stop their eternal digging and planting.” He seemed to realize he had said too much, though he clearly did not understand why. Rand wondered whether he had any idea how food got to his table. Did he see anything but gold, and power?

“What will you do when Cairhien is buying grain again?” Rand said coolly. “For that matter, is Cairhien the only land that needs grain?” Why had Elayne spoken up like that? What did she expect of him? Fond, she said. She could play games with words like Aes Sedai. Did she mean she loved him? No, that was plain foolishness. Overproud to a degree.

“My Lord Dragon,” Meilan said, half subservient, half as if explaining something to a child, “if the civil wars stopped today, Cairhien still could not buy more than a few bargeloads for two, even three years. We have always sold our grain to Cairhien.”

Always—for the twenty years since the Aiel War. They were so bound up in what they had always done that they could not see what was so simple. Or would not see it. When the cabbages sprouted like weeds around Emond’s Field, it was a near certainty that bad rain or whiteworm had struck Deven Ride or Watch Hill. When Watch Hill had too many turnips, Emond’s Field would have a shortage, or Deven Ride.

“Offer it in Illian,” he told them. What did Elayne expect? “Or Ghealdan.” He did like her, but he liked a lot of people. He’d been open about that lately. She had to know. Yet she’d asked him to kiss her, even so. That the Daughter-Heir of Andor would do such a thing was shocking. But Elayne wasn’t her title, or course. She was far, far greater than that. “You have ships for the sea as well as riverboats and barges, and if you don’t have enough, hire them from Mayene.” It was impossible to sort out his feelings for her. Or the others. Even Berelain. If  _ Dealings with the Territory of Mayene _ was to be believed ...

_ Stop this _ , he told himself.  _ Keep your mind on these weasels, or they’ll find cracks to slip through, and bite you on the way _ . “Pay with grain; I’m sure the First will be amenable, for a good price. And maybe a signed agreement, a treaty ...” That was a good word; the sort they used. “... pledging to leave Mayene alone in return for ships.” He owed her that, after what his strange reflections had put her through.

“We trade little with Illian, my Lord Dragon. They are vultures, and scum.” Tedosian sounded scandalized, and so did Meilan when he said, “We have always dealt with Mayene from strength, my Lord Dragon. Never with bent knee.”

Rand took a deep breath. The High Lords tensed. It always came to this. He always tried to reason with them, and it always failed. Thom said the High Lords had heads as hard as the Stone, and he was right.  _ What do I feel for her? Dreaming about her. She’s certainly pretty _ . He was not sure if he meant Elayne or Min.  _ Stop this! A kiss means no more than a kiss. Stop it! _ Putting women firmly out of his head, he set himself to telling these stone-brained fools what they were going to do. “First, you will cut taxes on farmers by three-quarters, and on everyone else by half. Don’t argue! Just do it! Second, you go to Berelain and ask—ask!—her price for hiring ...”

The High Lords listened with false smiles and grinding teeth, but they listened.

* * *

Nynaeve tried to tell herself it was for the best. She repeated to herself all the old conclusions she’d come to concerning them both. It wasn’t proper, the things that she had let happen between her and, well, either of them. And they would be good for each other. The attraction there was obvious; had been obvious since before she even saw them in the same room. They were closer in age. She wasn’t someone who’d watched him grow up, and been Wisdom of his home village. She wasn’t someone who was in love with another man, even if it was one who refused to love her back. It was good that they be together. Proper and ...

_ He should have tried to stop me leaving! And she should have been less relaxed about talking of loving another person while I was in the room! _

The clean marble floors of the Stone were usually cause for approval, as any well kept house was, even one so monstrously huge as this, but just then Nynaeve wished for a dirt path full of loose stones and clumps of old grass. She wanted to kick something, and this damnably neat corridor offered her no good targets.

She was especially suspicious, then, when Mat fell in beside her, just walking down the hallway as if he merely happened to be going the same way. Loial and Moiraine might talk incessantly about  _ ta’veren _ and the Pattern but Nynaeve didn’t trust anything that was dangled in front of her so easily as this. For surely there was no-one in the world more deserving of being kicked, just on general principle, than Matrim Cauthon.

He was frowning to himself, and his hair needed brushing, as if he had been scrubbing his fingers through it. Once or twice he glanced at her but did not speak. The servants they passed bowed or curtsied, and so did the occasional High Lords and Ladies, if with markedly less enthusiasm. Mat’s lip-curling stares at the nobles would have brought trouble if she had not been there, friend of the “Lord Dragon” or not.

This silence was not like him, not like the Mat she knew. Except for his fine red coat—wrinkled as if he had slept in it—he seemed no different than the old Mat, yet they were surely all different now. “Is last night troubling you?” she asked at last.

He missed a step. “You know about that? Well, you would, wouldn’t you. Doesn’t bother me. Wasn’t much to it. Over and done with now, anyway.”

She sniffed at the obvious lie, but didn’t bother telling him off for it. He’d been told many times before. He hadn’t listened then, and he wouldn’t listen now. “I do not see much of you.” That was a rank understatement. He avoided her as much as he did Rand and Tam. Imoen was the only other Therener he seemed to have time for these days.

“I have been busy,” he muttered with an uncomfortable shrug, looking everywhere but at her again.

“Dicing?” she asked dismissively.

“Cards.” A plump maid, curtsying with her arms full of folded towels, glanced at Nynaeve and, apparently thinking she was not looking, winked at Mat. He grinned at her. “I’ve been busy playing cards.”

Nynaeve’s eyebrows rose sharply. That woman had to be ten years older than she was! Old enough to be his mother, and then some. “So cards are why you can’t spare a moment for your old friend, are they? A likely story!”

“The last time I spared a moment for old friends, you and Elayne tied me up with the Power like a pig for market.” He grimaced. “Besides, you’re always with those Accepted, and they all want me to break down in tears over what happened to Mair. And act like I’m a monster when I don’t give them the satisfaction. Then there’s Moiraine. I do not like—” Clearing his throat, he shot her a sideways glance. “I don’t like taking up your time. You are busy, from what I hear. Questioning Darkfriends. Doing all sorts of important things, I should imagine. You know these Tairens think you are Aes Sedai, don’t you?”

She shook her head. It was Aes Sedai he did not like. Obviously he thought her too much of a Tower loyalist to risk saying it where she could hear. However much of the world Mat saw, nothing would ever change him. He’d always be a fool.

Nynaeve refrained from telling him so, for once. She wasn’t going to kick him, just on the general principle of it, since it was far too easy. And she wanted neither an argument nor a sulky departure. He would not call it that, of course. “Well, I am glad you’ve recovered from that so-painful battering we gave you, and are still willing to talk to me. Was there a special reason for it today?” she said, a bit more acerbically than she’d intended. Mat had that effect on her.

He shoved his fingers through his hair and muttered to himself. What he needed was his mother to haul him off by his ear for a long talking to. Nynaeve counselled herself to patience. She could be patient when she wanted to. She would not say a word before he did, if she burst for it.

The corridor opened into a railed colonnade of white marble, looking down on one of the Stone’s few gardens. Large white blossoms covered a few small, waxy-leafed trees and gave a scent even sweeter than the banks of red and yellow roses. A sullen breeze failed to stir the hangings on the inner wall, but it did cut the morning’s growing damp warmth. Mat took a seat on the wide balustrade with his back against a column and one foot up in front of him. Peering down into the garden, he finally said, “I ... need some advice.”

She blinked. He’d needed advice for most of his life. She’d never known him to accept it though, much less ask for it. “What do you want advice about?”

“I don’t know.”

It was a thirty foot drop to the garden. Besides, there were men down there weeding among the roses. If she pushed him over, he might land on one. A gardener, not a rosebush. “How am I supposed to advise you, then?” she asked, her hand creeping towards her braid of its own accord.

“I am ... trying to decide what to do.” He looked embarrassed; he had a right to, in her opinion.

“Trying to decide how best to run away from your responsibilities, you mean.” She shook her head. “Would that Rand had influenced you a bit more, when the two of you were off making mischief all those times. He doesn’t want to be the Dragon Reborn, but he does the job he’s been given anyway. You can’t just leave, Mat.”

“You think I don’t know that? I don’t think I could leave if Moiraine told me I could. Believe me, Nynaeve, I am not going anywhere. I just want to know what’s going to happen.” He gave a rough shake of his head, and his voice grew tighter. “What comes next? What’s in these holes in my memory? There are chunks of my life that aren’t even there; they don’t exist, as if they never happened! Why do I find myself spouting gibberish? People say it’s the Old Tongue, but it’s goose gabble to me. I want to know, Nynaeve. I have to know, before I go as crazy as Rand.”

“Rand is not crazy,” she said automatically. So Mat was not trying to run away. That was a pleasant surprise; he had not seemed to believe in responsibility. But there was pain and worry in his voice. Mat never worried, or never let anyone see it if he did. “I do not know the remedies for what ails you, Mat,” she said. After a while, she sighed. Even the Dark One deserved his due. “Perhaps Moiraine—”

“No!” He was on his feet in a bound. “No Aes Sedai! I mean ... You’re different. I know you, and you aren’t ... Didn’t they teach you anything in the Tower, some trick or other, something that would serve?”

It took her back. Not just to her melancholy of earlier, but to a time when everyone in Emond’s Field had come to her with their ills, trusting her to heal them. It grieved her to fail him. “I’m afraid not.”

His laugh reminded her of when he was a boy. Just so he had always laughed when his grandest expectations went astray. “Ah, well, I guess it does not matter. It’d still be the Tower, if at second hand. No offense to you.” Just so he had moaned over a splinter in his finger and treated a broken leg as if it were nothing at all.

“There might be a way,” she said slowly. He was one of hers, whatever his faults. “If Moiraine can be believed.”

“Moiraine! Haven’t you heard a word I said? The last thing I want is Moiraine meddling. What way?”

Mat had always been rash. If only he showed a little sense and caution for once. A passing Tairen noblewoman with dark braids coiled about her head, shoulders bare above yellow linen, bent her knee slightly, looking at them with no expression; she walked on quickly, with a stiff back. Nynaeve watched her until she was well beyond earshot, and they were alone. Unless the gardeners, thirty feet below, counted. Mat was staring at her expectantly.

In the end, she told him of the  _ ter’angreal _ , the twisted doorway that held answers on its other side. It was the dangers she emphasized, the consequences of foolish questions, or those touching the Shadow, the dangers even Aes Sedai might not know. She was touched that he had come to her, but he had to show a little sense. “You must remember this, Mat. Frivolous questions can get you killed, so if you do use it, you will have to be serious for a change. And you mustn’t ask any questions that touch the Shadow.”

He had listened with greater and greater incredulity. When she was done, he exclaimed, “Three questions? You go in like Bili, I suppose, spend a night and come out ten years later with a purse that’s always full of gold and a—”

“For once in your life, Matrim Cauthon,” she snapped, “do not talk like a fool. You know very well  _ ter’angreal _ are not stories. It’s the dangers you have to be aware of. Maybe the answers you seek are inside this one.”

He gave a loud snort. “I’d be a fool if I tried it, no matter what Moiraine says. Walk into a bloody  _ ter’angreal _ ? It’s less I want to do with the bloody Power, not more. You can blot it right out of your mind.”

“It is the only chance I know, Mat.”

“Not for me, it isn’t,” he said firmly. “No chance at all is better than that.”

She thought of her own experience inside the  _ ter’angreal _ that was used to test if someone was fit to be made an Accepted in the Tower, and nodded.  _ For once, he might be right _ . “What will you do?”

“Oh, play cards, I suppose. If anyone will play with me. Play stones with Thom and Dena. Dice in the taverns. I can still go as far as the city, at least.” His gaze strayed toward a passing maidservant, a slender, dark-eyed girl, near his own age. “I’ll find something to take up time.”

He was beyond help in that regard, too. “So you really aren’t leaving?”

“Would you tell Moiraine, if I was?” He put up his hands to forestall her. “Well, there’s no need. I told you I wouldn’t. I’ll not pretend I’d not like to, but I won’t. Is that good enough for you?” A pensive frown crept onto his face. “Nynaeve, do you ever wish you were back home? That none of this had ever happened?”

It was a startling question, coming from him, but she knew her answer. “Yes. Almost every day. Do you?”

“I would be a fool then, too, wouldn’t I?” he laughed. “It’s cities I like, and this one will do for now. This one will do. Nynaeve, you won’t tell Moiraine about this, will you? About me asking for advice and all?”

He could be so exasperating. “Why would I tell that woman anything?”

He gave an embarrassed hitch of his shoulders. “I don’t know. You’ve gotten kind of cosy with them these days, that’s all. And I’ve been keeping wider of her than I have of ... Anyway, I’ve been staying clear, especially when she wants to root around in my head. She might think I’m weakening. You won’t tell her, will you?”

“No,” she said curtly. She had a number of reasons of her own to stay clear of Moiraine. The cold-hearted witch hadn’t tried to teach her another one of her awful lessons in a long time, but Nynaeve wasn’t about to forget them. The thought that her restraint was a sign of her approval at the changes in Nynaeve since going to Tar Valon was almost worse than the memory of being completely in her power. “So you won’t be trying the  _ ter’angreal _ , then?”

He grinned. “I won’t go near that thing unless my life depends on it. I swear.” He finished with mock solemnity.

Nynaeve shook her head. However much everything else changed, Mat just never would.

* * *

The clack of wood on wood filled the indoor practice yard as surely as the smell of sweat did. Tam could have wished they were outdoors, but the Stone wasn’t built with the comfort of its inhabitants in mind. It had inner wells and cisterns, vast storage rooms, its own enclosed dock, and everything else that could be needed to survive a long siege, but open spaces to take air and see some sunlight were few and far between.

He sat on a bench, his naked chest still covered in sweat from his last match with Lan, and watched as the Defenders went through their drills. They were doing much as the Companions had done, back in his soldier days, though the similarities weren’t quite enough to stop him from seeing them as the enemy. Old habits died hard.

It would have been nice if that had applied to his skill with a sword as well. These sessions with Lan were making it painfully obvious that his skills had deteriorated during his years in retirement. He’d have to keep working if he wanted to win them back.

The Aiel didn’t spar here, with the “wetlanders”. They preferred to do their exercises in private. But one of the Maidens had come to watch. Aca, it was. The pretty girl with the pale yellow hair who’d helped defend Emond’s Field. Seeing her made him sigh.

“Do you think we can ever leave the wars we’ve fought behind us?”

Lan, similarly shirtless, was seated on the bench beside him. There were scars on his muscled torso, but not as many as might have been expected, given how long he’d been fighting. “The past is the foundation of the future,” he said. “No matter how bitter.” He’d had a hard life, and it had made him a hard man. Not wanting to end up like that had been part of the reason Tam had retired.

He sighed. The past might well be the foundation of the future, but it made for a very rocky one. Here he was, surrounded by people he’d fought against, Aiel and Tairen both, and relying on them to keep his son alive. It was enough to make a man lose his last few non-grey hairs.

Lan looked up at nothing, his gaze seemingly trying to pierce the thick stone. Tam suspected that, if he could have looked straight through all the walls and ceilings in the way, he’d have found Moiraine at the end of the Warder’s gaze. “I must go. Tomorrow, perhaps,” the Warder said.

“I look forward to it,” Tam lied politely. He’d never looked forward to it, not even when he was a younger and more foolish man.

The Warder left, giving Geko and his Shienarans a nod as he went, and getting deep bows in return. Tam understood. He’d heard the tale of the Last of the Malkieri by now, and it was a very impressive tale indeed.

With Lan gone, one of the Shienarans saw fit to approach. It was the female one. That was something that had never sat easily with Tam. Female soldiers. The Companions had been more open than most armies when it came to recruiting, taking any foreigner who wasn’t Tairen or Altaran into their ranks, but even they had never sent women into the heat of battle. It just didn’t seem right.

She stood before him, clad in a man’s trousers and shirt, with her sleeves rolled up to bare strong arms already coated with sweat from the day’s work. “I’m Areku Hiruden,” she said. “I suppose this is the first time we’ve spoken one-on-one. There’s actually something I’d like to ask you about.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Hiruden?”

For all that she’d been the one to start the conversation, when she spoke it was with palpable reluctance. “It’s about what I saw and heard back in your homeland. The way people reacted to Anna persuading women to take up a bow and fight. It troubles me.”

“Is it not the same in Shienar?” Tam asked. He’d never been there, but his interactions with Geko and the others suggested it was.

She looked away. “At times. Even now, the rest of my squad are still sometimes reluctant to spar with me. It’s annoying. So I’m a woman. I don’t see how this presents a problem in our sparring.”

“They probably don’t want to risk hurting you.”

“Condescending of them,” she said, “but I understand that that’s the way they were raised. Which is what troubles me. Is it the way you were raised, too? And the way you raised Rand?”

Tam rubbed at his chin. He refused to allow himself to be offended by her implication, instead choosing to consider her words carefully. Men should protect women. It was right. He’d learned that lesson young, and taught it to Rand in turn. There was nothing wrong with that. Except ... how many of Rand’s enemies were women? He’d already spoken of being in contact with Lanfear. She hadn’t attacked him but what if it had been otherwise? How could he do his job, while also doing what was right?

“It is ...” Tam said reluctantly, after the silence had lingered too long.

Areku frowned. “I see a danger in that.”

Tam sighed. “It is just as well he has women like you and Nynaeve around him, then.”

“That is one solution, yes ...”

He got the impression she was urging him to speak to Rand on the matter, but Tam was reluctant to be urged, especially when it was his parenting being called into question. “You’re a good woman Areku,” he said. “I can trust you to look out for him, can’t I?”

She put her hand atop her heart in salute. “By the Hiruden name, I will protect Shienar and House al’Thor.”

“House al’Thor,” Tam murmured, shaking his head. He was the last person in the world to have both the al’Thor name and al’Thor blood. Any distant relatives he had back in the Theren were only related to him on the male side, which didn’t count, of course. With Kari gone, Rand would be the only heir he’d ever have. It was surpassing strange to think that his adopted son would end up elevating his name to nobility. “Rocky foundations indeed.”

When he left the practice yard that day, he did so with a goal in mind, if not the one Areku had seemed to want. There was another way he’d thought he might help Rand. He’d meant to go to their meeting alone, but Aca tagged along with him. She often did when he ran into her about the Stone. And he ran into her often.

So it was that he found himself sipping tea quietly in a richly furnished room in the Stone’s upper levels, while privately wishing he’d had time to wash first. He knew enough of the world to be able to guess at the price of the set of porcelain that his cup belonged to—more than he could have made in a year working the farm, back when he’d had a farm to work—but he’d never really cared about money. It was enough that the people he loved were safe and cared for. No, money was not what had lured him away from the Theren in his youth, and it wasn’t what had lured him away again now. But even so. He knew enough of the world to know how important it would be for Rand to have wealth at his disposal.

The Sea Folk Sailmistress was obviously a strong, self-assured woman, but he sometimes thought he saw an odd wariness in the way she’d glance at him. No tongue darted out to lick her full lips. Her tattooed hands did not shake as they cradled her own cup, and her pretty face was perfectly composed. But even so. There was something wary about her. That, too, probably had something to do with his son.

Tam lowered his cup with a tired sigh. What didn’t have something to do with Rand these days? That he was known to have raised the Dragon Reborn gave him a reflected portion of Rand’s new notoriety. If they knew the full truth of what had passed between them, out on that isolated farm for all those years, that notoriety would burn far hotter. There wasn’t anyone who wouldn’t spit at Tam’s feet as he passed, if they knew what he’d done to his boy.

“Do you want more, Master al’Thor?” Imoen asked, with uncharacteristic politeness. She’d taken to her new job with more gusto that he’d have expected of her. Or maybe her solicitousness had something to do with Rand as well.

He grimaced. It did. Why try to pretend it didn’t? They weren’t even trying to hide what they were doing, Rand and her. It was only natural that she’d want to get on his good side, seeing as how she was sleeping with his son. And her barely old enough to bleed. Was that his fault as well? He’d taught Rand it was okay, after all. If he’d raised him better, if he hadn’t drunk so much that night, if he’d resisted the temptation, the loneliness and the lust, then maybe Rand would have turned out differently. “No thank you, lass. I’ve got enough.”  _ And done enough _ .

But maybe he could still redeem himself. Rand didn’t hold what had happened against him, he knew. The boy loved him too much to think clearly. That didn’t matter. Tam judged himself. And as callous as it was to think it, Rand’s tragic destiny afforded him the chance to make amends. As much as could be made anyway. He’d do everything he could to make Rand’s tasks as easy as they could be, now that he’d asked for help and advice by inviting Tam into his Inner Circle. Something that he’d done as trustingly as he’d invited him into his young body all those times.

Shaking his head to dispel the wicked, shameful, exciting memories, Tam focused on the people sitting with him. Avaleen had brought her father and cousin with her, both of whom were members of her crew as well as her kin.

His young Aiel companion hadn’t taken a chair at the round table when they arrived, preferring to lounge by the door with her spears slanted in front of her. Even with her looking relaxed like that, there was a readiness towards violence in the air. No wonder, from the suspicious scowl Agatay kept sending over his shoulder at her. Perhaps the Sea Folk would have been more comfortable if she’d joined them at table.

He had arranged Imoen to introduce him to Rand’s new friend, but he hadn’t planned for her to stay behind after doing so. She hadn’t asked either, not if it was okay to stay or if it was okay to sit with the adults at the table. She either didn’t notice or didn’t understand the disapproving looks Avaleen and the others gave her. Tam knew the reason. Every Atha’an Miere he’d met while living in Illian had been a stickler for rank. Imoen would be the equivalent of a deckhand to them, and not someone who should be sitting with the officers.

“Rand tells me he’s hired you as his Mistress of Finances,” Tam said, watching the woman carefully. “Have you settled the terms of your employment?” He suspected not. Rand had only recently come to the realisation that he should be paying the guards and maids who’d been with him since Falme. To his credit, he’d immediately set about working out how much each should have, and had paid them retroactively in a lump sum, but the oversight spoke volumes. Tam hadn’t thought he’d need to raise his son to understand wages and contracts. If he could do it all over again ... But he couldn’t, not until the Wheel of Time turned full circle.

“We have not discussed it. He simply asked me to do this for him,” said Avaleen, frowning.

Tam managed to stop himself from wincing. It was as he’d suspected. But how much could he allow himself to interfere? It was Rand’s destiny, not his, and he’d already done enough damage to it. “He can be a bit too trusting of those close to him,” he found himself saying, somewhat to his surprise. “His mother’s family were merchants. If she was still with us, she’d impress on him the need to make certain of his hold on the purse strings.”

Avaleen lowered her head until the medallions on the chain that ran from her nostril to her ear hung before her like artful little tears. “And you wish to protect him from those who would take advantage of him,” she said bitterly. “I understand.”

The cousin, Geraldeen, tutted over her tea, her dark eyes resting softly on Avaleen’s features. The father glared at Tam in the way that only father’s ever did.

_ Something definitely happened there. What does she feel guilty about? _ He liked to think it was his own guilty conscious that caused his first suspicions to be of the sexual kind, but Rand had been a pretty boy and he’d grown into a handsome man, tall and well made. It was only natural that he’d draw attention from certain kinds of predators.  _ Light help me. Is that what I am? _

“He’s my son.” Did he have the right to call him that?  _ He’s not my blood, and fathers shouldn’t do with their sons what I did with him _ . “He’s my son,” he repeated more firmly. “Of course I want to protect him. And to help him. If you are to do the same, while managing his finances, then there should be clear lines drawn in what you can and can’t do.”

She nodded slowly. “A Bargain. Yes. This should go without saying but ... I hope you will forgive my saying it, but the ways of the shorebound are often chaotic. It is well you avoid the sea. Chaos does not fare well on its waves.”

“You say this, but I think you are a bit fond of chaos,” Geraldeen said, smiling wanly.

“Then perhaps it is for the best that I will be staying on the shore when next  _ Liberty _ sails. Yes. For the best.” It was impossible for an Atha’an Miere to pale visibly, but Tam thought she would have then, were her skin not so dark. She definitely sounded like a woman bracing for an ordeal.

“ _ We _ will be staying,” Geraldeen said firmly. This time her cousin wore her guilt openly.

He wanted to be angry with Avaleen. She’d obviously done something to hurt his son, or she wouldn’t be behaving this way. Except ... So had he. And it had made him even more determined to do right by him in future. Perhaps it would have the same effect on her.

He sighed again. “Well. Rand is very busy, as I’m sure you understand. So maybe you and I can work out the details today. Then I can take the contract to him and see if it suits.”

The Sailmistress—or perhaps former Sailmistress—gave a small, seated bow and touched two fingers to her forehead. “It is agreed, under the Light.”

Tam slapped his callused hands together. “Right then. Let’s get to it.”

Imoen and Aca watched it all even more intently than Avaleen’s kin did, but Tam no longer had any attention to spare for them. He was busy trying to recall everything that Kari had ever told him about her family’s business. He needed her now more than ever, even if she could only be with him in spirit. He needed her whispered advice to help him make up for what he’d done, and to set their son on the right path.


	24. The Secretary

CHAPTER 21: The Secretary

Scowling to himself, Rand made a mental list of all the allies he could call on and the resources at his disposal. It was a fairly impressive list, far more impressive than he’d ever imagined it would be. And yet, no matter how he tried to add and mix the parts of it, he couldn’t see any way he could get rid of her without making things worse.

“That she dares to approach you without asking me first is bad enough, but that you let her get away with it ... Have you no shame!? A Warder should have more concern for his Aes Sedai’s dignity!”

Closing his eyes didn’t hide Alanna’s self-righteous outrage from him. If anything, given the bond between them, it just made him more aware of it.  _ Light, give me strength _ .

“Moiraine has always been too full of herself. She used to look down on me when we were Novices, did you know? She thought I was some timid little mouse, beneath her notice. I wasn’t! Not then, and not now! Are you listening to me, Rand?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if half the Stone is listening to you,” he muttered.

“Don’t be a fool. Those doors are too thick for anyone to hear.” Her mood shifted suddenly, as did her tone of voice. “I imagine you are grateful for that, given the things you’ve been doing behind them.”

She was imagining more than that, he knew. The bond revealed to him more of her than he wanted to know, and revealed to her far, far more of him than he wanted to share. The Aes Sedai hid her fascination with his nocturnal activities behind a thin veneer of superiority. She might look down her nose at him, but she wanted him, too. It had been shocking to discover that. It wasn’t flattering, though. Or intriguing. Not then, and not now. The very thought of being touched by her made him shudder.

A sudden warmth spiked inside her. Its meaning escaped him for a moment but when he felt her come to a decision, he snapped open his eyes and took a hasty step. Away from her.

Alanna stopped where she was, with one dark hand raised. There was a sulky look on her admittedly quite pretty face. The Tairen style dress she was wearing was pretty, too, green trimmed with white. But she was too ugly inside for any of that to matter, so far as Rand was concerned. They were alone in his office, which was tidier now than it usually was, his papers and books having been swept into the desk drawers within moments of her barging in uninvited. She probably thought he’d done that because he worried about what she thought of him. In truth, he just didn’t want her knowing what he was doing. And planning to do.

“So. You don’t want me talking to Moiraine without your permission. Message received. Since you let yourself in, you can let yourself out.” And the sooner the better. There was so much he needed to get organised.

Her sulk turned mean. “Received and ignored, you mean. Don’t forget I can tell what you’re feeling.”

He matched her look. “Believe me. I haven’t.” How easy it would have been to crush her throat. How terrible it was that he’d wanted to.

Perhaps she was remembering that day as well, for she looked away. There was shame in her, to his surprise. It was a tiny, flickering thing, but it was there. It made him angry.

So perhaps it was a mercy to them both that someone chose that moment to rap on his door. “Come in!” Rand shouted, a bit louder than he’d intended.

Renay opened the door and leaned in. Though normally expressive by Aiel standards, she looked as stone faced as Rhuarc just then, her clear grey eyes taking in both he and Alanna without comment. “There are more people who wish to speak with you, Rand al’Thor,” she said.

He could see a small crowd gathered in the anteroom beyond her but they seemed more interested in arguing with each other than in speaking with Rand. “What now?” he growled, stalking past Alanna to the doorway.

Uno was there, with three other Shienarans at his back. He was squaring up to Daroc, an Aiel taller and more muscular than he but just as grizzled. The thought that Uno might back down never even occurred to Rand.

“There are enough men in tin coats here,” said Daroc. He did not deign to look at the circle of Defenders in the centre of the room. Rand would have liked to think his two rings of protectors were a team, but he was no longer naive enough to believe such a thing. The Aiel and Tairens would fight each other just as happily as any third party that attacked. “If more come, there will be so much noise than even a Stone Dog might sneak by.”

“Or walk by, if they smile bloody sweetly enough, eh? Strangers didn’t just fucking walk up to him when we were keeping guard,” Uno said. His real eye glared just as hotly as the red one painted on his eye patch.

Adelin, who would have been tall for a man never mind a woman, stepped up to Daroc’s shoulder and smiled happily. “Are you inviting us to dance, Shienaran? It would be a welcome offer.” There was a tension among the Aiel that Rand didn’t like. Mangin wasn’t smiling for once, and Ralani—reputedly one of the deadliest of the Maidens—was toying with her veil.

Uno, for all his rough ways, wasn’t one for picking needless fights, and Izana and Nangu were sensible sorts, but the other Shienaran present, Mendao, had a hotter head than Rand liked. His hands were already gripping the sword at his waist when Rand stepped into the confrontation.

“I have enough enemies. I don’t need my people killing each other. What’s this about?”

He saw six Aiel but that didn’t mean there weren’t more of them lurking among the columns. Of the six, Renay was the only one he’d met before claiming  _ Callandor _ . He wasn’t sure why that made a difference, but he couldn’t deny that he felt more comfortable around her and her group than the newer ones. He hoped that didn’t show on his face when six sets of light-coloured eyes fixed on him.

It was Adelin who spoke. “They are Shienarans. You are not Shienaran.”

_ I’m not Aiel either _ , Rand might have said. It would have been true as well. He might share their blood, but these people were as strange to him as any he’d ever met. But if he wasn’t Aiel, then what was he? Not a Therener, that had been made plain. “They are still my people,” he said, unsure of whom he was referring to.

The Shienarans took it to mean them, and the smile on Izana’s face made the very thought of clarifying his words anathema. Adelin didn’t seem to understand either, but she just shrugged her shoulders before sauntering over to whisper something to Renay.

“No-one answered my question,” Rand pointed out.

Uno saluted. “Recent stuff got us worrying about your safety, my Lord Dragon. Some extra eyes—trusted ones—might be good to have close.” He looked around as if daring anyone to make a joke about his missing one. No joke was made.

The Aiel took his words as an insult, just as Rand had suspected they would. Glares were exchanged, and curses muttered. He suddenly recalled the days Thom had spent trying to teach him to juggle. He’d never really gotten very good at it, not like Mat had. Dealing with all these problems was like trying to juggle a dozen balls at once, all while trying to remain calm as he came closer and closer to dropping them all.

“I never knew how Thom did it. I don’t know how anyone does this,” he sighed.

Clearing his throat, Uno stepped closer. “That was the other thing I came here for. The gleeman asked me to bring someone to you,” he said quietly.

Rand nodded slowly. “I see. Well. All the more reason we should talk in private, then.”

Uno looked back among the columns, and jerked his chin by way of summons. Rand hadn’t noticed the woman who stepped briskly forward at his motion. She must have been standing there, still and silent. Listening, no doubt, but saying nothing. She wore a plain brown dress in the fashion of a Tairen commoner, with a higher neck than the one Alanna was wearing, and a higher hem, too. Leather boots and a simple black belt should have combined with the dress to make her look unremarkable, but they didn’t, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Perhaps it was the calm confidence on her pretty face. The way she wore her brown hair, cut short of the shoulder and slicked back out of the way, as if to say that she had no time to spare for nonsense such as keeping it braided or combed. Or perhaps it was the sharp intelligence in her dark eyes. Whatever the reason, she cut a striking figure.

He found himself stealing looks at her as he led the way back to his office. Who was she? Why had Thom sent her here? Those Tairen twins he’d recommended had already proven their worth by bringing Postiles’ actions to his attention. He trusted Thom’s judgement in these things.

He was so intrigued by the new arrival that he almost forgot about Alanna. It had the predictable result.

“If I hadn’t already seen the Theren, I’d think the people there had no manners at all, based on you. You don’t just walk out in the middle of a conversation, Rand! Especially not with an Aes Sedai!”

His bad mood returned on the instant. Bad manners were terrible but forcing her bond into him, that was just fine so far as she was concerned.

“Is there a reason you’re still here?” he asked coldly.

She preferred to show anger rather than the embarrassment she felt at being spoken to like that in front of others. The Shienarans looked embarrassed enough on her behalf, though. That was unsurprising, so much so that he barely paid any attention to them. The new woman he watched much more carefully. He saw her note the Great Serpent ring on Alanna’s finger, then study her face for the telltale signs of being Aes Sedai. Indifference was the only word he could think of to describe her reaction. She wasn’t shocked to see an Aes Sedai in his company, or to hear him being rude to one. She wasn’t disgusted either, as many Tairens tended to be with channelers of either gender. He nodded to himself. That was promising.

“Is this one of your mistresses? Is that why you want me to go?” said Alanna.

He made his way back to the desk where his interrupted work awaited. “Wrong reason. Right conclusion. Bye.”

Dark eyes burned into his. “You are headed for disaster if you don’t mend your ways, Rand. Don’t expect me to be there to pick up the pieces afterwards, not if you keep acting like this.” Gathering what passed for dignity with her, along with her skirts, she glided towards the door, sparing only enough time to look down her nose at the new woman before taking her leave.

A tension Rand hadn’t been fully aware of eased off as soon as the she passed from sight. He wasn’t even annoyed that she’d left the door open, just so long as she was gone.

“Get the door would you?” he asked no-one in particular.

Nangu was quickest to respond. Once he’d made them private, Rand took the seat at his desk and regarded the newcomer openly. “So who is this, Uno?”

She spoke for herself. “My Lord Dragon. My name is Zofia Caniago. It will be my job to make sure your command runs smoothly. I have assisted several successful nobles and merchants since my career began. I believe you will be more than satisfied with my services.” Her accent was heavy, her posture confident.

“Assisted how?” he asked.

“Primarily as a secretary. I will keep track of your engagements and ensure they do not overlap. I will remind you of any commitments that slip your mind, relay messages to and from those you do not care to speak to in person. And I will guard your door from unwanted visitors.” She pursed her lips. “May I assume the Aes Sedai who just departed was one such visitor?”

He sighed. “Very much so.” If she could keep Alanna away from him, he’d be tempted to marry her. But he’d believe that when he saw it. “How do you know Thom?”

A brief flicking glance around the Shienarans was the only sign of her surprise that he spoke in front of them. He noted that. She was secretive and discreet. That was good. Now it was, anyway. It hadn’t always been. But now it was, Light help him. “Thom and I have known each other for several years,” she said. “He has been an excellent source of information. Enough that I have my friends in the city keep me informed of his visits. He does not usually stay so long, though, and he’s never asked me to work for a particular client before. But these are exceptional circumstances, no? And you are an exceptional client.”

He grunted softly. “Well, if Thom trusts you then I will, too.”

“It’s good to have people you can trust around you,” Izana said pointedly.

“It is. But we’ve spoke of this already. It’s exactly because I trust you all more than them that I have to let them do the guarding, for now. I can’t afford to offend the Tairens and Aiel. They might turn on me over it, which I know you never would.”

“Bloody southern politics aren’t for me to understand, ah, if you’ll pardon the language,” Uno said. It wasn’t the presence of a woman that smoothed his tongue, it was Rand’s, a fact that never ceased to exasperate. “I know soldiering, though. You need your most trusted men to guard the most important gates. I don’t like leaving you exposed like this.”

Rand smiled. “Thanks. But you’re already guarding the most important things in this fortress. Make sure that Merile and Saeri and the rest are safe for me, and I’ll be eternally grateful.”

Izana sighed and shuffled his feet. Uno didn’t look particularly happy either, but he didn’t argue the point any more.

There came another tap upon the door. Rand opened his mouth to call “enter” but Zofia forestalled him with a raised hand. “Are you expecting anyone, my Lord Dragon?”

He wracked his mind. He’d already met with the nobles, or at least most of them. Loial had bent his ear for a good hour over what had happened the night before, then left to compile his notes. Was there someone he’d left out?

“If you do not already keep a book of records, I will start one today. In the meantime, allow me to answer the door.” Without waiting for his nod, she strode over and opened the door far enough to lean slightly outside. He could barely make out the low-voiced exchange she had with whoever was out there, but before long she was back with the news. “A man claiming to be your father is outside. He asks to speak with you but does not have an appointment. How should I respond?”

“Well, let him in, of course!”

She nodded briefly. “As you say.”

It was a pretty bemused looking Tam who strolled past her when she pushed the door wide. Aca was with him, and so was Imoen. She smiled at Zofia and gave her a little wave as she passed, to which the older woman winked. So they’d met before, and Imoen had taken a liking to her. That was promising, too.

“Who is your stern friend, Rand?” Tam asked.

“Zofia ... Caniago, was it? Caniago. Thom recommended her to me. She’s a secretary or something. Help with organising all this stuff would be pretty welcome, I have to admit.”

“I promise not to disappoint,” Zofia interjected.

“Smart man, Thom Merrilin. You’d do well to keep him close,” said Tam.

“He is, and you should! I’m learning so much from him,” Imoen piped in with.

“That Sea Folk Sailmistress is a smart one, too,” Tam continued. “It’s taken me all day, but I think I’ve gotten her nailed down for you.” He set a sheet of folded paper down on Rand’s desk.

“What’s this?”

“A written contract between you and her. Most employers make such. All of them, if the job’s important enough. I figured you wouldn’t have time to take care of it, so I went ahead and spoke to her myself.”

Rand coloured. Tam was being polite, but he knew Rand well enough to know that he’d had no intention of asking Avaleen for anything of the sort. The idea wouldn’t have sat well with him even if they hadn’t done the things they had done together.

“Forgive me for speaking frankly, but that is a most sensible action to take,” Zofia said. “I have already taken the liberty of drawing up my own contract for your perusal, my Lord Dragon.”

The others nodded agreement, all save for Imoen, who was putting on a good show of not listening. Rand rubbed at his brow. A contract with Avaleen. Well, it wasn’t as weird as, say, having one with Mat or Elayne, but it was weird enough even so. But if everyone else thought it was a good idea, then ...

“Perhaps you should look at this, too, Zofia, since you’re used to this sort of thing,” he said as he unfolded the paper and began to read.

She hesitated to do so but eventually came to stand stiffly at his shoulder with her hands folded at the small of her back. The contract was a bit confusing at first, but with some careful reading and a few questions asked of Zofia, Rand was soon able to get the gist of it. Rather than being paid a flat sum, Avaleen was to have a share of any profits he made as a result of her investment of his money. It seemed a very small share to him, but Tam set him straight when he objected.

“A small fraction of the kind of money you’re going to have available will be a fortune. Believe me, you aren’t taking advantage of her.”

He watched Rand carefully as he said it, so carefully that Rand was sure he’d have noticed and wondered at his sudden difficulty maintaining eye contact.

“What do you think, Zofia?”

She raised a brow, and hesitated a moment before answering. “I cannot comment on the woman’s qualifications but the contract itself is sound. Like my own, it provides both a legal and moral obligation to loyalty and obedience.”

“Is that so ...” Quickly banishing the images that flashed through his mind, Rand folded up the paper again. “Something about it all still feels wrong.”

“Wrong?” she said, blinking. “This is the way every successful client I have served has run their business. How could it be wrong? Especially for you. The entire world watches and waits. To have come this far only to fail now, it is unthinkable. You must not fail.”

“I won’t,” Rand vowed. Her nod was not one of agreement, only acknowledgement. He turned to Tam. “Thank you, Father. I wouldn’t have known where to begin with this.”

“You’d have figured it out, lad. It won’t hurt to pass some of your burdens off to others, though. Maybe Zofia here can see those contracts safely copied and filed.”

“I will get right on that. I will need to have a desk set up in the anteroom as well, close to the main doors, so I can check anyone who attempts entry.”

Uno barked a laugh. “I guess we’ve flaming well found something you lumps are bloody useful for, eh?” he told his men. “You can haul the lady’s furniture.”

“And where will you be?” Mendao asked sourly.

“Supervising. Privilege of rank, soldier.”

“Typical,” Mendao snorted.

“I’m just happy to help any way I can,” said Izana.

Aca had been watching Tam throughout the exchange. “I like the way you think,” she told him. “Are you the one who is actually in charge?”

Tam frowned at her. “Absolutely not. I just help where I can. Light, that’s exactly what I want to avoid people thinking.”

“I meant no insult,” Aca said.

She’d meant no insult to Tam, anyway. Rand could hear the unspoken insult to himself just fine.

“None was taken,” Tam said. “But perhaps it would be best if I helped set Miss Caniago up outside, where people can see.”

Tam and the others left to do what they were discussing, leaving him alone with Imoen.

“I liked Zofia. She’s tough like Moiraine but without the ‘I want to be in charge of everything’ bit,” she said. “I don’t think Avaleen likes me, though. Is she one of your girls?”

He felt his cheeks colour. “I don’t know what she is to me,” he answered honestly. “But maybe you could help me find out. Could you ask her to come here and meet me?”

“Nope,” Imoen said cheerfully. She waited for him to open his mouth before going on in a rush. “But I can tell her that her lord and master summons her to his office. In fact, I’ll go and do that right now!” Laughing, she ran from the room, completely ignoring his protests.


	25. Turn and Turn About

CHAPTER 22: Turn and Turn About

He’d finished the supper that the Numio twins had brought him by the time Zofia escorted Avaleen in. Her entourage was not with her, somewhat to his surprise. Imoen was, but didn’t linger long. She took Merile with her, too, who’d been sharing Rand’s meal and keeping him company. That left him alone with Avaleen. The Sailmistress greeted him with solemn words and solemn eyes. It was in hopes of putting her at ease that Rand led her to the low chairs near the fireplace, for greeting her from behind his heavy desk had felt much too formal.

“Are you satisfied with the arrangements, then?” he asked.

“It is satisfying enough. I hope it will be for you as well. I already have several ideas of how you should invest your gold. The Tairen vendetta against foreign merchants has left some very lucrative markets unexploited. You could move into them as the Dragon Reborn, of course, but I wondered if you wouldn’t rather do this under an alias ...”

That wasn’t really what Rand had wanted to talk about, but she’d gotten his attention. “An alias? Hmm. That might be good actually. Or better yet, you could be the one everyone works with. The face of the, ah ...”

“The company,” she supplied.

“The company. I could stay in the background. I think I’d like that. It would make for a nice change. I’ll still be the one making the big decisions, though. I don’t want you giving money to, like, Tar Valon or whatever.”

“Of course. That was part of our Bargain.”

“Right. Good. It will probably be better this way. More ... grounded. After all, it might be seen as cheating to use my authority to just seize things.”

She nodded. “Bad for the economy as well. The merchants would abandon Tear completely, for fear you would seize their assets next.”

“Right. It would be stealing as well, of course. And it would be dangerous to have people know it was me they were buying from. I am a notorious monster, after all.”

“No you aren’t. The opposite, I might even say. If anyone is the monster here, then it would be me. Wouldn’t it?”

He didn’t ask what she meant. And he couldn’t hold her eye. “Hardly. A bargain’s a bargain, isn’t it? Work for passage, that was the deal,” he said gruffly.

“There were other ways ... I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I just ... I wanted you. And when I had you in my power like that ... I just couldn’t resist.”

“I wanted you, too,” he confessed after a moment’s awkward silence. “If you’d just invited ...”

She hung her head. The firelight reflected softly off her jewellery, brightened her silks and warmed the planes of her face. He found himself thinking of things he shouldn’t, given their past.

The silence between them swelled. It must have been as uncomfortable for her as it was for him, because after a while she shot to her feet.

She was almost to the door when he caught up and seized her by the arm. She turned to face him, and his words died on his tongue. Silvery tears were trickling down her dark cheeks, looking brighter even than the gold of her jewellery. They stared at each other.

And then he kissed her.

Much about their relationship confused him, but there was nothing confused about his desire for her. It flared hot as soon as their lips touched. He kissed her hungrily and found her as eager as he was. Standing atop the rich carpet, there in the middle of his office, all talk of deals forgotten, they pawed and fumbled at each other gracelessly. Impassionedly.

The fine silk of her blouse he shoved roughly upwards, to get at the finer skin beneath. He squeezed one full breast, and she fumbled at his belt in response.

He felt there should be more words between them. There were things that needed to be settled. Speaking would have required him to stop kissing her, though, and that was unthinkable just then. There might have been a moment, between her finally managing to undo his belt, and her looking down at what he presented her, a moment in which they might have settled what they were to each other. But then she dropped to her knees and seized hold of him and brought him to her mouth.

Words abandoned him then. He found himself with his hands upon her rough curls, and his hips moving mindlessly. Her tongue felt like it was everywhere. The sounds she made were obscene, more so than they’d been on prior trysts. Far from objecting to the rough treatment, Avaleen’s nails dug into his backside.

The heat was in him, so he tore at his clothes while she sucked him. Some buttons popped loose but he didn’t care. Once topless, he grasped her by the arms, and she rose wordlessly, alive to his desire. She helped him with her knotted sash, but the loose silk trousers she left to him. Down he yanked them, exposing her hips and sex and legs. On another day he might have taken the time to savour the sight, but today he just spun her around and bent her over.

Her pussy was sopping wet. Just as well, for he went in her to the hilt on the first thrust. Her cry of welcome, and the way she arced her hips back to allow him entrance spurred him on. Her round brown buttocks shook beneath his thrusts, her gasps and moans telling him that she was as consumed by lust as he was.

The position was awkward for them both, and with the height difference between them he had to squat down slightly in order to gain her entrance, but Rand couldn’t imagine stopping long enough to go to bed. Even Avaleen’s Sea Folk agility was unable to help her maintain balance against the fierce fucking he was giving her. When he first seized her by the arms, he’d meant to help her stay still. But somehow he found himself locking her arms behind her back, enfolded her upper arms in his while her hands hung free.

Bound so, her back arced almost painfully and her breasts flying with each hard thrust, Avaleen was utterly his. Utterly, and unresistingly his.

“Yussss,” she moaned, low and nearly unintelligible, as he plumbed the depths of her pussy. Over and over she moaned it. The room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, her moans, and the sharp slap of his hips against her ass.

He had no idea how long they stood like that. He was vaguely aware that she’d started squirming some time back, rubbing her thighs together as she clutched at him with her bound hands. Consumed by his own desire, Rand kept pounding away at her until a powerful orgasm finally ripped through him. He shouted wordlessly as he sent hot come flooding into her womb.

It wasn’t until the last few spurts were shuddering their way along his cock that the thought of what might have had Avaleen squirming all this time occurred to him.

Still bound, glistening with sweat, her pussy full of his seed, she looked back at him with big, black eyes filled with longing.

“Please. Please.”

Rand unfolded one arm, and reached around to touch her front. Her breasts were swollen, the nipples engorged. Her taut belly rose and fell with her breaths. And further down was a heated, engorged desperation that had been neglected for too long.

He rubbed her firmly, and within heartbeats she was screaming her pleasure and thrashing in a way she never had while he was taking her. He felt her pussy spasming, as though she were trying to suck up every last drop of what he’d given her.

When her thrashing stopped, she hung limply in his embrace, breathing heavily. He swept her up in trembling arms, and carried her to the desk. There he gently laid her, collapsed on her side with a glazed look in her eyes.

He stood over her as he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and marvelled at the sight before him. He still wondered if there weren’t things they should say to each other. Past issues they should try to resolve. But perhaps they’d already said most of it, with actions rather than words.

Whatever else they had been to each other in the past, here and now, Avaleen was his woman.

Rand had many reason to hate Alanna and her bond, but there was one thing which he was forced to admit, if only in the privacy of his own thoughts, to being grateful for. And that was the increased stamina it had granted him. Lan claimed it would help him stay awake longer, and fight longer, too. He’d said nothing of the other, better benefits.

He trailed his hand down the outside of one smooth leg, and then back up the even smoother inside of the other. “That’s nice,” she murmured. It was only when he grasped her by the knees and put her on her back that her eyes slid open, though. “Again?” she said, brows rising in surprise when she saw how hard he was.

“I can’t resist you either,” he said in a low growl.

Avaleen lay before him, naked save for her jewellery, every part of her dark body exposed and vulnerable. Instead of hiding herself, or pulling away, she stretched her legs past his hips, locked her ankles together, and pulled him closer.

“Then take me. I am in  _ your _ power now. Do whatever you want with me. Take your revenge. I won’t resist.”

Revenge? Perhaps he should, but he found he didn’t really want revenge. He just wanted her. “What if I said I wanted you to be happy? And to come for me, over and over?” he said as he guided his cock to her wet hole and pushed inside.

She groaned. “Then you really would be the  _ Coramoor _ , and worthy of worship.”

He was about to ask her what that meant, but then her pussy was all around him, caressing ever inch of his cock with its silken heat. Her nails were digging into his forearms, and she was moaning his name and urging him on. Questions were a needless distraction at such a time. Instead of asking, he set about making her do exactly what he’d said he wanted her to. Much might have changed between them, but that much remained the same.

Rand wouldn’t have had it any other way.


	26. Queens of the Hunt

CHAPTER 23: Queens of the Hunt

Rand had never imagined he would find himself involved with eight women at once. Not in his fondest dreams, or his worst nightmares. But that was where he found himself now. Finding time to give them each the attention they deserved was as hard, perhaps harder, than ruling the truculent nation now under his command. He wasn’t one to give up easily, though, not with Tear, and not with his women.

He spent the night with Saeri, after he and Avaleen worked out their differences, but was too tired to do use anything but his fingers to pleasure her. That proved enough to get her to settle for the night, though not enough to wear her out. She kept him up longer than he’d liked, chatting about his past and the friends he’d known. Imoen, who she told him was off having fun with Merile, was of particular interest to her.

“Imoen, thy friend from thy youth. Please tell me more of thy childhood with her, mine own,” she’d said, not noticing his weariness.

Rand answered as best he could. “She was always up to some mischief or other, as bad as Mat, in her way. But I didn’t mind that. She’s fun. I was never sure why she always sought me out, though. I wasn’t in town that often, but whenever I was, and there was some game to play, she was quick to latch onto me. Or to team up, as she’d call it.”

“’Twas her secret love for thee that drove her.”

He smiled. “It looks that way now, but I certainly never thought it at the time. She was always full of questions, and talked nonstop. I liked her, don’t get me wrong, but there were times I thought she was a bit of a pest.”

“She was dear to thee nonetheless?”

He hugged her to his side, and combed his fingers through her long hair. “She was. And is. You all are. Which is why you should get some sleep.”

“Thy care of me is well appreciated, my love,” she said softly, as she snuggled up against him.

He meant what he’d told her. He needed to speak to Nynaeve and Elayne about what had happened the day before. He needed to check on Raine, too, since he hadn’t seen her all day yesterday. It was with such intent that he left his chambers the next morning, but the Pattern conspired against him in the form of Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron.

She was waiting for him in one of the side corridors just beyond the entrance to his chambers, seemingly engrossed in examining a tapestry showing Tairen soldiers overwhelming the Illianer Companions. Tam had snorted when he saw that, but Berelain apparently found it so fascinating that she blinked in surprise when Rand happened by. He wasn’t fooled.

Signalling for his usual escort to give them space, he approached her and spoke in a low voice. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Her deep blue dress hung low enough at the front to show a considerable amount of bosom, which moved in a very eye-catching way when she shrugged with exaggerated casualness. “I’m not sure what drew me up here. I was simply having a morning stroll when this forlorn image caught my eye. Those poor men. Cast aside and forsaken.”

“That’s ... very compassionate of you,” Rand said dryly. “Do you feel a kinship with them?”

A sad little pout appeared on her face. “Perhaps I do. Forgive my directness, my Lord Dragon, but a tender heart is the bane of reason. Why did you not contact me yesterday? After all we have shared ... would you cast me aside? Did I not please you?”

He cautioned himself to be aware of her insincerity, but it was harder than he’d have liked when she looked at him with those big black, puppy-dog eyes. “You know you did. I just didn’t think you’d want to have anything more to do with me, after what you saw.”

She looked away. “I’d rather not talk about that. You are quite mistaken in your conclusion, however. I am not some timid, pampered princess, to be scared off at the first sign of hardship.” She put her hand on his forearm, and traced the muscles through his good red coat. “My admiration for you had not waned at all, my Lord Dragon. You are a man well worthy of following ... and even—dare I confess it?—of worshipping ...”

Despite everything he’d seen and done in recent times, Rand still found himself blushing. “Oh, give over! You don’t worship anything or anyone. You don’t fool me.”

Her eyes twinkled, and a rich chuckle shook her ... assets. “My lord! You wrong me. How can I prove myself in your eyes? I submit myself to whatever discipline you wish to mete out. You can be as rough or as gentle as you judge warranted. I am your loyal servant.”

“You could probably use a good spanking,” he muttered. “It’d be for your own good. But I’ve never really liked the rough stuff.”

She trailed a finger along her lower lip, and gave him another taste of those eyes. “The strongest of hands, yet the gentlest of touches. You are a champion among men ... My heart pounds for the merest glance at you.”

He sighed. “Berelain. Anytime you want to tone it down a bit, feel free.”

She laughed. “You complain, but you smile while doing it.”

There was no denying that. She was fun to be around, no matter how untrustworthy.

He was still smiling at her when Elayne rounded the corner, locked eyes on them both, and stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes going wide and spots of colour blooming on her fair cheeks. She spun on her heel and rushed back the way she had come.

“Elayne, wait!”

He was several strides down the corridor when Berelain’s voice rang out. “My Lord Dragon! Surely you would not leave in the middle of our conversation. Things were just warming up ...”

“Ah, sorry, we’ll have to speak later. I need to take care of this.”

Her “Hmmph!” did not sound at all playful, but Rand could not be in two places at once, and Berelain was by far the less sensitive of the two, so he left her behind and rushed off in pursuit of Elayne.

The Daughter-Heir’s rich red skirts made it difficult for her to move fast, so he had little trouble catching up. Getting her to stop was another story.

“Ah, hi there. I was hoping to speak to you today,” he said as he trotted along at her side.

“Were you? It didn’t look that way,” she snapped.

“Well, Berelain was lurking outside my door, so I stopped to speak to her along the way.”

“Is that all it takes? Simply standing there?”

“Well ... yes. I mean, I’m not just going to ignore someone. It would be rude.”

She halted abruptly and turned on him, anger tightening her lips. “Then why did I spend half a year in your company, and yet still have to embarrass myself by asking—asking!—before you would even kiss me? Yet some woman you’ve barely even met, who doesn’t care about you at all, can get so much of your attention! That is rather rude, I would say. Unfair, too!”

Suddenly uncomfortable, he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I never meant to ignore you, Elayne. I just never imagined a woman like you would be interested in a man like me. I mean ... look at you. You’re so perfect.”

“I ... I am? Don’t think you can mollify me so easily,” she said. Though, curiously, her anger seemed to have evaporated completely. “I wouldn’t say I was perfect. Why would you say I was perfect?”

It seemed pretty obvious to him. And hardly something that needed pointing out. But he answered anyway. “You were born into the highest position imaginable, heir to the throne of what is probably the strongest nation in Valgarda that actually has heirs. Most people in your position would be stuck up, selfish and as arrogant as can be imagined. But you are none of those things. You’re kind and humble and hard working, and you always think of others before yourself. You’ve led a sheltered life, and could rush back to it at any time, but you don’t. Instead, you volunteer to go out and fight the Shadow. I sometimes think you are too brave for your own good. You should be as bad as these High Nobles, but you’re everything they’re not. The heart you have to have been born with! To be so devoid of corruption despite being born into such privilege. How is that not perfect? And then ...” He looked away from her very wide eyes, to behold the rest of her. His hands traced her impressive figure in the empty air between them. “And then there’s all of ... that. You’re so damn gorgeous ...” he finished breathlessly.

Elayne opened and closed her mouth several times, but no words came out. Then she pounced on him. Her arms went around his neck, her lips found his, and she kissed him hungrily. Her passion forced him backwards until he slammed into the wall, but the pain of that barely registered with Rand, so enraptured was he by her touch. His fingers tangled among her lovely curls, the better to hold her in place so he could consume those lips.

It was a long time before they came up for air. It was longer still before they became aware of their audience. The Aiel and Defenders that had stood aside while Rand spoke to Berelain had come running when he left in pursuit of Elayne. They stood not far away now, doing a very poor job of pretending to be interested in the Stone’s furnishings. When Elayne noticed them she blushed brighter than her hair.

“I only meant to ... to ...”

“To give me more lessons on ruling?” Rand provided.

“Yes! Thank you.” She rested her forehead against his chest, and shook with nervous laughter. “But that will have to wait. Another matter calls me away.”

“Of course it does,” Rand said. He avoided looking at the others as studiously as she was.

His bland agreement didn’t fool her, no more than the tiny fist with which she thumped his ribs hurt him. “I am going now. Try to behave yourself in the meantime.”

“I can’t make any promises there.”

She sniffed, disentangled herself from him, and rushed off down the corridor, still refusing to look at the guards gathered nearby. He watched her go, until she turned a corner and disappeared from sight. The shriek he heard then made him jump, and almost made him rush after her again. But he heard the excitement in it, and the nervousness. She was not in pain. He hoped the day never came when she was, especially not on account of him.

The Defenders were looking anywhere but at him, and the male Aiel were being as discreet as they could while still studying every nook and cranny for potential enemies, but the Maidens had no compunctions about watching Rand and Elayne. They seemed to find the whole thing quite amusing. His flat stare slid off them like water off a duck’s back.

_ What was I doing again? Oh. Right. I was going to speak to Nynaeve. And Raine _ .

He set off again, but didn’t get far before the Maidens rushed to surround him. To protect him, they’d probably claim, but those sharp smiles gave them the lie.

“You do not believe in just one girl, one boy?” Nici asked. “I thought that was how wetlanders did it?”

“They do ...” Rand said slowly. He was at a loss for how to explain himself. The idea of picking one and discarding the others was preposterous to him, for all that he knew it was what society would expect him to do. Was he supposed to pretend that Elayne and Merile, for example, weren’t both wonderful, beautiful women? He couldn’t lie that completely if he tried.

“Have you ever played Maiden’s Kiss, Rand al’Thor?” pretty Dorindha asked as they walked. “I am curious to know if this is all happening only because of your looks, or if there is more to it ...”

Ralani shook her head warningly. “Can you imagine if he lost? It would be the greatest and worst joke of all time.”

“It was the same with the Theren clan. He was very popular with the women there, I noticed,” said Amindha, the great big tout.

“Were you, Rand al’Thor?” Renay asked. “I was never sure how close you were to Anna al’Tolan, for example, or Raine Cinclare?”

“I am not talking about this with you lot,” he said stiffly.

“Women and wine soften your body outside the battle, while honour strengthens it,” put in the last of his six tormentors, a strikingly handsome, yellow-haired woman named Branwen who was as tall as Mat, and probably stronger. “At least you do not drink often,” she allowed, while appraising him frankly, as if searching for the effects of his supposed dissoluteness.

“I spar with Lan every day,” he told her, with fraying patience. “Well, almost every day.”

“Just once? And not even regularly?” She shook her head.

“He gets all his exercise between the blankets,” Dorindha said with a laugh.

“You cannot kill your enemies with your hips alone,” Branwen pointed out.

“You think not? Jec would argue otherwise, I think.”

While they laughed over Dorindha’s joke, if joke it was, Rand lengthened his stride in an effort to escape. That alone wasn’t enough to escape them, but the narrow, winding staircase he took down to the Stone’s lower levels soon saved him from the Maidens’ taunts, since it forced them to go single file. There were more people to be seen on the level he exited onto than there were on the level his chambers were on, but that was no more than usual. The Stone’s inhabitants tended to avoid Rand if they could.

Which was why it was such a surprise when one of them stopped at the sight of him, raised her brows, and smiled. “My Lord Dragon! Such a pleasure to meet you.” She was a young woman, and richly dressed. Probably a noble. Her skin was as brown as her eyes, and her multitude of dark braids framed a pretty face with an open countenance. He didn’t know her at all. At his wary frown, she dipped a curtsy. “Forgive me, I should have introduced myself. I am Nalia Andiama. High Lord Torean is my father.”

That made him blink. The skin tone was right, but the rest ... “Your mother must have been very beautiful,” he said, before wincing internally at his own bad manners. Just because Torean was such a scumbucket was no reason to be insulting him openly like that.

But Nalia only nodded. “She is. Beautiful and vain and overly fond of money. It is the only reason she married my father, since he has so few other virtues to boast of.”

Rand could only agree with that, but hearing it from Torean’s own daughter made him oddly uncomfortable. “Right. Well, I’m a bit busy at the moment, so I’d best be going.”

“Of course. Shall I walk with you, then?” she asked, though she’d already fallen in at his side by the time the last words left her lips. Or as close to his side as she could get, with the Maidens watching her so coldly. Her smile turned sickly and slid from her face when it had no effect on them, so she focused her attention on Rand, visibly trying to ignore the Aiel with him. “I have been hoping to speak to you ever since you dealt with that wicked beast Hervaci Postiles. I shall not address him by title, for he was unworthy of it. Men like him have no respect for the hard life that poor classes endure. I am not like them. Like you, I strive to help all those under me. The peasants who live on my father’s lands have been very appreciative of my charity.”

He wasn’t quite sure what to make of all that. House Andiama was the richest of the Tairen noble Houses, simply by virtue of controlling the most valuable lands, including that on which Godan, Tear’s second largest city, stood. From what he could to tell, High Lord Torean did almost no work at all to see those lands managed. He simply lounged about and let the rewards of other people’s work flow into his pockets.

“Nice of you to let them have a little bit of the profits of their work back. I guess. Are you asking for a reward or something?”

She was shocked at his lukewarm reaction. “No! It’s not like that at all! I just ... I do what I can, and try to be a good person. Those foppish snobs that hold themselves above everyone make me ill. I’m like you. I want to help the lower classes live better lives.”

“Not calling them peasants and lower classes would be a good start. And maybe giving them the opportunity to be something other than a servant, too.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “A quaint notion, and one I would support. I think, however, that it would be hard to convince the older generation of the merit of such a change. The servants themselves might also be concerned. Would they appreciate the burden of management? It might be worth an attempt, but it would not be popular here. I find Father and Aunty quite unreceptive to these ideas. They are very traditional, and believe lesser classes are best reminded of their positions at all times. I disagree.”

“That’s ... good,” he sighed. “At least you’re trying. That puts you well ahead of most around here.”

She put a dark hand, each finger of which sported at least one jewelled ring, over her heart. She hadn’t missed many meals, this Nalia, and had the bosom to show for it, he couldn’t help but notice. “Thank you so much! I knew you would understand. Would you like my help? Since you are on a mission to help the needy, I would be more than happy to assist.” His reluctance must have shown on his face, for her own fell. “Please. Let me help.”

He really wasn’t sure what to make of this girl. He hadn’t forgotten Storin’s talk of arranging a marriage with a young Tairen lady, and half-suspected that she was trying to manipulate him towards that. High Lord Torean’s daughter had, come to think of it, been one of those that Storin recommended. He didn’t know if Torean had more than one, but this Nalia looked close enough to Rand’s age that she was probably who he had been talking about. If she was, she was doomed to disappointment. He had no intention of marrying anyone.

Or maybe he was getting above himself. Maybe she really just wanted to help the poor, in her own condescending way. He should probably gamble on that. Where was the harm if she proved less sincere than she looked? Besides, Tam had said to seize every opportunity he could.

“I suppose I can keep you in mind. If there’s anything I think you can help with, I’ll send for you.” He couldn’t imagine what help she might be, but it would be best to keep the door open.

She looked disappointed. “Is that all? I’d hoped for more ...”

He set his jaw. “Perhaps later. We’ll see. For now ... maybe you could feel out the younger Tairen nobles for me. See if any of them are inclined to see things ... our way. The older lot aren’t proving very cooperative.” And if they kept it up, House Postiles might not be the only one having a sudden change in leadership. If it came to that, he hoped it would work out better than it had with Roberto Postiles. At last report, he’d been gathering an army, and it was more than doubtful that he intended to send it to help the man who’d hanged his father.

“I can do that,” Nalia said eagerly. “They have not been receptive to my ideas in the past, but with your support perhaps they can be made to see that I was right all along.”

He doubted that. But they might be inclined to pretend they agreed with her, at least. He’d noticed some of the people they passed, servant and noble both, frowning thoughtfully when they saw Nalia in his company. Wondering what they would make of it reminded him far too easily of his maddening introduction to  _ Daes Dae’mar _ , back when he’d visited Cairhien. He hoped nothing similar would happen here.

“Well, I hope it works out,” he said, with what he hoped was well-concealed dubiousness. “Now, I, ah, really must be going. There was something I meant to do this morning.”

“Oh? Is it anything I can help with?” she asked, smiling invitingly.

“No thank you,” he said firmly.

It took a while to extricate himself from her company, so wordy was her version of “goodbye”. When he finally managed it, he let out a sigh of relief. Now. Where would Nynaeve be at this hour? Or Raine, for that matter?

In hindsight, he really should have known better than to ask the Maidens those questions.

“You spend time alone with a lot of women,” Nici said. “Are all these your girlfriends?”

“That’s private!”

She spread her arms expansively. “We just watched you stick your tongue down Elayne Trakand’s throat. How can you call that private now?”

He blushed. It was annoying that she was so right. “Well ... well, stop following me around all the time, and then it will be private. Like it should be.”

“That is unacceptable. We cannot protect you if we are not nearby when your enemies strike,” said Ralani solemnly.

“So, are they your girlfriends?” Nici persisted. “That Nalia Andiama seemed eager to please.”

“If you were listening—which I know you were!—then you know I only just met her,” Rand said testily.

“Well, what about the others?”

“Some are. Some aren’t.”

“That is a lot. Are you greedy, or just crazy? You will never be able to satisfy that many women. I bet you could not even satisfy me.”

Rand was glad of Tam’s training then. He fed his annoyance and anger into the flame, and let the void envelope him. For good measure, he fed Nici in general into the flame as well, and so was able to move on through the Stone without flipping his proverbial lid. The worst part was that—again!—she wasn’t entirely wrong. Being involved with so many women was hard work.

The Maidens with him didn’t know where he might find Nynaeve or Raine, but they knew someone else who would. It was Rhuarc they brought him to. Rand was dubious at first. He was sure Rhuarc would be too busy marshalling the Aiel and making sure the Stone stayed under their control to spare much thought for the movements of the people staying there. The man surprised him, though. It turned out that Raine had been following Berelain around in secret lately. Rhuarc had confronted and questioned her about it, to ascertain if she intended to break the peace he had declared upon this place, but she had sworn to him that she was only watching. “ ‘To see if the sheslut was a liar and an enemy or not’,” Rhuarc quoted expressionlessly. “She gave her word that there would be no bloodshed, and I accepted it from her. I did not have to threaten her to make her comply.” Rand wasn’t sure if the last part was meant to placate him or not. It raised a difficult question, though. What would he do it Rhuarc were to threaten Raine, or someone else he cared about? There would be no happy ending to that confrontation, however it played out.

Rhuarc knew where Nynaeve was as well. She was off with another of the Accepted, Theodrin, training at something he freely admitted to not understanding. Rand snorted softly to himself.  _ And here I was feeling guilty for not paying enough attention to them _ . He really was getting too full of himself. It was worth being reminded that they had lives of their own, and didn’t need him hovering at their shoulders all day every day.

With his worries over his various loves laid to rest, Rand thought he’d be free to spend the rest of his day working on his plans. He was very wrong.

* * *

Elayne had decided that a nice bath was just what she needed to cool down after her encounter with Rand. It would allow her time to think, and to clear her mind as well. And she needed a clear mind. It would not do to jump into bed with him like ... Well, like Berelain had. She would not have him thinking her at all similar to that hussy.

Unfortunately, no sooner had she dismissed the servants with their now empty pails, and settled into the silver-plated tub the majhere had had brought up, than Aviendha appeared for one of her visits. Normally Elayne would have been glad to see her, for her company was enjoyable, despite her reserve. But just then she had rather hoped for some time alone, to recall all those wonderful things Rand had said, and the way he’d felt ...

She couldn’t tell Aviendha that, of course, not when she was so visibly shook at finding Elayne in her bath. It was not shock at walking in on her naked—in fact, when she saw that Elayne was uncomfortable, she peeled off her own clothes—but at seeing Elayne sitting chest-deep in water. It was dirtying so much water that made her eyes pop.

Elayne’s own eyes were threatening to pop at the Aiel’s casual nudity. She was as tall as most men, and muscular enough to put them to shame as well, yet there was no denying her femininity. Not with curves like that. Eschewing the chairs in the room—as all the Aiel she’d known did—she sat down on the floor, cross-legged with her hands on her knees, to talk.

It was Berelain she wanted to talk about. Elayne would have welcomed the chance to vent her spleen over that one, if only Aviendha hadn’t forced her, rather annoyingly, into the position of having to defend the woman. Aviendha refused to understand why Elayne had not done something drastic to Berelain, since she wanted her out of the way. It was all but forbidden for a warrior to kill a woman not wed to the spear, but since neither Elayne nor Berelain were Maidens of the Spear, it was apparently quite all right in Aviendha’s view for Elayne to challenge the First of Mayene to fight with knives, or failing that with fists and feet. Knives were best, as she saw it. Berelain looked the sort of woman who could be beaten several times without giving up. Best simply to challenge and kill her. Or Nynaeve could do it for her, as friend and near-sister.

How could she respond to that? She didn’t like Berelain, but that was not to say she wanted to murder her! So instead of taking care of herself, or even having a nice rant about Berelain’s many failings, she spent the rest of her morning explaining to Aviendha why the First didn’t actually deserve to die. She wasn’t sure Aviendha understood—there were unasked questions in her eyes, though that was often the case, come to think of it—but at least she agreed not to take matters into her own hands.

Rather like Elayne had not.

She didn’t like to think that that was why she sought Rand out again that afternoon. It was a difficult balancing act, what she was trying to do. She needed him to see her as a woman, one who was interested in him and whom he found interesting in turn. Yet she also needed to ensure that matters between them proceeded at a decorous pace, not for proprieties sake so much as for their future. Elayne was not interested in a fling. It was a lifelong commitment she wanted, and that kind of relationship needed to be built carefully.

Aviendha was able to steer her to Dailin, who in turn was able to tell her where to find Rand. He was in the library, it turned out, doing more research on ... whichever of the hundred topics he needed to be educated on had caught his attention this time.

That suited her well. She was unceasingly pleased by the way he asked her about the governing of nations and listened to what she said. That, she wished her mother could see. More than once Morgase had laughed, half-despairingly, and told her she had to learn to concentrate. Which crafts to protect and how, and which not and why, might be dry decisions, but as important as how to care for the sick. It might be fun to guide a stubborn lord or merchant into doing what he did not want to while thinking it was his own idea, it might be warming to feed the hungry, but if the hungry were to be fed it was necessary to decide how many clerks and drivers and wagons were needed. Others might arrange it, but then you would never know until it was too late whether they had made a mistake. He listened to her, and often took her advice. She thought she could have loved him for those two things alone.

It was through one of the doors on the upper level that she entered the Stone’s windowless library, which was lit by mirrored lamps bolted to stone plinths which were spaced well away from the shelves themselves. She quickly discovered that she was not the only one ... well, stalking Rand that day. Raine Cinclare crouched not far from the door, peering down at someone on the lower level through the gaps in a railing. She’d eschewed the fine dress Rand had bought her in favour of the old ragged one that barely reached her knees. The way she was crouching was far from ladylike to begin with, but in that dress it looked positively scandalous.

She sniffed the air as soon as Elayne entered the library. Being familiar with the abilities of wolfkin—more familiar than Raine probably suspected—she knew that trying to hide her presence would be pointless, so she went and joined her.

“Raine, isn’t it? I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I am Elayne Trakand.” She was tempted to add a list of titles to her name, but stood strong against that temptation. No matter how many rivals for Rand’s affections fate put in her way, she would not let it make her one of  _ those _ nobles. Especially not after he’d sung her praises so sweetly on that matter.

“I know. Old friend. Now you want to be pack. He likes you.”

“A succinct summary. Why are you up here, instead of down with—?” she looked over the railing, following Raine’s gaze to where she assumed Rand would be ... then clenched her teeth. “Oh.”

Berelain was down there, too, perched on the very table that poor Rand was trying to work at. Distracting him from his important research with her mindless nattering. That irredeemable slattern!

“Yes. The sheslut tracked him down half an hour ago. She’s better than you’d think a city woman would be, especially since she has no friends to help.”

Elayne’s lips thinned. “No friends, has she? I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Raine nodded. She kept her hair short, which would not usually have occasioned comment from Elayne since her beloved Min did the same, but Min’s hair was still styled and combed. Raine’s was hacked tight to the skull, with stray strands sticking out here and there. It did not flatter her at all. And it was not as if the girl wasn’t pretty. If she’d only take better care of herself, she might even be beautiful. Why, her nails looked as if they hadn’t been trimmed in months! Honestly. She was wearing a leather collar, of all things. Perhaps it was the fashion where she came from, but it was hardly ladylike. Elayne was sorely tempted to make it her cause to see the wolfsister cleaned and primped like a proper woman. She was sure Raine would thank her for it in the end. But the near certainty that Raine was another of those angling for Rand’s heart kept her back.

“I haven’t heard her tell anyone about what he does, so far,” Raine said, still watching Berelain with those lambent eyes of hers. “Torean asked, but she refused. He asked her to suck him, too, but she refused again. Called her a whore after. Rhuarc likes her. Don’t know why. He despises the other nobles, but not her. Or you. If she’s working for someone, I’ll find out.”

“I see.” Elayne rather doubted Berelain was involved in any conspiracy against Rand. It was far more likely that she simply thought to use her body to entice him into doing favours for her. But it wouldn’t hurt to have a wolfsister’s sharp eyes keeping watch on her. “Keep me informed, would you?”

Raine finally turned those eyes on her. It was a bit unnerving, being studied by them. Especially when you knew that they did, in fact, see more than you wanted seen. After an awkward moment, Raine gave a single, slow nod. “You will be part of our pack, I think. You should get him to breed you soon, though. You’ll feel better after. Calmer. I know I did. You don’t need to worry; he’s very good. Considerate. Makes it his business to make sure you feel good, too. You’ll enjoy it.”

“Please stop talking,” Elayne said, barely managing to force the words out through a throat that was suddenly tight enough to strangle. The girl had no sense of propriety at all!

Those yellow eyes blinked at her in surprise. Raine sniffed again, and her surprise grew. “But you are already in heat ...”

“I will not listen to this a moment longer!” she declared as she hastened towards the nearest staircase. She hoped it didn’t look too much like a retreat, but there was only so much of such talk she could endure without her ears catching fire.

There was another reason for her embarrassment, besides Raine’s complete lack of decorum.  _ So she  _ is _ sleeping with him. Her and how many others? _ What was she to do about that? What  _ could _ she do about that?  _ Oh, Min. What did you see? And why didn’t you tell me? _

Her outburst had been heard by those below. She felt their eyes on her as she descended the winding metal stairs. Rand smiled at her approach. Berelain just stared at her from behind half-lidded eyes.

“Hard at work, Rand?” she said by way of greeting.

Berelain jumped in before he could answer, smiling a cat’s smile. “I have that effect on him.”

Elayne was not so sheltered that she missed her meaning. “A have known a lot of women of whom that might be said. They are mostly gone now.” Even as she cast her barb, her eye was drawn to the silver ring Rand wore. She knew where he’d gotten it.  _ Gone, but not always forgotten, alas _ .

Rand sighed. “I feel like I’m causing problems where there doesn’t need to be any. You two would probably get along if ...”

“If she could accept that I got there first,” Berelain finished.

Elayne scowled. “Hardly. I’ve known him much longer than you.”

“You haven’t known him at all, little girl. And there is no way you could ‘know’ him as well as I do,” Berelain said, while wearing the most scratchable smirk that Elayne had ever had the misfortune to see.

Rand winced. “Ladies—”

“Hussy! What would you know of love? Lust is the entirety of you. You have but a pair of bouncy boobs where your heart should be!”

Berelain’s brows rose coolly. “Ah. One of those are you? Do you think one cannot have feelings if one does not live for a bard’s brand of romance, with its flaking yellow paint? We cannot all be as spoiled and sheltered as you, Lady Trakand. Some of us have to survive in the real world, and deal with the predators who inhabit it.” Her smirk returned in force. “As to my breasts ... Well, I know the girl will be clueless about such things, but I wonder if you have ever indulged in it, my magnificence. I think you might enjoy how decadent it is ...”

“I ... don’t know what you mean.” Rand said, his eyes still darting between the two women. He had the look of a man watching two carts rushing towards each other in the street, watching, wanting to stop them from colliding, but knowing he could not. His wince seemed frozen on his face.

Berelain traced the sculpted line of his jaw with her finger in a way that had Elayne seething with jealousy. “Oh, use your imagination, my dear. Picture these ...” She inhaled deeply, making her bosom rise and fall. “... recall how soft and warm they are. Now imagine something very sensitive being squeezed between them ...”

Rand swallowed noisily, while Elayne stood white-knuckled and trembling nearby. What did Berelain mean, exactly? Something sensitive ... Could she be talking about his, his thing? Squeezed between—Light! How would that even work? Elayne was not as well endowed as Berelain was, but she was far from lacking in that regard. She could do it. But ...  _ No! I will not be reduced to her level! _

“Well, I can see you are quite busy with your plaything, Rand,” she bit out. “I would have thought you’d be more interested in learning, and had intended to help with your studies, but obviously you have more important things on your mind. I shall leave you to your ogling.”

He blinked at her. “But I came here to learn. You were the ones who sought me out ...”

“Stop making excuses!” she snapped as she stalked past him.

She refused to look at Berelain again, but she could just imagine the smug look on her face as she watched Elayne leave. She’d probably make good on her threat, too, and use those overgrown mammaries of hers to worm her way into Rand’s good graces The absolute hussy! And he was nearly as bad! Gaping at her in such a fascinated way.  _ I’ll wager I could make him look at me like that if I wanted to. I could. I just ... _ The thought made her heart race even faster, and warmed her loins besides. If it wasn’t for Berelain ... if she wasn’t so sure he’d compare her to that damnable lightskirt, she would probably take him as soon as she decently could. And why not? She’d already delayed so long ... and there was no knowing what the future would bring. She should make love to him now, while she had the chance. But Berelain had spoiled her best chance, and for that she would never forgive her.

* * *

It was something he should have anticipated, when he’d made the decision to stop hiding his promiscuity from the world. Had he been foolish enough to think they would all get along, like Merile and Raine did? Or had he been so caught up in his own issues that he didn’t give it enough thought? Rand honestly couldn’t remember. But Elayne and Berelain’s disagreement was making it very plain that he’d gotten himself into deeper trouble than he’d realised.

Since he couldn’t think of any way to solve that problem, he focused his attention on a different one. The books he was studying were themed around Tairen history today. More specifically, around Tear’s history with the other nations. Not Illian or Mayene—he already knew enough of their opinions of their coastal neighbours for now. It was how they’d interacted with the other nations that interested him now, and how they might be expected to interact with them again in the future.

He tried to concentrate on his work, but it was a bit ... difficult with Berelain there. She’d moved to the other side of the desk after Elayne left, and was leaning over it now, her chin resting atop a ledge made from her fingers. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, watching him with a pretty little smile on her face, waiting for him to take a look.

He stubbornly refused to.

“It’s surprising how little Ghealdan has done since it was founded,” he said in a gruff voice. “On the bigger stage, I mean. The way Tear has been fighting with its other neighbours, I would have expected Ghealdan to have gotten a taste as well.”

“Irenvelle used to be a buffer between them. Which is a big part of the reason Irenvelle no longer exists. Tear would have liked to have seized the land they left behind, I have no doubt, but were unable to. You know of the declining birth-rates, I trust?”

He nodded. Moiraine had suggested it was the Dark One’s influence, seeping out of his prison as the Seals weakened, to touch the Pattern and prevent more children from being born. It was a grim topic, but it didn’t stop Berelain from chuckling.

“It is all good people’s responsibility to see to humanity’s continuation now. We should fuck each other silly. For the Light.”

He had to look at her after that outlandish suggestion. He saw her smile widen, but that was not the focus of his gaze. His eyes were instead drawn irresistibly downwards, to the heavy breasts hanging beneath her, and the smooth valley between them where nothing now rested. He couldn’t help but remember what she’d said ...

Berelain gave an artful little gasp. “Why my Lord Dragon, you animal! Kindly stop undressing me with your eyes. I would not have my virtue called into question.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. She laughed with him, and then pressed her advantage.

“Especially when it’s your hands you should be undressing me with, if you want to make use of the assets at your disposal ...”

Rand cursed under his breath. “Would you stop teasing me? I’m supposed to be working here.”

Smiling still, Berelain got up from the table, but only long enough to sway around it and drape her arms across his shoulders. Her breath tickled his ear when she spoke. “But how can you concentrate when you are all worked up like this? As a loyal vassal, should I not attend to my lord’s needs?” She kissed the side of his neck. “If there is anything you would like me to do, you have only to say it ...”

Despite himself, his heart sped up and his breeches started feeling uncomfortably tight. He shifted in his seat, to try and get more comfortable, and felt Berelain’s soft laughter caressing his skin. It was hard to concentrate, she was right about that much. Maybe ... if it would help ... for the cause ...

“That thing you spoke of ... With your breasts. Have you ever done that before?” he grated.

More soft kisses trailed along the side of his jaw. “A lady does not kiss and tell. But if my Lord Dragon wishes to erect his mighty tower between my hills, I would be glad to help him ...”

“I think ... I think I would like that. Yes,” Rand confessed. “We should go back to my rooms.”

She laughed. “Whyever would we do that? This is an emergency, and must be addressed at once.” She knelt at his side, and silently urged him to help her move his chair around to face her.

“Here? In the library?” Rand didn’t know why that felt so wrong, only that it did.

Berelain disagreed. “Where better to learn how incomplete your life would be without me?” she said with a confident smile. He watched her undo the buttons on her dress. A sharp tug brought the front down and let her magnificent breasts pop out. He smiled to see them again, his doubts no more than a vague memory.

She traced his length with her hand through the fabric of his breeches. “You like the way they look, don’t you? You naughty boy, you. Let us see how much you like the way they feel.” She freed him easily, and stroked him with her hand, though it was hardly needed at that point. Rand’s cock was already as hard as rock.

Smiling wantonly, Berelain positioned herself between his knees, and leaned low. They both watched as she put her breasts on either side of his member, and then squeezed them together, engulfing him in her velvety softness.

A long breath sighed out of Rand. “You were right. That really does feel good.”

She laughed a delighted little laugh. “Oh, it gets better ...” Now that she had his cock trapped in place, it was his face she watched, smirking that wicked smirk of hers as she began rubbing her breasts against him, moving them up and down his length, squeezing them tight and then letting them relax a little before squeezing them again. She was all over him and, if she wasn’t careful, he would soon be all over her.

Rand saw no need to hold back just then. He couldn’t pleasure her from this position, after all. And Berelain didn’t seem to want him to, either. She looked to be getting enough of a thrill out of what she was doing, so he relaxed into it while privately resolving to make it up to her someday.

“Oh yes ... you like that, don’t you? I knew you would,” she teased.

“I do,” he had to confess. “You’re really good at it.”

She grinned. “I know.” She sped up then, rubbing her own breasts around his cock with feverish haste, forcing him closer and closer to the edge. Rand gripped the arms of the chair tight as he let her pleasure him.

_ Almost there. Almost ... _ “Berelain. I’m going to come,” he warned.

“Good. Come for me, my Lord Dragon,” she purred.

He did, his cream spurting out to stain her breasts white, ropes of it landing on her face even. She took even that without flinching, staring up at him with her big dark eyes as she milked him dry.

Rand slumped in the chair as the last waves of his orgasm washed through him. He heard a sharp, hitching breath, one that hadn’t come from the smirking, come stained woman kneeling before him. Lazily, his mind dulled by pleasure, he let his gaze roam around the library until it was drawn to a pair of golden orbs, up above them. He could barely see the girl crouched behind the railing, but he knew those eyes well. Raine. His sweet Raine. She had her hand between her legs. He hoped she’d enjoyed watching Berelain do what her more modest bosom would not allow.

“You’re a dangerous woman, Berelain sur Paendrag Paeron,” he said between breaths. “I might have a harder time ridding myself of you than I’d expected.”

She pouted at him, heedless of the come on her face. “My Lord Dragon, you wound me. Why would you ever want to part with all this? I’m all the woman you could ever need.” Looking him dead in the eyes, she scooped some of his cream from her cheek with a finger, put that finger in her mouth, and sucked it clean.

_ Burn me. I don’t know about  _ all _ the woman, but she is one  _ hell _ of a woman, that’s for sure _ .


	27. A New Path

CHAPTER 24: A New Path

Nynaeve hated to fail. And what was her block if not a failure. A failure to channel properly. So when she piled another failure to break that block on top of the failure of having one in the first place, and sprinkled it with the company of a group of women that she’d failed to protect from the Black Ajah, it made for one very miserable day.

Moiraine and Alanna’s presence was the smelly ribbon that tied it all together. They’d shown up just after breakfast, when the Accepted were all gathered in their private dining room, and announced that it was time they resumed their lessons. Dani hadn’t been the only one to object that the time for lessons was past, just the loudest, but even she had bit her tongue when Moiraine revealed her intention to teach them how to Link. Since they had proven no match for the Black Ajah one on one, she’d said, they would need to be able to pool their strength if they hoped to complete the Amyrlin’s mission. She’d done a good job of pretending not to notice Alanna’s fury at hearing the Black Ajah’s existence acknowledged publically.

The lesson had dragged on most of the day. For the others it had. Not for Nynaeve. For her it was no lesson at all. She couldn’t even see what they were doing, much less do it herself. All she could do was sit stiff-backed in her chair and brood on the Pattern’s crueller whims. Brood! Not sulk. Nynaeve never sulked.

The others looked to be having mixed success. Elayne had gotten the hang of it quickly, and asked to be excused for the rest of the day. Alanna would have refused, but Moiraine overruled her. None of them had any doubt as to where the girl had rushed off. Whenever Rand had a moment to spare these days, the Daughter-Heir just happened to be close by, to talk, or simply walk holding his arm, even if it was only from a meeting with some High Nobles to a room where others waited, or to a lightning inspection of the Defenders’ quarters. Nynaeve had noticed her tripping him into a quiet alcove or two as well, and those had only been the incidents she’d personally seen. Elayne had quite forgotten about the other Accepted and their mission in her haste to twine Rand around her finger before Berelain could. She seemed to have forgotten about Nynaeve as well. They both had.

It was Ilyena who had the hardest time mastering Linking. The Aes Sedai kept their patience when she failed over and over to open herself to them, as they put it, though Nynaeve thought she saw irritation growing on their faces as the lesson dragged on. Ilyena hadn’t wanted to come to the lesson at all, but the Aes Sedai had insisted, something they might have come to regret now. Dani, who’d picked up the trick quite easily, stood nearby with her arms folded. Whether she was worried or annoyed was hard to say.

Pedra had gotten the hand of it quickly, too, and wasn’t shy about boasting of it. She wasn’t shy about boasting of having watched that High Lord hang a few days back either. She seemed quite proud of herself for having taken it upon herself to go off and watch the execution, and seemed to expect the Aes Sedai to praise her for some strange reason. Her lips thinned when they did not. Mention of Raine having been there as well inspired Emara and the others to speculate about her strange eyes, a topic that Nynaeve would have steered well clear of even if she had been in the mood for company.

Even at the best of times, she would have been annoyed when a knock sounded on the door, and Moiraine singled her out to go and answer it, but as these were not the best of times, she stalked to the door and yanked it open ready to blister whatever fool had dared interrupt their lessons.

That the fool in question turned out to be Imoen Candwin mollified her somewhat. She’d had to turn Imoen over her knee more than once, back in Emond’s Field, and she stood ready to do it again, but ... she was a fellow Therener, and a welcome sight nonetheless.

“What are you going here, girl? Have you gotten yourself into even more trouble?”

Imoen grinned in a way that was far too reminiscent of her cousin Mat. “Not at all. But my friend here wanted to meet some of your friends, so I thought I’d introduce her, since I already know their leader, and all.”

The girl she pushed forward looked very reluctant to be there, for all Imoen’s talk of her wanting to meet them. She was a tiny thing, so short that she made Nynaeve feel tall for once. Pretty, despite the big ears. Green eyes. She thought she knew her by reputation, and could guess why she was here.

“Hello. My name’s Merile,” she said, confirming Nynaeve’s suspicions.

She lowered her voice, and spoke to the girl, one wilder to another. “If you’ve come to ask what I think you’ve come to ask, you’ve chosen a bad time. The Aes Sedai are inside.”

Merile winced, and opened her mouth, but another voice sounded before she could speak.

“We are indeed inside, and there is nothing wrong with our hearing,” Moiraine called. “To whom do you speak, Nynaeve?”

With a low sigh, and a sympathetic look for Merile, she pushed the door open.

“Ah! That one! The ungrateful little chit,” said Alanna. She surged to her feet amidst the circle of cushions on which the Aes Sedai and Accepted had been sitting, all dark fire and righteous fury. Merile quailed under her piercing stare. “Come to beg for another lesson, have you? Well, you’ll not get one! I taught you enough that your life is no longer in danger and that is all you will get from me. Or any of these others, for that matter.” She turned her glare on the Accepted. “Do you hear me? I forbid any of you to indulge this renegade’s pleas. If she wants lessons, she will get them in the White Tower and nowhere else. And hard lessons they will be, I promise you that.” The last she part she spoke at Merile, and added a wagging finger for emphasis. Moiraine watched the whole exchange with cool dispassion. It didn’t look likely that she would rush to Merile’s aid any time soon.

There were some strong women among the Accepted Nynaeve had gathered, but all of them bowed their heads to Alanna’s demands. With that being so, and as shy as the little Tinker girl appeared, she’d expected her to rush off in tears at having her hopes squashed so firmly, but Merile surprised her.

“That isn’t wise. How am I supposed to help Rand if no-one will show me how? He needs help, and you need him to fight the Dark One for you. It’s silly to leave him vulnerable.”

Aes Sedai calm or no, Alanna stared blinking at Merile for half a minute before responding. “Girl, you have not the brains the Creator gave a goose. The White Tower has toppled queens from their thrones more times that you have had hot meals. You have no comprehension of the enemy you made when you decided to run off with your little boy toy.”

Imoen, who had taken Merile’s hand while Alanna was railing at her, spoke up. “Hey! Rand’s not little. He’s huge! If you don’t see for yourself how tall he is, you sure are blind!”

“Be quiet, Imoen,” Nynaeve hissed. She didn’t much like the Aes Sedai herself, but she’d had enough run-ins with them to have learned to be wary. The last thing she wanted was to see another one of her people hurt.

Alanna tossed her dark hair back from her shoulder. “Foolish child. I was not speaking of his height. Only his character.”

Imoen glared at the Aes Sedai. “He’s worth fifty of you! And so’s Merile. I bet you’re just jealous ‘cause you know she’d be a better channeler than you!”

“Aww. You really think so?” The Tinker said, oblivious to the storm about to come crashing down on her and Imoen both.

Nynaeve jumped into the argument before Alanna could explode. “Hold your tongue, Imoen, or I’ll box your ears! Forgive her, Alanna Sedai, she’s just a foolish girl. I’ll deal with them. It wouldn’t do for you to have to call off your lessons on account of this pair of ninnies.”

She grabbed both girls, compliant Merile and squawking Imoen, and hustled them out into the corridor. Her pride quailed at having to do it, but she noised all the mealy-mouthed assurances she could as she dragged them away from the Aes Sedai. Only when they were safely out in the corridor, and had turned the far corner and passed beyond Alanna’s sight, did she let her temper flare.

“What in the Light are you thinking? Starting a fight with an Aes Sedai! Are you trying to get yourself killed!? Or worse!?”

Imoen pulled free of her grip. “She wouldn’t dare kill me. Rand would go nuts.”

“She dared hurt Rand himself,” Nynaeve bit out. “And you think she’d hesitate to hurt you because you’re his friend? Your sister really did inherit all the brains in the family.”

“Just ‘cause she reads a lot doesn’t make her smarter than me,” Imoen sulked.

“Did it sound as if I was basing my judgment on her hobbies, you witling! Light! As if I don’t have enough on my plate without having to get between you two idiots and the Aes Sedai.”

Merile had been chewing on her upper lip as she watched the two Thereners argue. When Imoen subsided into sullen silence, she spoke up. “I’m sorry if I caused any trouble. I was just looking for a teacher. I didn’t want to get anyone hurt.”

Nynaeve took her hand from her braid, surprised, not for the first time, to find it there. “You didn’t do anything wrong, girl. The Aes Sedai don’t usually visit us ... you just picked the worst possible time to ask, that’s all.”

“Do you think any of the other girls would do it anyway, despite what Alanna said?” She shuffled her feet, reluctant to continue for some reason. But continue she did. “Would you? I really would like to learn to Heal. You know. For Rand. So I could fix him if he got hurt. Using the Power, I mean, not bandages and stuff. Though ... do you use those, too?”

“I understand what you mean,” Nynaeve snapped. Hateful as she was, Alanna might not have been wrong about the goose-brained part. “I can’t teach you, though. I can’t even ... I’m not going to teach you. And I don’t think the others will either, not now.”

Merile’s girlishly thin shoulders slumped. The sight smote Nynaeve’s heart, something she was sure not to let show. The way Imoen glared at her just made it worse.

“Thanks a lot, Wisdom. Fat lot of help you were. Come on, Merile.” She stalked off with her friend trailing disconsolately behind.

Watching them go, Nynaeve was too sad for once to want to give Imoen the tongue-lashing she deserved.

“Do you wish you were her teacher?”

The voice at her shoulder made Nynaeve’s stomach turn over. She wished she had some goosemint in her belt pouch. Her nerves were frayed enough as it was, without letting herself be taken by surprise like that.

At least the apple-cheeked Domani woman who’d spoken was not one of the Aes Sedai, but Nynaeve had other reasons to want to avoid being alone with her.

“I have better things to be about than teaching a thickheaded girl.”

Theodrin only smiled at the tartness in Nynaeve’s voice. She was quite nice, really. “A thickheaded Accepted to teach a thickheaded Novice?” Usually, she was nice. “Well, once we have you where you can channel without being ready to thump their heads, you will be teaching Novices, too. And I would not be surprised if you were raised soon after, what with your strength. You know, you have never told me what your trick was.” Wilders almost always had some trick they had learned, the first unveiling of the ability to channel. The other thing most wilders had in common was a block, something they had built up in their minds to hide their channelling even from themselves. She wondered if Merile had one.

Nynaeve kept her face smooth with an effort. To be able to channel whenever she wanted. To be raised Aes Sedai. Neither would remedy her problems, but she would be able to go where she wanted then, study as she wanted without anyone telling her this or that simply could not be Healed. “People got well when they shouldn’t. I would get so mad that somebody was going to die, that everything I knew about herbs wasn’t enough ...” she shrugged. “And they got well.”

“Much better than mine.” The slender woman sighed. “I could make a boy want to kiss me, or not want to. My block was men, not anger.” Nynaeve looked at her incredulously, and Theodrin laughed. “Well, it was emotion, too. If there was a man present, and I liked or disliked him a great deal, I could channel. If I felt neither one way nor the other, or there wasn’t a man at all, I might as well have been a tree so far as  _ saidar _ was concerned.”

“How did you ever break through that?” Nynaeve asked curiously.

Theodrin’s smile deepened, but a blush stained her cheeks, too. “A young man named Charel, a groom in the Tower stables, began making eyes at me. I was fifteen, and he had the most gorgeous smile. The Aes Sedai let him sit in on my lessons, quietly in a corner, so I could channel at all. What I didn’t know was that Sheriam had arranged for him to meet me in the first place.” Her cheeks darkened more. “I also didn’t know he had a twin sister, or that after a few days, the Charel sitting in the corner was really Marel. When she took off her coat and shirt one day in the middle of my lesson, I was so shocked I fainted. But after that, I could channel whenever I wanted.”

Nynaeve burst out laughing—she could not help it—and despite her blushes Theodrin joined in without restraint. “I wish it could be that easy for me, Theodrin.”

“Whether it is or not,” Theodrin said, her laughter fading, “we will break down your block. This afternoon—”

“I’m meeting Rand this afternoon,” Nynaeve cut in hastily, and Theodrin’s mouth tightened.

“You have been avoiding me, Nynaeve. In the past week you’ve managed to wriggle out of all but three appointments. I can accept your trying and failing, but I will not accept you being afraid to try.”

“I am not,” Nynaeve began indignantly, as a small voice asked whether she was trying to hide the truth from herself. It was so disheartening to try and try and try—and fail.

Theodrin let her have no more than those few words. “Allowing that you have commitments today,” she said calmly, “I will see you tomorrow, and every day thereafter, or I will be forced to take other steps. I don’t want to do that, and you do not want me to, but I mean to break your block down. We need you at your best, and I vow that I will see you reach it.”

The calm but certain demand made Nynaeve’s jaw drop. This was the first time the other woman had spoken to her in such a manner.

Theodrin did not wait for a reply. She merely nodded as if she had received agreement, then glided off up the corridor, back to the room where the others waited. Nynaeve could almost see a fringed shawl around her shoulders.


	28. Relaxing Boundaries

CHAPTER 25: Relaxing Boundaries

Wondering whether to undo her braid, Nynaeve glowered out from under a frayed red-striped towel at her dress and shift, hanging over chairbacks and dripping on the stone floor. Another ravelled towel, striped green and white and considerably larger, served her as a substitute garment. “Now we know shock doesn’t work,” she growled at Theodrin, and winced. Her jaw hurt and her cheek still stung. Theodrin had quick reflexes and a strong arm. “I could channel now, but for a moment there,  _ saidar _ was the furthest thing from my mind.” In that drenched moment of gasping for breath, when thought had fled and instinct had taken over.

“Well, channel your things dry,” Theodrin muttered.

It made Nynaeve’s jaw feel better, watching Theodrin peer into the mirror above the washstand of her room, and finger her eye. The flesh looked a little puffy already, and Nynaeve suspected that left alone the bruise would be spectacular. Her own arm was not so weak. A bruise was the least Theodrin deserved!

Perhaps the Domani thought the same, because she sighed, “I won’t try that again. But one way or another, I will teach you to surrender to  _ saidar _ without first being angry enough to bite it.”

Frowning at the soaked garments, Nynaeve considered a moment. She had never done anything like this before. The prohibition against doing chores with the Power was strong, and with good reason.  _ Saidar _ was seductive. The more you channelled, the more you wanted to channel, and the more you wanted to channel, the greater the risk that eventually you would draw too much and Still or kill yourself. The sweetness of the True Source filled her easily now. Theodrin’s bucket of water had seen to that, if the rest of the morning had not. A simple weave of Water drew all the moisture from her clothes to fall on the floor in a puddle that quickly spread to join what the bucket had put there.

The woman was as good as her word, and had been waiting for Nynaeve outside her room that morning. Nynaeve had been as good as her word as well, of course. She’d gone to meet Rand the night before, even if she had to make up an excuse to do so. It had been a brief encounter. He’d wanted to talk about things, things that Nynaeve had no intention of talking about, so she’d stopped by just long enough that no-one could claim she’d been lying, and then escaped as quickly as she could. Rand’s exasperated sighs had chased her as she left his rooms.

“I am not very good at surrendering,” she said. Unless there was no point in fighting, anyway. Only a fool went on where there was no chance at all. She could not breathe under water, she could not fly by flapping her arms—and she could not channel except when angry.

Theodrin shifted her frown from the puddle to Nynaeve and planted fists on slim hips. “I am well aware of that,” she said in a too level tone. “By all I’ve been taught, you should not be able to channel at all. I was taught you must be calm to channel, cool and serene inside, open and utterly yielding.” The glow of  _ saidar _ surrounded her, and flows of Water gathered the puddle into a ball sitting incongruously on the floor. “You must surrender before you can guide. But you, Nynaeve ... however hard you try to surrender—and I’ve seen you try—you hang on with your fingernails unless you’re furious enough to forget to.” Flows of Air lifted the wobbling ball. For a moment, Nynaeve though the other woman meant to toss it at her, but the watery sphere floated across the room and out one of the narrow windows. Perhaps the prohibitions were not as sacrosanct to Theodrin as she’d thought.

Her room was a bit of a surprise, too. It was so much more disorganised than she’d have expected such a dignified woman to tolerate. Books and clothes and various knickknacks were scattered all over the chairs and table and even the floor. On another day she might have commented on the mess, but she hadn’t the heart for it just then.

“Why not leave it at that?” Nynaeve tried to sound bright, but she thought she failed. She wanted to channel whenever she pleased. But as the old saying went, “If wishes were wings, pigs would fly”. “No use wasting—”

“Leave that,” Theodrin said as Nynaeve started to use the weave of water on her hair. “Let go of  _ saidar _ and allow it to dry naturally. And put on your clothes.”

Nynaeve’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have another surprise waiting, do you?”

“No. Now start preparing your mind. You are a flower bud feeling the warmth of the Source, ready to open to that warmth.  _ Saidar _ is the river, you the bank. The river is more powerful than the bank, yet the bank contains and guides it. Empty your mind except for the bud. There is nothing in your thoughts but the bud. You are the bud ...”

Nynaeve let her towels fall to the floor, and stood naked in Theodrin’s room for the second time that day. On the first occasion, she’d been too shocked at being dunked to spare much thought for it. She’d just shrugged out of her dress and stood there, dripping and furious, while she towelled off. Now she found herself wondering if the Domani had watched her or not. She was watching now, but her expression gave away as little of her thoughts as any Aes Sedai’s would. She pulled her shift over her head, and returned to a semblance of decency.

Nynaeve sighed as Theodrin’s voice droned on hypnotically. Novice exercises. If those worked with her, she would have been channelling whenever she wanted long ago. She should stop this and see to what she really could do, such as nursing the other Accepted through their traumas. But she wanted Theodrin to be successful, even if it entailed ten buckets of water. Accepted did not walk out; Accepted did not defy. She hated being told what she could not do even worse than being told what she must.

Hours passed, with them now seated cross-legged on Theodrin’s bed, facing one another, hours of repeating drills that the Novices back in the Tower were probably doing right that moment. The flower bud, and the riverbank. The summer breeze, and the babbling brook. Nynaeve tried to be a dandelion seed floating on the wind, the earth drinking in spring rain, a root inching its way through the soil. All without result, or at least the result Theodrin wanted. She even suggested Nynaeve imagine herself in a lover’s arms, which turned out a disaster, since it made her think of Lan, and his utter rejection of her. Oh, he was happy to share moonlit walks on the battlements, or to eat the food she prepared with her own hands, even when she’d had to politely drive the cooks out of the kitchens to allow her time to figure out what went where. But he never gave even the slightest hint that he was willing to take their relationship beyond such friendly companionship.

It was so frustrating, which might have worked in her favour once, but every time frustration sparked anger like a hot coal in dry grass and put  _ saidar _ in her grasp, Theodrin made her release it and start again, soothing, calming. The way the woman remained fixed on what she wanted was maddening. Nynaeve thought she could teach mules how to be stubborn. She never got frustrated; she had serenity down to an art. Nynaeve wanted to upend a bucket of cold water over her head and see how she liked it. Then again, considering the ache in her jaw, maybe that was not such a good idea.

“Remain calm. Let  _ saidar _ come to you. You are a flower, opening to the sun.”

“This isn’t going to work,” Nynaeve said miserably.

“If it does not, then something else will. Do not give up,” said Theodrin, all calm support and confidence. It almost made her want to cry. She’d have preferred it if the woman had shouted and cursed at her for her failure instead of being so bloody nice about it.

Nynaeve sighed, and rested her chin in her palm. She should leave. She should go and find something useful to do. She didn’t, though. She was aware of Theodrin studying her, and it was several minutes before the Domani spoke again.

“I will apologise in advance, in case this gives offense, but you already know that we must try anything that might have a chance of breaking this block of yours, so ... Have you ever tried embracing  _ saidar _ while you were ... playing with yourself.”

Nynaeve’s jaw dropped. “What!”

Theodrin gave her an apologetic look. “As I said, I mean no offense. But you must know that such things can be very relaxing. Have you tried it?”

“Certainly not!”

She spread her hands. “Well ... you should.”

Nynaeve took a white-knuckled grip of her shift. “Right now!?”

Theodrin’s brows rose. “I was thinking it could be an exercise you tried later tonight, but if you can’t wait, I suppose you could do it now. Would you like some privacy? Or ... I ... Well, I’d be willing to help if you need it ... To, ah, lend a hand, as it were.”

She felt her face heat. “That wasn’t what I meant,” she said faintly. “And I would never ask you to do something like that. Not if you didn’t want to. Especially after what happened with ...”

“Yes. Her.” Theodrin looked away and sighed. “I do not confuse you, or any other woman, with her. I will not let her change me in such a manner.”

“I am glad to hear it. That takes impressive strength of character.”

Her sudden smile made her cheeks look even rounder. “Thank you. I really wouldn’t mind, you know ...” Whatever she saw on Nynaeve’s face seemed to embolden her, because she got up from the bed and moved around to sit behind her. Her hands rested gently on her shoulders. “Would you like me to help you to ... relax?”

Nynaeve swallowed nervously. Perhaps ... if it was just to break her block, then ... Well, there would be no harm in it. And Theodrin was such a nice woman, gentle and ... Somehow, she found herself nodding wordlessly. When the Domani’s hands stole down to tug at the hem of her shift, Nynaeve’s hands moved out of the way of their own accord.

“You are the bank,  _ saidar _ is the river,” that calm voice droned on. “It is more powerful than you, but it is you that guides it.” Her hands brushed along Nynaeve’s inner thighs. She didn’t think it was  _ saidar _ , but something was certainly stirring in her. “Relax. Let yourself go.” She did, letting herself fall back into the embrace of the woman behind her. “Open your mind ... open your everything.” Gentle fingers probed her private parts, found them wet, explored her. “Let  _ saidar _ into you.”

_ Saidar _ didn’t enter her, but something certainly did. Nynaeve shamed herself with a wanton moan when she felt Theodrin’s finger slip inside her sex.

A soft kiss graced her cheek. “Don’t tense up, Nynaeve. You are safe here. Nothing is wrong. Be the bud opening to the sun.”

She tried, she really did. She sat there, at rest in Theodrin’s arms, and let the other woman do whatever she wanted down there. It felt good to be touched, and she let it feel good. She didn’t fight it at all. Theodrin stirred her pleasure well, and once she almost thought she could feel  _ saidar _ , just for a moment, but it was only her imagination. Even this wasn’t enough.  _ Saidar _ did not come.

But Nynaeve did. She came right in Theodrin’s hand, shivering and groaning as she did. That result Theodrin could not have missed, but it was the other one that she questioned her about afterwards. The answers turned her smile rueful.

“We’ll keep trying. I have several other ideas. I don’t want you to sleep tonight. Perhaps exhaustion will work where shock has not. Any block can be broken,” she said, her voice all implacable confidence, “and I will break yours. It only takes once. One time channelling without anger, and  _ saidar _ will be yours.”

“I hope so.” Nynaeve tugged her shift back down, to hide the results of Theodrin’s touch. She considered leaving, but couldn’t help but feel that it would be kind of rude. “Ah ... Do you want me to ... attend to you now?” Theodrin’s brows rose again. “It just doesn’t seem fair, you know? You did ... all that. And I ... I wouldn’t want to leave you ... That is ... if you wanted me to, I would.” Nynaeve bit her lip. Maybe Theodrin didn’t like other women. Not everyone did, and she’d never heard any rumours of her having a pillow-friend. She felt very awkward all of a sudden. “What did you think of Marel, your friend’s twin, when she took her top off?”

She laughed softly. “She was beautiful. As beautiful as he was. And ... And this must stay between you and I, but she was quite amused by my reaction. She sought me out a few days later, and brought her brother with her ...”

“Theodrin!”

She laughed again, more raucously this time. “Oh, I was a different girl, back then. This was in the early days of my time in the Tower, when I was still Theodrin of Bandar Eban, not Theodrin of Tar Valon. I sometimes miss those days, but it is for the best, the change. There were ... problems. But to answer your question ... If you don’t mind returning the favour, I would be most grateful ...”

Nynaeve smiled. “Well, lie back then.”

She did just that, rearranging pillows and making herself nice and comfortable on the bed before pulling up her dark green skirt to reveal a pair of very long and very slender legs. Nynaeve crawled over to her, got between those legs, and tugged at her plain pantalettes. Theodrin lifted her narrow hips long enough to allow Nynaeve to remove her underwear, and then let herself relax on the bed. Exposed now, the lips of her pussy proved darker than the coppery red of the rest of her flesh. Those lips parted easily before Nynaeve’s questing fingers.

She smiled, as much at discovering evidence that Theodrin had enjoyed playing with her body earlier as at the pleased sounds her touch forced from the Domani. Liking the sound, she made it her business to hear more of it. With two fingers within and one tongue without, she had no difficulty in that. It wasn’t long before she had Theodrin gasping and moaning.

A hand came to rest atop her head, spurring her on. “You’re so much better at that than—uhnn!—than I’d expected. You always seemed such a prude ...”

It proved hard to sniff with a face full of pussy, but Nynaeve managed it anyway. A prude indeed! Just because she expected people to behave in a properly decent manner didn’t make her a prude. Just look at all the times she’d had Elayne hugging her pillow and squealing. Would a prude do that?

As punishment for her bad manners, she gave Theodrin as firm a fingering as she could. Not that she seemed to mind, though. In fact, she spread her long legs even wider, to allow Nynaeve easier access to her sopping depths.

It took her a while to get there but, in the end, Theodrin needed a pillow to hug and squeal into as well. It was with no small amount of smugness that Nynaeve listened to her lose her mind.  _ At least I didn’t fail completely today. That’ll teach her to go around calling people prudes! _

The sat together for a while afterwards, chatting about nothing in particular. Neither woman offered the other any flowery promises, or seemed to expect any, which Nynaeve found relieving. Her work had woken the ache in her jaw, though, and she couldn’t help but rub at it while bidding her friend good day, explaining that she was supposed to be helping Elayne with something this evening.

Theodrin Healed that ache before Nynaeve left, which was about the extent of her abilities in that Talent. After a moment, Nynaeve gave Healing in return. Theodrin’s eye had turned a brilliant purple, and she really hated not leaving it to remind the woman to have a little care what she did in the future, but turnabout was fair in that regard, too. Theodrin’s gasping shivers as the flows of Spirit, Air and Water ran through her were some recompense for Nynaeve’s own gasps when that bucket had emptied over her. Of course, she shivered too, at her own Healing, but you could not have everything.


	29. Spreading Fire

CHAPTER 26: Spreading Fire

Rand had a lot of important work to be getting on with. He had a nation to rule as well, though even that was a secondary concern when weighed against the need to formulate a plan of action regarding the prophecies. Which was why he felt so guilty, during the long days in Tear, at realising he was spending so much time in bed with someone or other instead of doing what he should have been doing.

Feeling guilty didn’t stop him, though. It wasn’t that he couldn’t say no, so much as that he didn’t want to. He knew he wasn’t doing a very good job of being the Dragon Reborn, but when Berelain was swaying towards him for another of her “accidental” encounters, or Elayne was popping up to link arms and chat while he was on his way to one meeting or another, it was hard to keep his thoughts from straying away from work and towards soft, beautiful curves ...

It was rare that one of those two would show up without the other one arriving soon after. It could have been a coincidence, but he doubted it. They didn’t like each other, that much was obvious. It put him in a difficult position, but one he’d been in before. No-one had gotten along with Morrigan, yet he’d still loved her. Recalling how that had ended made him re-examine his relationship with Berelain. She was probably trouble. Bad news, as they said. He should put an end to their affair before it went too far.

Unfortunately, since such thoughts occurred to him while she was straddling him in a chair in his office, her full breasts and long black hair flying wildly with each bounce, they proved to be thoughts without weight, no matter how true.

He sent her away afterwards, citing his need to work without distraction. In an effort to avoid any hurt feelings, he assured her that he intended to force the High Nobles to sign a treaty with Mayene. Her smile was dazzling, but not dazzling enough to stop him from wondering if she thought she was manipulating him into arranging the treaty. It was entirely possible, but her efforts were unnecessary. Even if he’d never gotten involved with her, Rand would have made the Tairens sign that treaty. Their bullying of Mayene was simply not right.

He did indeed meet with some High Nobles in his chambers that afternoon. They talked, they argued, and they balked. As usual. So he issued his orders, and loomed over their shoulders as they signed the papers Zofia brought them, while turning a deaf ear to their grumbling.

It wasn’t the only encounter he had with them during those days. He startled them by appearing at secret gatherings of three or four that Thom had ferreted out, just to reiterate some point from his last commands. They smiled and bowed and sweated and wondered how much he knew. A use had to be found for their energy before one of them decided that if Rand could not be manipulated, he must be killed. Whatever it took to divert them, he would not start a war. If he had to confront Sammael, so be it; but he would not start a war.

Not all the Tairens were as bothersome as the High Nobles. He had no complaints about the twins servants Thom had picked out. They seemed loyal and competent. And Zofia proved Light sent. So much so that she actually contributed to Rand’s feelings of inadequacy. Zofia herself was never anything but supportive—if she had any doubts, she kept them to herself. No, it was just that seeing her organise his affairs with such implacable competence highlighted how distractible he had gotten, and made him resolve to be as stern as she was.

But then Saeri would look at him with those big blue eyes of hers and say, “Wilt thou have me?” and the next thing he knew he was back in bed, despite it being the middle of the day.

There were other Tairens he might be able to rely on, too. Maybe. Zofia seemed to have a solid working relationship with the Captain of the Stone, as well as with the majhere. She’d obviously met them before, and seemed to respect them. That counted with Rand. One of the junior officers, Doncari Astalonia, felt like someone Rand could trust as well. He certainly wasn’t opposed to the Aiel, if the way he’d been winking at Jec was anything to go by.

And there was Nalia, he supposed. She certainly wanted to help, even if she had no idea how to. After the third time she approached him, just to reaffirm her support, Rand took to avoiding her as much as he could. He had more than enough distractions.

Zofia didn’t just organise Rand’s official meetings, she took it upon herself to organise his private dalliances as well. That caused a scene with Nynaeve, whose furious demands failed to cow the secretary as surely as Alanna’s had when last she’d tried to force her way into Rand’s company. Alanna’s threats hadn’t made Zofia back down, and Nynaeve’s protestations of having known Rand as long as he’d been alive didn’t faze her either.

Nynaeve turned her fury on Rand afterwards. She hadn’t liked being kept waiting in the anteroom one bit. He offered to make it up to her, which made her narrow her eyes and demand to know what kind of “making up” he was thinking of. A slow smile, and arms open to her embrace, had only made the former Wisdom reach for her braid, somewhat predictably.

Once her tirade her run its course, she told him what she had come for. One of the Accepted was being annoying, so she had gone to the one place she was sure the woman would not follow. Rand’s rooms. Theodrin was whom she was avoiding, apparently. Rand didn’t know much about her, but Nynaeve’s efforts to paint her as a villain weren’t overly convincing.

“A fine lot of good she’s done so far. Buckets of water. No sleep. What next? The woman has as good as said she meant to try anything and everything until she finds what works. Anything and everything takes in too much to my way of thinking,” Nynaeve complained.

When he asked what she was talking about, she told him she was trying to find a way to break her block, so she could channel at will. She looked upset, and Rand dearly wanted to hug her. But after the last time ... He held himself back, for her sake, while wishing he could hold her, for her sake.

Once she’d let herself out, he went and had a word with Zofia. It was good that she was willing to guard his door like that. He was already half in love with her for telling Alanna to take a walk off the pier. But he couldn’t have his loved ones being made to wait for an appointment as though they were no more than vassals. They arranged a list instead, of people who were to be allowed into his company at any time. Nynaeve’s name was the first one added. Zofia complimented him on his fortitude then, at being willing to put up with her. His stamina, she said with an arched brow, was already beyond question.

Loyal as she was, Zofia wasn’t shy about making suggestions. She pointed out that all the most powerful organisations and nobles in the world, and every throne, employed a network of spies to keep watch on their rivals, and urged him to do the same, while taking steps to identify the agents that they had surely set to watch him by now. Or, as she put it, “I think we should send a few dogs to sniff out enemy spies.”

She glanced at Raine, who was curled up on the couch in Rand’s office at the time, when she said it. He hid his surprise as best he could. Did she know about the wolfkin? And how did she not know that Thom was already putting together the very spy network she’d suggested, given their history? Perhaps she didn’t know the gleeman as well as he’d thought. Or perhaps Thom was just a more subtle man than Rand had given him credit for being.

Thom’s spies were a great help, especially Imoen. He knew the gleeman was working with people besides her—Dena almost certainly helped him, for one—but she was the one that was trusted to pass on his messages to Rand.

She was also one of those whose name went on the admittance list, which was what led to her walking in on him and Saeri in the aftermath of their latest tryst.

She was quick to close the door, though what was going on between them all was hardly a secret anymore. “Well, aren’t you the popular one?” she said with a smirk. “Taking advantage of your maid again, I see.”

Saeri stretched under the covers. “Duty and desire are one.”

Imoen laughed. “There you go again, always making everything so serious, so grave!”

Saeri only nodded solemnly. “I was born to speak all matter and no mirth.”

“Well, we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?” Imoen replied as she approached the bed. She was already undoing the ties on her favourite pink dress.

Rand watched her strip to her skin, allowed his eyes to roam all over her fresh young body. Her slender hips, her perky breasts. By the time he saw the cat’s smile she was smiling, he was already hard again, despite what he’d just done with Saeri. Instead of waiting for her to join them, he tossed off the covers and rushed to meet her.

“Thou art desperate!” Saeri gasped.

“Heh, I ... or do I need to say ‘Ti?” Imoen giggled between kisses. “I mean if ‘you’ is ‘thou’ ... or was it ‘thee’? Uhm ... in any case I’m not desperate. I’m excited!”

She was, he found, when she parted her legs before his questing fingers.

The night was late enough by then. He hadn’t gotten as much done as he should—again—but it couldn’t hurt to indulge himself now. Could it? Tossing his doubts aside, Rand crushed Imoen to his chest and leant low to kiss her soundly.

“Are you staying tonight?” he asked roughly, when he was done.

Red-faced, she smiled up at him. “You bet! We’ll nick ourselves a whole purse of fun before the night is through!”

It was a problem that she was so much smaller than he was. But her being so much lighter offered an easy solution. He took her by the waist and easily picked her up. Her arms went around his shoulders as he brought her stiff little nipple to his mouth and began to suck on it.

Her legs dangled uselessly in mid air as they stood at the foot of the canopied bed, and suddenly Rand didn’t want to lie down. He liked how easy it was to lift her, and she seemed to like it, too, and ...

“Hold on the rail,” he told her. “If you need to.”

Wide eyed, Imoen looked from him to the rail that supported the canopy, then reached up to take hold of it. With her arms raised like that, her breasts were fully displayed to him. With her arms raised like that, it almost looked as if she was surrendering herself to him.

Heart pounding, Rand moved the girl’s hips over his straining erection, and lowered her slowly down upon himself. Imoen gasped out her pleasure, and threw back her head, her unbraided brown hair flying, but managed to maintain her grip on the rail.

Up and down he lifted her, rubbing her tight little pussy along his cock, while her feet kicked at nothing, and her sweet cries filled the room. She felt sinfully good, but he was careful not to go too deep inside her. Past experience had taught him how much she preferred, so that was what he gave her. And she trusted him to do it, too. There was no fear in her eyes when she looked at him as he moved her along himself, only trust. Trust and love.

Imoen came long before he did. She almost lost her grip on the rail that first time. He was glad she didn’t. He would have caught her, of course, but the way she was shivering in his grip, and way she made him shiver in hers, was too sweet to give up.

She kept coming, too, for Rand was already drained from making love to Saeri, and took a long time to reach his own climax. By the time he came close, Imoen skin was shining brightly in the lamplight, so covered in sweat was she. Her cheeks were as red as he’d ever seen them, her nipples so stiff that he worried they might hurt her. She hung limp in his grip by then, having abandoned the rail to drape herself upon his shoulders after the third orgasm. Or was it the fourth?

What did it matter? That she had enjoyed herself was the important thing. He’d certainly enjoyed himself, and enjoyed it even more when, after lifting her up and down himself a few more times, he finally exploded inside her, filling his Theren girl with his hot seed.

She groaned when she felt him coming inside her, and planted soft little kisses on the side of his neck. Those kisses spoke of her exhaustion, so it was no surprise that she just lay there, breathing deeply, when he carefully laid her down on the bed.

Rand sat on the edge of the bed, catching his breath. His arms hurt a little from lifting her like that for so long, but only a little.

“I want you to do that to me,” Saeri said suddenly. He blinked. He’d been so fascinated by Imoen, that he’d almost forgotten the other girl was there. She was sitting up in bed, visibly aroused. She’d obviously been watching them. Her raised hands silenced him. “I dost not mean right now. Thy needs thy rest. But some day. That looked most pleasurable.”

“It was,” Imoen groaned. “It is. It’s as if we’ve always been together. Forever and always.”

“It felt great for me as well,” he told her with a smile.

“’Course it was! You can’t resist me. Not now that you’ve finally realised how magnificent I am. Imoen the Magnificent, right under your nose all that time, and you didn’t notice her. You woolhead, you.”

She had her eyes closed, and the soft smile on her face took any sting out of her words. “Imoen the what?” he said with a soft laugh.

She giggled “Imoen the Magnificent! It’s the perfect name for me, someone who has so many talents!”

He laughed louder then, and shook his head. “Magnificent? You’re okay, but I wouldn't go that far,” he teased.

Imoen’s eyes snapped open. “OKAY!?”

“Magnificent seems a fair description to me,” Saeri said sweetly.

“See! She gets it,” said Imoen. “Perhaps you don't remember how many times they showed you the evidence for a prank you never committed, or the times your possessions would go missing only to be found somewhere else, or the time you dropped your trousers in the middle of the Winespring Inn’s common room? I’m sure almost everyone remembers that. The Village Council got a good laugh, as did many of those ... er ... younger-than-a-one-hundred-years-old-supper girls in the Women’s Circle! Even that one you sorta had a crush on ... um ... what’s her name? Ah, doesn't matter now. I got you. What would you call all that, if not Magnificent?”

Rand chuckled. “Unnecessary? You could have just told me you liked me.”

Imoen blushed. She rolled over onto her belly, hiding her breasts from his gaze but revealing her pretty little bottom. “That’s not ... that’s not why I ... Shut up! I am so Magnificent!”

He laid his hand upon her head, and mussed up her hair for her. “You are.”

His assurances appeased her enough that she was willing to crawl under the covers with him and Saeri. The two girls used his chest as a pillow that night, and he woke the next morning feeling thoroughly refreshed.

Once more he resolved to get some work done, and hurry things along. It had been two weeks since the Stone fell. The Forsaken had to have heard about it by now. They knew where to find him. Would knowing he had  _ Callandor _ be enough to scare them off? He wasn’t sure, but whether it would or not, he knew he had to move faster.

Forming his plan of action occupied most of his time not given over to hounding the High Nobles or meeting his lovers. Bits and pieces came from the books he had the librarians bring to his rooms by armloads, and from his talks with Elayne. Her advice was certainly useful with the High Nobles; he could see them hastily reassessing him when he displayed knowledge of things they themselves only half-knew. She stopped him when he wanted to give her the credit.

“A wise ruler takes advice,” she told him, smiling, “but should never be seen to take it. Let them think you know more than you do. It will not harm them, and it will help you.” She seemed pleased he had suggested it, though.

He was not entirely sure that he was not still putting off some decision, at least, because of her. They met as often as they could, but always when he was out and about in the Stone, never in his chambers. He kissed her often and well, combed his fingers through her hair, and ran his hands over the smooth curves that her dress ever hid from his eyes, but she never let him do more than that. She was a proper lady in that regard, though a proper lady who bit her underlip hard and clutched him to her when he dared to cup her breast in his hand and give it a gentle squeeze. He could feel her heat even through the silk she was wearing. He wanted her badly, and admitted to himself that he had wanted her for a long time. But he never tried to make her do anything she didn’t want to do.

Three days of planning, of trying to puzzle out what was still missing. Something was. He could not react to the Forsaken; he had to make them react to him. Once he moved, he suspected even their brief moments together would end. Three days of stolen kisses, when he could forget he was anything but a man with his arms around a woman. He knew it for a foolish reason, if true, but in those moments alone he could forget decisions, forget the fate awaiting the Dragon Reborn. More than once he considered asking Elayne to stay with him, but it would not be fair to raise her expectations when he had no idea what he wanted from her beyond her presence. If she had any expectations, of course. Much better just to think of them as a man and a young woman walking out together on a feastday evening. That became easier; sometimes he forgot she was the Daughter-Heir, and he a shepherd. But he wished she were not going. Three days. He had to decide. He had to move. In a direction no-one expected.

If Elayne was chaste, Berelain was anything but. More than once she led him into an empty room for a quick fuck, or so she could suck him off. He let her do it, too, even while telling himself that he should send her away, back to Mayene where she’d be safe. And where he’d be safe from her.

He wasn’t the only one with doubts. “Why do you like her?” Nici demanded after one such encounter. “She has probably taken most of the men in this Hold into her blankets.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he told her. He suffered under no delusion that Berelain was faithful, or that she hadn’t known many other men before him, but there was no need to exaggerate.

The young Maiden pouted at him. “Well, how do you know how many people she has been with?”

They were in a more populous section of the Stone that time, where a lot of the nobles, including the Lords and Ladies of the Land, gathered to make deals and plot plots. His gaze fell on High Lord Torean, who was lecturing his daughter on something or other. Nalia listened to it all with a stubborn look on her face.

“I know enough to know that there are plenty in the Stone who wish she was as easy as you make her sound,” he muttered. Berelain had told him enough of her time as an “honoured guest” here—a captive in truth. She didn’t want to tell him whose patronage she’d won for protection or what she’d done to win said patronage, and he hadn’t the heart to demand it, but he knew whose attention she’d managed to avoid.

Rand’s own efforts to avoid attention were even less successful. So much so that he thought he might have to take lessons from Berelain as well as Elayne. She’d already given him one good idea. Mayene, it emerged, had a law whereby every man between the ages of fifteen and fifty was obliged to spend at least one week of every year training with their standing army—the Winged Guards. One week wasn’t much, to Rand’s way of thinking, but having more than just the professional soldiers to call on would be very welcome in the days to come. He found himself wishing more nations had such a law, and wondering if it was not too late to make some changes.

He ran into Tam on the way back from that meeting. His father was carrying the sword Rand had bought him. It was the finest Tairen steel, and engraved with the Red Eagle of Manetheren, but even as he’d commissioned it he’d known it would be poor compensation for the Power-wrought blade he’d gotten destroyed at Falme. He brought word from Avaleen, and Rand resolved to meet with her, but there were other things to be done first.

Tam had thoughts of his own regarding expanding the army. Not liking how crowded the corridors were, and not wanting to fuel the rumours of war, they ducked into a private room to discuss it. A rather fancy room, too. A dining hall of some kind, with a very long, very polished table along which silver candlesticks had been precisely spaced. Tam didn’t want anything to do with the job himself, it emerged, though he agreed that increasing the size of the army was a good idea.

That wasn’t the only thing that emerged, or that increased in size. He waved Rand off when asked if he was feeling okay, since it had been a while since he’d been relieved. He objected half-heartedly, too, when his son knelt before him and unbuckled the fine leather of his new swordbelt. But his objections died when Rand took his cock in hand and wrapped his lips around it. He sucked slowly, and even saw fit to use his tongue just the way Berelain had, while savouring the feel of his father growing thicker and longer within his mouth.

They were very quiet, and very alone, and when Tam was done Rand was very sure to swallow every last drop. He didn’t like the taste much, but he liked that he had made his father feel good. Everything was back in place, and the two men were utterly composed, when they emerged from the room to rejoin Rand’s ever-present and by now familiar escort. No-one suspected they had done anything but discuss Rand’s plans, and neither of them referenced what had happened when they parted company. By now, they were both experts at being discreet.

His certainly of that was shaken briefly, when Branwen spoke up while they were on their way to see Avaleen.

“I heard you moaning,” she said. At his wide-eyed look, the Maiden hastened to clarify. “The other morning, when you slept so late and I came to wake you. You were moaning in your sleep. It might be that I am intruding, Rand al’Thor, but do you have nightmares?”

“My dreams ...” He had been going to tell her that his dreams were private, but the lie died on his tongue. His dreams hadn’t been private for a long time. He’d managed to turn that to his advantage once, come to think of it ... “Dreams are dangerous,” he whispered. “Very dangerous.”

Branwen was watching him closely. “You look troubled; you have ill dreams. Even now I see pain in your eyes. The Wise Ones often speak of dreams. What happens there is as important, in some ways, as what happens when we are awake.”

Once, Rand would have scoffed at that. But as the idea percolated in his mind, he started to fear that she was more right than she knew.

“Do you wish to speak of your dreams? It is often tedious when people do, but I volunteer to listen, and vow not to snore too loudly!” Branwen said. Some of the other Aiel laughed at that, though Nici just stared at her suspiciously.

Rand just shook his head. “A kind offer. But no thank you.” It could work. It could also make things even worse ...

So it was that he came to the spacious rooms that he’d had Zofia have the majhere set aside for Avaleen’s use. He knocked on the door, and she answered in person, looking as miserable as he’d ever seen her look.


	30. Liberty Lost

CHAPTER 27:  _ Liberty _ Lost

“Tam said you wanted to speak to me,” Rand said. Avaleen opened the door to let him, and the two Aiel—Urien and Branwen—who shadowed him, into her rooms. He saw right away that she wasn’t alone. Her family were there with her, sat around the table of her anteroom, each looking as solemn as she did. “Has there been a problem with the money?” He’d been trusting her to see his people given a decent wage, though he knew he’d have to find someone else to take care of that soon. There were other things that deserved her attention more.

She shut the door behind him. “Nothing I can’t handle. The banks are reluctant to allow an Atha’an Miere to become one of their core lenders, but I still think they are the best place to start.” She looked away. “You might have an easier time getting them to work with—or for—you if you had a local representative.”

Rand hesitated. His first impulse was to tell her he’d never do that, simply because he thought it unfair of the Tairens to refuse her for not being one of them. But practicality stilled his tongue. He was the Dragon Reborn. He would have to be prepared to do whatever was necessary to ensure that the Light won the Last Battle. Since finances were likely to play a part in that, concern over Avaleen’s feelings could not be what made his decision here.

“Keep trying, for now,” he said slowly. “If they prove too stubborn to see sense, I’ll get someone else to be our representative. Just for them, though. You’ll remain in charge of the whole thing.”

Sunlight coming through the windows made her jewellery twinkle prettily, though her grimace somewhat spoiled the effect. “I’m sorry there hasn’t been much progress so far. They’re stubbornness, as you call it, has left me becalmed when I wanted to race on the wind.”

“Well, in the meantime you might want to see about getting as much control as you can over the mines, blacksmiths, weapon sellers and anything else related to a military build-up. That business is about to become very important, and very profitable.”

She smiled, and raised her brow at him. “Inside information?”

“Very much so,” he said. He didn’t want to elaborate any more than that. The fewer people who knew his plans, the fewer who might try to thwart them. He frowned. “If you haven’t been able to get the banks to cooperate, why did you want to see me?”

Her heavy sigh was echoed by the other three members of the Gronpre family.

“I have finished transferring command of  _ Liberty _ to his new Sailmistress. Jacaline says she will not delay sailing any longer, for she needs to bring news of what has happened here to the Mistress of the Ships,” Avaleen said.

And they would be leaving without her. No wonder she was so miserable. He didn’t know what to say.

“And they will be leaving us behind,” Asheron said bitterly.

“I am the only one who has to stay. You can remain with  _ Liberty _ if you want. He belongs to our clan,” Avaleen pointed out. It had the sound of something she’d said before, and was tired of having to repeat.

“Don’t be silly, cousin. We aren’t going to leave you here alone,” Geraldeen said. Agatay just grunted his agreement.

That was good of them. Especially since Rand did not intend to stay in Tear for too much longer. Not that any of them seemed to think his presence mattered when it came to whether Avaleen was alone or not. He supposed that would always be so, given how they had met. Whatever else he was, or became, he’d always be the penniless man who’d whored himself for passage to them.

Avaleen went to stand behind her cousin’s chair. She leant down and kissed her cheek. “I don’t know what I would do without you all.”

“Neither do I,” Asheron muttered.

He cringed as his grinning sister mussed up his curls for him, and protested that he wasn’t a child anymore, at which their father scoffed loudly. Rand watched it all, feeling very much the outsider.

“Perhaps Tam misunderstood the urgency,” he ended up saying. “I’ll let myself out.”

“I’m going to see them off,” Avaleen said quickly, while her brother pushed her hands away. “I thought ... I thought you might come with me. Is there no-one you want to say goodbye to? It would be nice to ... I mean, I’d like it if ... you might like it if ...” She sighed again. “Perhaps it was a foolish thing to ask.”

It was. The last thing Rand wanted was to see the crew of the  _ Liberty _ again, and risk their mentioning what he’d done where anyone could hear. Despite Avaleen’s misgivings, he was relieved to hear they’d be leaving Tear soon. Was that selfish of him?

“It was,” Agatay agreed, though not for the same reason. “Profit is more important than family to some. The sooner you learn that the better, daughter.”

The old man didn’t look at him as he said it, or afterwards, though the way he clenched his jaw made it plain that he could feels Rand’s stare. He had no doubt the words were directed at him.

“We should go soon. Jacaline will want to catch the tide, and we shouldn’t make the carriage drivers I’ve arranged wait too long,” said Geraldeen.

“They’re leaving today?” Rand asked.

Avaleen nodded. “The news they carry is too important to wait any longer. I would have gone even earlier, if I had still been Sailmistress. I’m surprised she waited this long. I know Jacaline has hungered for her own command. I thought she would have jumped at the chance to be rid of me.”

“Her ambition does not outshine her sense of kinship,” said Geraldeen. “She will make a good Sailmistress. At least you know you are leaving him in good hands.”

Her smiling reassurances didn’t brighten her cousin’s dour expression. “I’ll miss her. I’ll miss all of them.”

Agatay rose from his chair and went to the door, where the two Aiel stood watch. “Then you should tell them that while you still can.”

The others rose as well, and followed him out. Avaleen trailed after them reluctantly, her big brown eyes lingering on Rand. “I need to go and face them,” she said. “Perhaps we can discuss those investments when I get back?”

She had plenty of company. She didn’t need him. He told himself that as he thought longingly of his now familiar rooms, or of anywhere in the world that wasn’t the deck of the  _ Liberty _ . She was at the door when he spoke. “We can talk about it on the way to the docks.”

He was unable to keep the reluctance from his voice, and she was too smart not to notice it. “No, no. There’s no need for you to come. I shouldn’t have asked, really. It was selfish of me.”

Rand huffed a bitter laugh. He was selfish not to want to go. She was selfish to want him to. Nothing was ever simple between them.

“They aren’t just a crew; they are your extended family. I know that much about Sea Folk ships. This is important to you. What kind of a ... whatever I am would I be if I didn’t go with you?”

There was a sadness in her smile. “A ‘whatever I am’? This is the kind of thing a boyfriend would do, if you ask me ...”

He stared at her for a long moment, then murmured, “I’d like it if you thought me so.”

When he met her at the door, she interlinked her arm with his. The memory of the smile she’d given him then warmed him as they made their way through the Stone’s labyrinthine corridors. It wasn’t enough to smother his reluctance, or to make him dread the meeting any less, but it was warming, at least.

They went by carriage, the Sea Folk being unfamiliar with horses and reluctant to brave the mucky streets of the Maule in their bare feet. Any hopes Rand had of anonymity were, of course, scuppered by the Aiel and Defenders who came with them. Agatay and the rest were surprised into silence by his company, and Rand was reluctant to speak his mind or heart in front of them, so it fell to Avaleen to carry the conversation as they rattled and then slid their way along Tear’s streets.

It emerged that she’d been speaking to some of the crewmembers about staying to help her with her work, but had had little success. The only one who’d volunteered was too young, and the girl didn’t have the kind of skills she needed, besides, so she’d turned them down. She was touched that they’d offered, though.

He wondered if the volunteer had been anyone he’d known. Other than Avaleen, he hadn’t exactly made any friends on the  _ Liberty _ . There had been a young sailor named Jimena who’d been nice to him, and whom he’d thought he might have been able to make friends with had things went differently, but that was in the past now.

But the past could still haunt you, no matter how hard you tried to put it behind you. As Rand found when he stepped down from the carriage and got a good luck at the  _ Liberty _ in its dock. It was a beautiful ship, sleek and two masted, but the sight of it made his stomach roil as though he’d seized  _ saidin _ . He almost did seize it, in fact, so exposed and threatened did he feel in that moment.

Feeling awful at returning here was natural, though. And sane. Wanting to sink the ship was not. He told himself that very firmly, and refused to take hold of the One Power.

The Defenders had ridden alongside the carriage, but the Aiel made the journey on foot. Keeping up didn’t seem to have tired Urien and the others at all. The ship itself caused more than one Aiel jaw to drop, however.

“I have never seen anything quite like that,” said Lidya, staring. “The other ... ships ... we saw on our way here were tiny in comparison.”

Avaleen spared the Maiden a wary glance. She was often wary of the Aiel, he’d noticed. All of the Sea Folk seemed to be. But she had more important things to concern herself with just then, so she swayed past Lidya with that hip-rolling walk of hers and made her way up the gangplank to  _ Liberty _ ’s deck. Her kin followed close behind, but Rand held back. Maybe it would be enough to have come this far. He’d done the decent thing, and shown his support. Did he really have to go up there with her?

“I share your reluctance, Rand al’Thor,” the watching Urien said. “The crossings we made during our search were not enjoyable. But life is a dream from which we all must wake before we dream again.”

“I’d almost rather wake from this one, than go up there,” Rand muttered.

Nici looked aghast. “No, killing yourself is not an option.”

“I’m not planning to do it,” Rand sighed with no little exasperation. “Not anymore.” He had too many duties to attend to. He could not afford to do what he knew he should, to avoid doing what the taint had made his predecessor do. It was a terrible duty, that. To have to do something monstrous in order to prevent something monstrous. You were damned no matter what you did. And here was another terrible duty before him, one at which Rand dragged his feet like some sullen child who didn’t want to do his chores.  _ Get a hold of yourself, al’Thor _ .

Firming his jaw, Rand strode off towards the gangplank. The Aiel came with him, even Nici, and Captain Astalonia, after a moment’s hesitation, came along as well, with a pair of Defenders at his shoulders. He was almost dark enough to pass for an Atha’an Miere himself but, when they gained the deck, he stared just around just as wide-eyed as any of the Aiel did.

The Sea Folk wore loose bright pantaloons, often made of silk, with gold jewellery on their faces and dark tattoos on their arms. Men and women went barefoot, with the men going bare-chested besides. Rand had seen it all before, though he couldn’t fault the others for staring at the outlandish display. He’d done the same not so very long ago.

The arrival of so many armed people was cause for muttering among the crew, and hard looks that said the Cargomaster should order the ship’s armoury unlocked at once. Agatay being so unconcerned was enough to make most of the crew subside, but not enough to inspire them to be welcoming. He and Avaleen were off speaking to their replacements, stocky Jacaline and ...  _ Burn me. Not him _ .

The  _ Liberty _ ’s new Cargomaster was a very tall, grey-haired man whose promotion had not done anything to rid his face of its dour cast. Rand knew him. He knew him far better than he wanted to. Sten had made it a point to make sure that the shame of what he’d had to resort to did not escape Rand’s awareness, while making use of his services.

So long as he was with Avaleen, Rand was reluctant to approach. It was a common feeling during that awkward reunion. The Aiel and Defenders stood at Rand’s back, staring about them but saying nothing. The Sea Folk did a good bit of staring of their own, at the Aiel more than at the Defenders, who they had presumably seen on previous visits to Tear. But it was Rand who got the most stares, especially from people he’d known before the fall of the Stone.

Had they heard what he was by now? Did they recognise  _ Callandor _ , hanging from his hip? The distance they kept told him they must. Even Ala, who’d been friendly with him even before he’d started working, kept a healthy distance between them now, only looking at him out of the corner of her eyes when she looked at all. Young Prada, who’d been one of his more pleasant clients, ducked back into the forecastle as soon as he glanced her way. Others, like the ever-nasty Margaret glared at him as though his change in station was some kind of personal affront to her. That was one person he’d like to forget ever having been intimate with. Jimena was one of those who refused to meet his eyes. She walked the deck with her head lowered, frowning at the planking as she went, and then scampered up the rigging to the crow’s nest even faster than usual.

It was very strange. He’d anticipated having difficulty maintaining eye contact, but in his unpleasant imaginings on the way down here it had been he that kept looking away in shame, not them. Even more strangely, the few who were willing to approach him were among those who’d had little good to say to him during his stay.

Of those, it was the younger who led the way, rushing ahead of her concerned looking master. Vicky was a short and skinny girl, and no-one’s idea of a threat, but she advanced with such aggression that the Aiel moved to block her path even so.

She glared up at Urien, either not recognising him as an Aiel or not caring. “You’re in Vicky’s way! Move it!”

“It’s alright. I know her,” Rand said. “She’s loud but she’s not as terrible as she sounds.”

Vicky turned her glare on him instead. “I am so terrible!”

Rand, who had been trying to help rather than insult, decided it would be best to say nothing more. Or try to, at least. Which proved hard, for she began pestering him with yet more of her questions just as soon as Urien stepped aside to let her pass.

“Why do you have fancy clothes now? And a crew? Did you come back to see me?” That last one was more difficult to answer than the others, to his surprise. There was a look in her big, dark eyes when she’d said it, one that told him he should be very careful how he answered. Besides, it would be best to get the confession out of the way first, so she could flee his company.

“I am the Dragon Reborn. I control the Stone of Tear now. These are my guards.”

Vicky didn’t flee, she just stood there blinking at him, her mouth hanging open. “You are ... him!?” She seemed to shrink at his nod, crossing her arms, and looking away at the city stretching to the horizon beyond him. “I heard that the new leader of these shorebound had your name, but I thought it was someone else. Shorebound don’t all have unique names, do they?”

“No, of course not. There must be a hundred Jaims back in the Theren. At least.”

“As coincidences go, it was one too unlikely for me to believe, unlike my young charge.” It was her approaching master who spoke, a tall, elegant woman named Ororo din Munrow whose white hair belied her smooth skin. She looked at Rand knowingly. “But then, I knew at least one of your secrets already.” He nodded, but said no more on that topic, not with so many people standing within earshot. He’d given his word. “It is still strange to think of you commanding Tear. How are you finding the change in circumstances?”

“Difficult. There a lot of people with a lot of needs. The High Nobles haven’t been shy about putting their boots on their people’s necks. They still aren’t, but I find myself well positioned to stop them.”

Ororo nodded approvingly, but Vicky’s reaction was almost the complete opposite. “Don’t do that! Weak people get killed. If you try to save them, you’ll get killed, too. You don’t want that, do you? You shouldn’t! Vicky certainly doesn’t. But you’re in danger now. They’ll be after you. If you don’t want to get killed, you kill before you get killed. Remember that. You need to be strong!”

“Enough of that, child,” Ororo said sternly.

Vicky shook her head, her wild hair swaying with the motion. “But it’s true! If you are weak, you will die! I do not want you to die, Rand! Be strong! Be ruthless!”

“I’ll bear it in mind,” Rand said insincerely. Vicky’s attitude wasn’t exactly new to him, but he’d never heard her express her beliefs so passionately before. Not knowing how to respond, he looked to Ororo for guidance, only to find her frowning down at her apprentice. Those full lips did not—could not—thin, but her downturned mouth made plain her disapproval.

“That is quite enough out of you, child. Report to the aft. We will speak of this in private,” the Windfinder commanded. Vicky looked back and forth between her and Rand, visibly stricken. Her hesitation did not please Ororo, whose snapped, “Now!” made the girl jump and rush off as told.

Rand didn’t understand why Vicky was so much more aggressive that the other Sea Folk women. He suspected there was a story there, but it was not one that she’d chosen to share with him. Whatever her reasons, it was a relief that she’d left before saying anything about his activities when he’d last been onboard this ship.

He wasn’t sure why Ororo was lingering behind, now that her apprentice had left. He had barely spoken to her at all during the journey to Godan. The Windfinder had a secret to keep, one not very dissimilar to the one Rand had been keeping at the time, and so kept her distance from any outsiders who took passage on  _ Liberty _ . But they knew each other’s secrets now, even if Rand’s wasn’t one that needed keeping any more. He tried to communicate with his eyes alone that their deal still stood, and that he had not revealed and would not reveal to anyone that she could channel. Though the dark eyes that stared into his were intelligent, her face remained too composed for him to tell if she heard his silent message.

“A great many tales are told of you now, Rand,” she said. “Very surprising tales, I must admit. There is more to you than meets the eye.”

He grimaced. The Aiel and the Tairens were close enough to overhear. Of all the people to tell of his shame, he would not have expected it to be her.

“Not all of the tales told are complimentary, of course,” she continued, watching him carefully, “but that is always the way of things. I would advise you not to let it fester in your heart. So long as you remain true to yourself, I see no reason to apologise for how you appear to others. You are the only one who knows the fullness of your story. It is for you alone to judge its worth.”

Rand stared at her for a full minute. Though she looked preternaturally young for a woman with hair so white, she certainly didn’t lack for the wisdom of years. Or the composure. Even when he finally realised he was being rude, and decided to speak up, she remained calm and dignified.

“Thank you. I will remember that,” he said. He meant it, too.

She looked for and found Vicky, sulking in the aft, before lowering her voice. “I scolded her when I learned what she had done. It was with no little relief that I heard her tell of how gently you treated her. She is a foolish child, in many ways, but I would not see her hurt. In any way. As I said before, there is more to you than meets the eye.” Her solemn nod was a simple thing, but it had a surprisingly profound effect on Rand’s mood. “Go with the Light, Rand al’Thor,” Ororo finished, before going to rejoin her apprentice.

Avaleen was surrounded by her former crew by then. She’d kept her distance from them when Rand sailed with her, but now that the she’d given up the Sailmistress position all reticence was abandoned. Hugs were exchanged, and hands shaken. He even saw some tears being shed, though not by Avaleen herself. She kept a smiling face.

Geraldeen was less composed, and had to be consoled by Ala while Asheron stood nearby, shoulders hunched in sullen discomfort.

Rand went and sat on a railing as he watched them. His guards trailed after him, but seemed to be more interested in examining the Sea Folk and their ship, now that no threats had emerged.

Agatay was speaking to Sten when Rand saw him, but they soon shook hands and parted. Alone now, Sten looked over and saw Rand watching.

Rand quickly looked away. Of all the Sea Folk, Sten was the last one he wanted to speak to. But Sten had never cared one bit what Rand wanted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man march toward him. Urien blocked his path, as he had Vicky’s, but this time Rand did not ask him to step aside.

“So. You have risen in rank. What miracle facilitated that?” Sten asked, ignoring the Aielman standing before him.

Rand sighed. “I took  _ Callandor _ from the heart of the Stone, and drove Be’lal out of Tear.”

He expected no praise for that. And got none. “A shiny sword was enough to scare off a Forsaken? Unsurprising. Only the most wretched of men would choose to serve the Shadow. It must have been a battle for the Ages, between the two of you.”

“A battle to see who was the most wretched, right? You’re hilarious,” Rand said insincerely. “Is there a reason you approached? I don’t think we have much to talk about.”

“You are surprised that I would have something to ask of you, in these circumstances. The world must despair, then. You are the Dragon Reborn, they say, destined to fight the Dark One to decide the fate of the world. And you think that is not a thing worth questioning.” Sten shook his head. “Why are you here? In this land. And worse, on this ship. There are Shadowspawn to be fought. Are you going to fight them, or chatter until they grow so bored they kill themselves?”

Rand set his jaw. “I’ve been fighting the Shadow for more than a year now. I don’t recall seeing you helping. But if you want to swim your way up the Alguenya to Shienar, don’t let me stop you. There are plenty of Shadowspawn there for you to get to know.”

Sten grunted. “And yet here you linger. For weeks. Is this delay needful? Why do you hesitate? It is your task to fight the Dark One, isn’t it?”

That was the worst thing about Sten. He was dour and rude, but there was a sharp intelligence to him as well. And he wasn’t entirely wrong. Rand  _ was _ lingering in Tear longer than he should. There were reasons. Excuses. He needed to plan, and to organise his forces. He didn’t, strictly speaking, need to spend so much time having sex with so many people, though. He could probably have sped things along quite a bit if he’d refrain from doing that. Not that he would, of course.

“Fighting the Dark One is a long way off. There are other battles to be won first. And preparations that need to be made,” Rand said. The rest was none of Sten’s business.

“If you fail, preparation beforehand will have been pointless. And if you succeed, it will have been by sheer chance anyway,” Sten said matter-of-factly.

Rand grimaced. Sten didn’t hold back, not with words or anything else. He hadn’t held back that time he’d bent Rand over the very rail he now sat on either. Bent him over it and fucked him up the ass so hard that the pain of penetration had soon turned into a blissful numbness. As he struggled to find words to defend himself, Urien interjected.

“You are very rude, wettestlander,” the Aielman said coldly. There was a stirring among the Aiel. They did not raise their veils, but a feeling of imminent violence hung in the air. “Such a disdainful attitude is almost an invitation to dance the spears.”

Sten, a rarity in that he was actually taller than Urien, who matched Rand for height, met the man’s hard stare with one of his own. “Don’t take it personally, Aiel. I have a disdainful attitude towards everyone.”

“And an unspoken assumption that there will be no consequences for it. Wetlanders do not follow  _ ji’e’toh _ . I understand this. That does not mean I will watch them behave without honour, and not choose to make them meet their obligations.”

Rand wasn’t sure he understood what Urien meant, but he was certain he wanted to avoid any violence with Avaleen’s crew, even Sten. So he interrupted them before it could go further.

“Only a fool would rush off to Shayol Ghul to challenge the Dark One and expect to succeed. This war will be long and costly enough as it is, there is no need for hurry. The preparations you scoff at are vital to our chances of success.”

“I have heard many strange languages on my voyages to Kigali and the southern continents, but never this one you speak,” Sten said, his deadpan voice not quite masking his mockery. “You say, ‘hurry’ where I would say, ‘duty’.”

It was hard to meet the scornful stare of a man who’d used you the way Sten had used him, but Rand managed it. “It’s not your duty to handle the Shadow.”

“No, it is yours. And you are chatting with me instead. Today. And cavorting with Avaleen. On all other days.”

Despite himself, he flushed. “What, you think you could do better?”

“Yes.”

Rand jerked a thumb over his shoulder, to the north. “Well, like I said, the Blight’s that way. Nothing’s stopping you from going there. Goodbye. Or, if you’re just going to stay here and complain some more—which, let’s be honest, is what’s really going to happen—then maybe you should just shut up and let me do my job my way.”

Sten fell silent for a time, though he did not leave—not for the Blight or even to go and bother someone else. Avaleen looked to have hugged her way through most of the crew by then, and Rand dared to hope he’d be able to escape soon. But Sten wasn’t done with him yet.

“You have some small measure of guts, I will allow,” he said, studying Rand. “But you are still woefully unqualified for your position. We both know a better position for you.”

“There are limits to what I will tolerate,” Rand said with an icy cold that touched not only his voice but his heart. Personal insults were one thing, but if Sten thought to sabotage his cause—which the truth of how he’d earned passage on the  _ Liberty _ could very well do—Rand would show no mercy. Not even for Avaleen’s sake.  _ Saidin _ already raged in him, causing a stomach already upset by the conversation he’d been having and the man he’d been having it with to roil so badly that he felt like throwing up. Hanging at his side,  _ Callandor _ began to glow. Just a little, not the full blinding glare it had let out when he’d used it against Be’lal, but enough to draw the attention of all those present.

“Can you use that shiny sword?” Sten asked.

“In more ways than one,” Rand answered.

“Then draw it.”

“What?” Rand scoffed. Sten’s own sword was tied to his sash, but surely he couldn’t mean ...

“Your weapon. Draw it.”

Urien actually did raise his veil then, and the rest of the Aiel followed suit, even young Nici. Captain Astalonia already had his sword out, and was pointing it at Sten. “Would you see the colour of this one’s blood, my Lord Dragon?” the Tairen asked.

“It’s red, like anyone else’s,” Rand growled. Why did Sten have to make things even more difficult than they already were? He scowled up at the Sea Folk man from his seat. “This is as foolish as it is unnecessary. If I wanted you dead, I could burn you to a crisp just by looking at you. Literally.”

Sten nodded agreement. “An unbound male channeler is like a wildfire. As prone to consume itself as it is to devour all that surrounds it. Being able to channel does not make you a worthy warrior.”

Rand snorted. “And being dumb enough to fight my enemies with a sword when I could dispose of them so easily wouldn’t make me a worthy commander either. I have a war to win, Sten. Not one to fight fairly. To win. I’ll do whatever is needed to make that happen. And that, too, is something we both know. Besides, you wouldn’t stand a chance against me. You are old and slow, and I’ve spent the past year training with Borderlanders for whom battle is an everyday occurrence, not something that happens on the rare occasion a pirate ship manages to ambush you. It would be a quick fight.”

Sten scowled at that frank appraisal of both him and the Atha’an Miere. “Prove it. How are you going to face the Dark One if you cannot face me? Or will you let your weakness damn us all? I’ll try not to injure you permanently. Draw your sword.”

“He will do nothing of the sort!” Avaleen declared angrily. She marched up to them, looking very much the Sailmistress again, for all that she’d given up her title. Sten, for all his arrogance, came to attention before her as though she still commanded  _ Liberty _ , and him. “This was to be a happy farewell, Sten din Hildara. You will not make it otherwise, am I clear?”

“Clearer than his decorative sword,” said Sten.

“Good. I will have no harm done to my ... companion,” she declared.

Rand’s lips twitched, and not into a smile. She was protecting him, not Sten. He’d already been sorely tempted to make good on his boasts, but the embarrassment of being defended like that, as if she didn’t think he could fight, gave him the push—the excuse—he needed.

“Captain Astalonia. Is that sword of any sentimental value to you?”

The Tairen raised a brow questioningly at Rand. “No. It’s just a sword from the armoury.”

Rand held out his hand. “Good. May I borrow it?  _ Callandor _ isn’t meant to be used for stuff like this.”

Lidya lowered her veil to give him a forbidding look, as much for the sword he accepted from Astalonia as for what he meant to do with it, and many of the other Aiel muttered disapprovingly, but none of them tried to stop him.

Avaleen did, though. “What are you doing, Rand? This isn’t why I brought you here.”

“It isn’t why I came either. But a challenge was made, and I mean to answer it.” He looked at Sten. “Don’t worry. I’ll try not to injure him permanently.” He untied  _ Callandor _ from his waist, hesitated for a moment, and then placed it in her hands. “Hold his for me. I’ll be right back.”

Awe bloomed on Avaleen’s face when she suddenly found herself holding that crystal sword. Perhaps that awe was why she didn’t try to stop Rand or Sten from moving to the middle of  _ Liberty _ ’s deck, between the masts.

It was quite the crowd they gathered. Sea Folk, Aiel, Tairens. A strange bunch, and no way to tell what they thought of what they were seeing. The Sea Folk were especially incredulous at seeing Rand, of all people, stand before Sten with a naked sword in his hands. At least, a sword of the metal kind.

Agatay stood among the circle of onlookers with his hands on his hips, while his daughter was hugging  _ Callandor _ so hard he might have worried she’d break it, if he didn’t already know it wasn’t really made of crystal. Whether it was worry or fury that inspired that, Rand didn’t know, but he suspected he’d hear all about it on the trip back.

Sten, too, was unable to hide his surprise that Rand had actually answered his challenge. His heavy blade shone brightly in the sun. It was slightly curved, like the ones Rand preferred, but not so slender. Doncari Astalonia’s blade was straight and tapered to a point, but that was fine with him. It had a two-handed grip, and the forms required little changing to account for it.

Agatay called out a question. “What are the odds, Sten? I’d like to place a bet.”

Several of the Sea Folk laughed, but Sten did not. He was all focus now. “For the boy? Little to none.”

He came at Rand then, moving fast despite his age. It wasn’t fast enough. Rand had already fed everything into the flame, and assumed the void. He was one with the sword, and with Sten. That first slashing attack was easily deflected by River of Light, and he stepped to the side immediately after, moving his wrists to quickly bring the blade back down into an aggressive high guard, poking and probing. He was tempted to let Lightning strike the Oak, but didn’t want to get that close if Sten could counter. It often turned into a graceless wrestling match when that happened, and he wanted this done quickly, gracefully and decisively. There was a point that he felt he needed to make, even if it was only a personal one.

Instead, he let Sten swing, while taking his measure. The Atha’an Miere was strong, and the forms he used were not those that Rand was familiar with, but there didn’t seem to be anything particularly shocking about his attacks. A wild, two handed slash here, a downwards chop there. Rand didn’t let their blades lock, just redirected each attack and danced in a circle around the older man.

“You excel at avoiding fighting,” Sten taunted. “I should not be surprised.”

Rand heard his words, but they were meaningless in the void. The blade with which he slashed at Rand’s leg was easily stepped away from. It was even easier to let The Courtier Taps His Fan knock said blade low, disrupting his opponent’s control over it, and leaving him vulnerable to The Wolf Lunges. The pommel strike to the jaw sent Sten reeling back in pain and confusion, so he decided that Lightning might as well strike that great dark Oak, after all. He only needed to execute the last part of the form, though, sliding one foot behind his opponent and kicking his standing foot out from under him, then thrusting downwards even as the man fell.

Rand was almost surprised to find himself standing over Sten on the  _ Liberty _ ’s deck. The Atha’an Miere sprawled on his back, with the sharp point of Rand’s borrowed sword hovering over his heart. It wasn’t the fact that he’d won that surprised him, though it certainly had the other Sea Folk gaping, it was how easily he’d done it. Either Sten wasn’t as good as he thought he was, or all that training with Lan was really paying off, because Rand had never once felt in danger throughout that whole match.

Sten stared up at him in shock. His sword was still in his hand. Rand saw it move, and raised a brow. “That would be even more unwise than this was,” he said quietly. In the stillness in which they waited, Sten’s long sigh and the thunk of his released hilt touching the deck sounded very loud.

“You’re not weak, after all!” he heard Vicky say. When he looked, he found her among the encircling crowd, with Ororo keeping a firm grip on her arm.

“I never said I couldn’t fight,” Rand sighed. He stood up straight, and moved the sword away from Sten’s chest. “Whether that makes me strong or not is another question.” It was hard to tell how Avaleen would have answered that question, given the way she was staring at him.

“A question that has troubled philosophers for many Ages,” Sten agreed. He worked his jaw as he sat up, then spat some blood on the deck. Though defeated, and by someone he despised, he did not look as upset as might be expected. He didn’t disdain Agatay’s hand in getting back to his feet either.

The need for it now passed, Rand gave Doncari back his sword. “Nicely done. I’d have gone in faster to start, though. That would really have shut him up,” the grinning Tairen said.

“Maybe. I’m not sure anything short of killing him could do it for long, though” said Rand, and won a laugh for his trouble. Rand didn’t laugh along with him, for he hadn’t even realised he’d made a joke. Doncari had a point, though. Rand did tend to be a bit cautious in his approach. There was a danger in that. Preparation was important, as he’d told Sten, but there was such a thing as too much preparation. A fast and aggressive approach might serve as well or better. But there were risks there, too ...

The watching Aiel’s thoughts on his brief duel were hard to gauge, all except for Nici’s, at least. She appraised Rand openly, her mouth half a pout and half a sneer. “You dance well, but you really should be using spears instead. Swords are gross.”

He and Doncari exchanged looks. If the Tairen was hoping for an explanation of that, he was looking at the wrong man. Rand just shrugged.

When Sten approached Rand the second time that day, it was with markedly more reluctance. Avaleen came with him, and it almost looked as though she was dragging him along, despite the great size difference between them. “I am sorry this was necessary, Rand,” she said. “Sten is sorry, too, aren’t you, Sten?”

Rand winced. The man was old enough to be her father, yet she spoke to him as though he were a child. Perhaps he should have been amused by that, given how far out of his way Sten went to insult and belittle him, but he had had too many dealings with the matriarchy not to notice its shadow, even in a moment like this.

Sten didn’t object to her treatment of him. He just fixed Rand with his dour stare, and spoke in his deadpan voice. “I am sorry that I thought you incapable of swinging a metal stick. I am sorry if there are people in the world who believe doing so will be enough to stop the Dark One from killing us all.”

Rand sighed. He supposed that was about as much as he could expect to get from him. It didn’t matter. He’d made the point that he needed to make, to himself more so than to Sten. Ororo was right about that.

“You are not completely beyond hope, however. I will admit that much, and no more,” Sten finished. He turned on his unshod heel and walked away before Rand could respond.

Once he was gone, Avaleen gave Rand an apologetic smile. “Take what you can get. He’s never had anything nice to say to me either. His wife Shayle is the only one I’ve ever heard him sincerely praise, and I think that might be just because he knows she’d knock his teeth out if he didn’t.” She chewed on her lips as she studied him. “You keep surprising me. I’m starting to get embarrassed. I’m older than you are. I shouldn’t be going around gaping like a new deckhand.”

“But you’re cute when you do it, at least,” Rand said quietly. “Besides, it’s a new crew you’re joining. Who could blame you for not knowing what you were getting into?”

He hadn’t spoken quietly enough, for Jacaline overheard them as she drew close. “That’s the Light’s own truth. Are you absolutely sure this is what you want, Avaleen? It’s not too late to turn back. We can tear up those papers. It can be as if you never signed his command over to me. I won’t even complain. Much.”

Avaleen shared a grin with the woman who’d taken her place, and her ship. “I appreciate the thought, but no. I am resolved to this path. The roads I travel may be dark, but they bring me closer to the Light.” She looked at Rand then, and gave him what would have been a secret smile if everyone onboard didn’t already know what passed between them in the night.

She had more farewells to make before they left  _ Liberty _ ’s deck. Rand stood at her side throughout it all, and tried not to let the looks that people occasionally shot him have any effect. He had done what he’d done, and it was not a thing he was proud of, but there was truth in what Ororo had said. He had been true to himself. Tarmon Gai’don was the most important thing. Nothing else could be put before that, not the lives of those who fought for the Light, and certainly not a little thing like Rand’s dignity. He had done what was needed to advance his cause, and the Shadow take anyone who sneered at him for it.

When he left  _ Liberty _ for the second time, Rand did so with his head high. Despite the watching eyes that surrounded them, when he saw Avaleen looking sad he thought nothing of putting his arm across her shoulders, and giving them a little squeeze.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For this, and for coming with me. I know it wasn’t easy for you. It means a lot that you did it anyway.”

“You’re welcome. I’d be happy to come with you again, as it happens,” he whispered.

When she saw the way he was smiling, Avaleen giggled like a little girl. “I’d be upset if you didn’t, after all this ...”

As they were getting back into their waiting carriage, Rand looked back at  _ Liberty _ one final time, rocking gently in the bay of Tear as it prepared to sail. He would not miss it, but he would not dread the thought of it anymore either. He saw Vicky leaning on the aft railing, and raised his hand in farewell. It was hard to tell at that range, but he thought he saw tears rolling down her cheeks.


	31. Safe Harbour

CHAPTER 28: Safe Harbour

Rand was feeling quite good about himself when they returned from the docks. They parted from Avaleen’s family, with even Asheron allowing that what Rand had done had been “half way decent”, and strolled arm in arm through the Stone, only parting as long as it took them to climb the narrow stairways that led up to the floor Rand’s rooms were on. Avaleen spoke loudly of the need for them to discuss business opportunities in private. He doubted she was fooling anyone, but conscientiously refrained from teasing her over it. He had a lot of ideas he wanted to explore with her, but none of them had anything to do with business.

They passed Zofia’s desk, parting company with his guards when they did, and proceeded not to his office or his sitting room but to his bedroom. Avaleen looked a little embarrassed to have so many strangers watch her accompany him to such a place, but her grip on his arm never lessened.

When they entered and found the room already occupied, she let out a soft little sound of disappointment. The fire in the hearth was blazing, despite the warm southern weather, and all the lamps were lit besides. He knew right away which of his maids was behind that, so was already smiling by the time Merile sat up in bed.

The covers fell away to flash her bare chest at them, but she quickly snatched them back up when she realised he was not alone.

“Uh oh. I didn’t expect you to have company. Stupid Merile. You always have company. Maybe we should get Zofia to make a list of who gets to go when.”

“That sounds a bit too cold for my taste,” Rand said. He was feeling quite good about himself. So much so that instead of being embarrassed at having two of his lovers trip over each other like that, he was already wondering if there was any way he could persuade them to get to know each other better ...

“The  _ Tuatha’an _ is your lover, then, as the rumours said. I cannot fault you. She seems sweet. Should I leave you two alone?” Avaleen said, hiding her disappointment well.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Rand said quietly. He looked a question at Merile, one that she didn’t, for once, misinterpret. She gave Avaleen only the briefest of glances before nodding eagerly. The two of them had gotten along well during past meetings. Avaleen had said she reminded her of the Amayar, residents of the Sea Folk isles who apparently followed something similar to the Way of the Leaf. Rand turned his attention to Avaleen. “I think I could see both of you properly satisfied. If you don’t mind someone watching us ... or sharing.”

The former Sailmistress swallowed noisily. “I ... have been with other women before ... but never shared with anyone in such a way.”

Rand watched her closely, a hopeful smile on his face. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Naturally. We could go to your rooms, and I could come back here to see to Merile’s needs later. But I can’t deny that I find myself imagining the two of you ... getting along ... really well. You’re both so beautiful, and you’d be even more beautiful side by side ...”

She bit one full lip. “You are incorrigible. And I, of all people, shouldn’t be surprised by it. You would really like it if someone watched as we ...?” She shook her head, too embarrassed to continue. “And you wouldn’t mind this, Merile? I can’t help but notice you aren’t exactly shocked at my presence here, or at Rand’s proposition.”

Merile climbed to her knees on the bed, thoughtlessly displaying her nakedness once more. She was much less curvy than Avaleen, but no less attractive. She waved away the other woman’s concerns. “Oh, we do this sort of thing all the time. It gets me all hot, it does. I like all the girls Rand brought with him. I like you, too. Have you ever licked a pussy? Or had yours licked? I have. It’s fun. I could show you if you like.”

Avaleen burst out laughing. “I ... honestly have no idea how to respond to that.”

Going from excited to morose on the instant, Merile turned her heart-breaking eyes on Rand. “Am I babbling again? I do that far too often. I can’t help it, though.”

He smiled for her. “I wouldn’t want you to change, even if you could, Merile. You’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Aww, that’s so nice.” Her sudden grin was shared between the two of them. “I’ll help you with your new woman if you like. I don’t mind at all.”

“Then I guess the decision rests with her ...” Rand said. He looked at Avaleen, and waited.

After a moment’s pause, she let out a soft laugh. “I knew what I was getting into when I came here. It would be dishonest to try to claim otherwise. Very well, let us ...” She laughed again, louder this time. “Let us see how this goes.”

She got on the bed without undressing, preferring to lay her dark head down on the white pillows and wait to see what he would do. The way she lay, with one leg raised, made her normally loose and concealing silk pantaloons cling to her curves in way that promised.

Rand enjoyed the sight. It made his heart race. The realisation that she had chosen to stay with him despite his many failings made it race even more, though. She watched as he stripped, and he found he liked that, too. By the time he’d shed the last of his clothes, he was fully erect.

“Is that all for me?” she asked.

“It is. Merile won’t mind waiting, will you, Merile?” he said huskily.

The Tinker shook her sweet head. “You should drive Avaleen crazy. I’d like to see that.”

They both watched as Rand took his place on the bed. They watched as he slid Avaleen’s pantaloons down over her rounded bottom, which Merile actually “oohed” over. They watched as he stripped Avaleen of her embroidered top and every last scrap of cloth until she was lying there on his bed, naked as the day she was born. He eased her onto her back, and she went unresistingly, staring at him silently. Waiting.

For all the bounty of flesh on display, it was her cheek that he caressed first. “I’m glad you’re staying with me. I hope you won’t come to regret it.”

“I don’t think I will. Not when you touch me like that.”

“It can’t replace your ship, I know, but you’ll always be welcome in my company.”

Avaleen raised and spread her legs, revealing her glistening pussy. “And in your arms? Will I always be welcome there?”

How could he not mount her then? “Always,” Rand whispered as touched the head of his cock to her slick sex, and thrust inside. The both gasped in pleasure as they joined.

“Look at the two of you,” Merile said. “You’re so pretty together.”

Rand didn’t know what part Merile’s presence played in it, or whether it was all the farewells she’d had to make that day but, once he was in her, Avaleen proved even hungrier than usual. She wrapped her legs and arms around him, and clung to him tightly as he rode her.

Worried that she’d be upset after all that had happened, Rand took her slowly, his hands busily roaming, trying to make sure that every inch of her body was properly caressed. He went deep, too, knowing she could take it. Her wordless moans spoke of enjoyment more eloquently than any bard could.

While petting her head through the braids that crowned it, he whispered his thanks in her ear, his cock moving slowly and steadily inside her.

“For what?” Avaleen said between loud breaths.

“For staying. It’s important work you’re doing. Important to me. You’re important to me.”

She took hold of his face and kissed him on the lips. “How can you be this sweet, after all I’ve done?”

He stared into her dark eyes and said, “How can I not, with all you are?”

The sudden rocking of her hips against his demanded he give her more, so he increased the pace. Avaleen’s grip tightened even more. “Rand ... I ... I think I ... l—I think I ... I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve whatever I want to give you,” he growled. To prove it, he wrapped his arms around her, took a firm hold of her flesh ass, and began pounding into her as hard as he could.

Avaleen was pinned helplessly beneath him, and was soon screaming loudly, but the watching Merile never once thought to come to her rescue. Rand took comfort from that, in the moments when he wondered if he was being too rough. Perhaps it was a foolish worry, but the way that Lews Therin Kinslayer had earned his name was often on his mind at times like this. Love was dangerous, for him and of him. Yet, when he rose up on his knees, pressed Avaleen’s slender legs together and rested them on his shoulder, she just lay there panting. Even when he began thrusting again, as hard and as fast as before, she never once moved to stop him.

They were still positioned like that when she came, crying out his name as she did so. Rand slowed down at last, wanting to watch her. All the tension leaked out of her body along with her juices. For all that he’d been the one doing the work, she was gasping even more desperately than him. It was the pretty little smile curled the corners of her full lips that he’d remember best, though.

“Come in me, Rand,” Avaleen gasped. “I want you to come in me.”

He leaned down and kissed that smile. “Your wish is my desire,” he said.

She had freed him to seek his own pleasure, so that was what he did, fucking her hot pussy with selfish abandon. Legs still resting on his shoulders, she took everything he had to give, including all the hot come that he was soon spurting into her.

The pleasure dulled his senses such that he could only kneel over Avaleen, his forehead resting against her breast as he spurted over and over. The way she combed her fingers through his hair as he came in her was almost as sweet as the coming itself.

He was still kneeling like that long after his orgasm had finished.

“Well, that was a proper swording, so to speak,” Merile said.

Avaleen burst out laughing. Lying there sweat-soaked and thoroughly fucked, she smiled over at the naked and half-forgotten Tinker who shared the bed with them. “It was indeed. But I suppose you aren’t very surprised by that.”

Merile bobbed her head quickly. “That’s true. Rand is very good at all the different kinds of swording.” She smiled at Avaleen. “I liked watching you. You’re nice. And so pretty. Are you going to stay with us? There are lots of other girls, you know. Some people don’t approve of that. I get told off sometimes. But Rand likes us all, and we like him, so where’s the harm? The leaf falls where it’s supposed to. I’m babbling, aren’t I? Blood and ashes.”

Avaleen laughed again. “You are, but that’s okay.” She eased Rand off her gently, off her and out of her, until he collapsed on the bed at her other side, breathing deeply. Then she sat up and faced Merile. “I can think of a way to answer at least one of your questions ...”

“Oh? Which one?”

“We could put on a little show for Rand, you and I. Like the one you just watched ...” Avaleen said. She didn’t look back at him as she said it, leaving him to stare at her back, the hair hanging almost to her slender waist, the round hips beyond, and the dark pussy from which his come could be seen leaking.

“Oh! I see what you mean,” trilled Merile. “How naughty, though! He’s still in there ...”

“There are other ways ...” Avaleen said, but Merile interrupted.

“No, no. I don’t mind. I want to taste it, actually. All mixed with yours ...”

At Rand’s soft curse, the girls craned their heads to look at him.

“I think he wants that, too, the dirty boy,” Avaleen teased.

Merile giggled. “Shall we, then?” Though untouched as yet, her nipples looked very stiff.

“We shall,” said Avaleen, and reached out to take one of those nipples between her fingers and give it a little rub.

It was Merile who kissed her first, going eagerly into the older, curvier woman’s embrace, but Avaleen wasn’t slow to return her kiss, or shy about touching her private parts. She liked what she found there. He could tell from the noises she made, even before she broke the kiss to look Merile in the eye.

“You really liked watching us, didn’t you? You’re soaking down there.” She laughed softly at Merile’s silent nod. “I’m glad.”

When she embraced the girl again, it was with a swiftly growing passion. Though equally dark of hair, there was a remarkable contrast between the two girls’ skin tones. Rand found he enjoyed the contrast, as he watched their limbs entangle, dark fingers kneading a pale breast, pale fingers sliding across dark hips to probe the soft places beneath.

It wasn’t long before Avaleen was pushing Merile down and climbing atop her. She paused only long enough to grip the girl’s narrow shoulder and ask if she was sure she wanted this, and get another encouraging nod, before swinging around and kneeling over Merile’s head. She lowered her hips slowly, considerately, but Merile craned her head up to meet them, her little pink tongue sticking out eagerly. Avaleen gasped when she felt it touch her, and then sank down completely. She sat on Merile’s face for a good minute, savouring the feel of the Tinker’s nimble tongue, before turning her attention to the neglected little pussy lying before her. When she leaned down and kissed it, he heard Merile’s cry of pleasure even through Avaleen’s muffling flesh.

Rand watched them lick and finger each other for some time, and very much enjoyed the show. He thought they enjoyed being watched, too, for they kept looking his way, and each time one of them did and noticed how he was staring, she’d attack the other girl’s pussy even more energetically. He took to smiling his encouragement when they looked.

After a while, he had another encouragement to offer them. His cock ached a little, when it stiffened again so soon after having climaxed, but he certainly didn’t mind. A little ache was a small price to pay for what was coming. But which one?

It was Avaleen who noticed first. She had lifted her head from Merile, in order to move her dangling chain out of the way again, but froze when she saw the effect the two of them had had on him. She smiled, her lips glistening with the other girl’s juices.

“So you like what you see. Good. But what are you going to do with that big thing?”

“Not what. Who,” Rand said roughly.

Letting out a shuddering breath, she watched him move to join them, arching her back in invitation. It was an invitation he was not about to spurn, since the girl’s were blocking each other’s pussies from him. But when he got into position behind Avaleen, he hesitated.

“Merile,” he said, looking down, “could you help me with this?”

She opened her eyes and saw him kneeling above her, his hard cock aimed at Avaleen’s back passage. “Oh! Couldn’t stay away, I see,” she giggled. “Do you want to taste her, too? She’s nice. But then what will I do?”

“I wouldn’t dream of interrupting you,” he said. “I just need to be a bit wetter ...”

“Oooo, I see ... Here then ...” Wide eyed, she took his cock in her hands and pushed it slowly into Avaleen’s pussy. The intent care with which Merile eased him in there was even sweeter than the sounds Avaleen made when she felt herself being penetrated. “There you go. You’re all wet now,” Merile said once she had him fully seated inside the other girl.

“Thanks. I’ll get out of your way, then,” Rand said.

Merile giggled as she watched him vacate Avaleen’s pussy, but she didn’t go right back to licking it. She preferred to watch as he aimed himself at the Atha’an Miere woman’s other hole. “Oh my! In there? It won’t fit!” she gasped.

“She can take it. She has before. Haven’t you, Avaleen?” Rand grated.

She looked back at him longingly. “I have. I’m a bad girl. I need to be punished. Spank me!”

Rand’s brows rose. That hadn’t been his intention at all. But if it was what she wanted ...

“Well, just you stay there and take it, then. Like a good girl would ...” he said as pushed his way slowly into Avaleen’s tight ass.

She took it in silence, holding her breath. Merile, oddly, was the one to gasp.

“Light! It’s all going in! Look at you stretch. Oh, you brave girl. How do you do it?”

When he was all the way in, Avaleen breathed again. She knelt there and panted for longer than Rand liked. He slapped her bottom. “There’s a nice girl who’s being cruelly neglected here,” he told her. “Get to it.”

The yelp she had let out when he slapped her was more pleasure than pain. “Yes, my ... Sailmaster? Master? My Lord Dragon?”

He didn’t like hitting her, and certainly wasn’t going to hit her hard, but he couldn’t deny that the way her bum jiggled in response to the impact was pretty mesmerising. He spanked her again, causing another yelp and another jiggle. “Just Rand will do ...”

“By the nine winds ...” she said, just before plunging her face back into Merile’s pussy.

Merile returned the favour, and they all settled into a rhythm. While the girls licked and fingered each other, Rand fucked Avaleen’s ass nice and slow, letting himself recover. He spanked her every once in a while, too, to spur her on whenever it looked like she was becoming too absorbed in her own fucking to pay attention to Merile. He had no idea how many times they came, the two of them, but it went on so long that he thought Merile, at least, was so tired out that she wanted to stop.

After all, why else would she stop licking Avaleen, and start tonguing his balls like that? And didn’t that feel sweet? It was when she took one of them fully into her mouth, and began sucking on it, that he felt his second climax begin to build.

Rand wanted to go faster, but he didn’t dare with his tender parts caught in Merile’s mouth. He spanked Avaleen again, harder than he ever had. She yelped, raised her head from Merile’s crotch, and looked her question back at him.

“I need to come,” he explained desperately.

She grinned, and began moving. Back and forth she rocked, her ass sliding up and down his length, building his pleasure, urging, demanding. He couldn’t resist. Rand cried out when he started coming. Avaleen didn’t stop. Instead, she started moving faster and faster, milking every last drop out of him.

“You’re not a bad girl at all. Far from it,” Rand breathed when he was finished.

Avaleen giggled. “Um ... I think that might be a bit subjective, but I’m glad you think so.”

“I think so, too!” Merile called. “Though I still think you’re crazy to take all of that in there. It looks like it hurts.”

“I am not talking about that!” Avaleen declared, in a very, very late attempt at prudery.

Rand eased himself out of Avaleen’s ass, and sat on the bed, feeling tired. “Don’t worry, Merile. I wouldn’t do that to you if you didn’t want me to. But if you ever change your mind, let me know. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

She bit her lip. “I’ll ... think about it.”

The two girls disentangled themselves, moving slowly. They looked as tired and dishevelled as he felt. The sun had set but it was not yet late, but Rand decided to get an early night. He could get up early instead, and do his work then.

While he filled three cups with water from the pitcher on his bedside table, Merile went and extinguished the lamps. Avaleen helped her, somewhat to his surprise. He wasn’t sure if the former Sailmistress would do chores of her own. She hadn’t done any on  _ Liberty _ , but things were different now. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad, though. She might think different, but he thought she fit in just fine.


	32. What Lies Hidden

CHAPTER 29: What Lies Hidden

Clad in her shift, Elayne forced herself to stop chewing on her underlip, drew a deep breath, and picked up the stone ring lying beside an open book on her bedside table. All flecked and striped in brown and red and blue, it was slightly too large for a finger ring, and shaped wrong, flattened and twisted so that a fingertip run along the edge would circle both inside and out before coming back to where it had started. There was only one edge, impossible though that seemed. The ring was a  _ ter’angreal _ , one that allowed whoever fell asleep holding it to enter the World of Dreams. Setting her jaw, she slipped the cord that ran through the ring over her head.

The thick leather-bound book was  _ A Journey to Tarabon _ , written by Eurian Romavni, from Kaltor—fifty-three years ago, according to the date the author gave in the first line, but little of any consequence would have changed in Tanchico in that short a time. Besides, it was the only volume she had found with useful drawings. Most of the books only had portraits of past rulers, or fanciful renderings of beasts that may or may not have ever existed.

Darkness filled both windows, but the lamps gave more than adequate light. One tall beeswax candle burned in a gilded candlestick on the bedside table. Nynaeve and Dani waited with high-backed chairs pulled to either side of the wide bed with its tall, swallow-carved posts. Nynaeve was all brisk confidence, while Dani was in danger of cracking her teeth if she clenched her jaw any harder. The longer Ilyena’s funk lasted, the more irritable her pillow-friend grew.

Aviendha and Dailin sat cross-legged on either side of the door, their browns and greys standing out sharply against the deep blue of the carpet. This time Aviendha had her long-bladed knife at one side of her belt, a bristling quiver at the other, and four short spears across her knees. Her round, hide buckler lay close at hand, atop a horn bow in a worked leather case with straps that could hold it on her back. It was much less distracting than her sitting there naked.

Elayne climbed onto the bed and took the leatherbound book on her knees, frowning at an engraved map of Tanchico. Little of any use was marked, really. A dozen fortresses, surrounding the harbour, guarding the city on its three hilly peninsulas, the Verana to the east, the Maseta in the centre, and the Calpene nearest the sea. Useless. Several large squares, some open areas that seemed to be parks and a number of monuments to rulers long since dust. All useless. A few palaces, and things that seemed strange. The Great Circle, for instance, on the Calpene. On the map it was just a ring, but Master Romavni described it as a huge gathering place that could hold thousands to watch horse races or displays of fireworks by the Illuminators. There was also a Meridarch’s Circle, on the Maseta and larger than the Great Circle, and a Panarch’s Circle, on the Verana, just a little smaller. The Chapter House of the Guild of Illuminators was marked as well. They were all useless. The text certainly had nothing of use.

“Are you certain you want to try this?” Nynaeve asked quietly.

“Certain,” Elayne replied as calmly as she could. She leaned over to mark the candle with a thumbnail. “Wake me when it burns down to there.”

“Light, but I wish we had a clock,” Nynaeve said.

Elayne laughed at her, and hoped it sounded lighthearted and not at all forced. “A clock in a bedchamber? My mother has a dozen clocks, but I never heard of a clock in a bedchamber.”

“I guess Emond’s Field is even fancier than Caemlyn,” Dani said with the ghost of a smile.

Nynaeve eyed her narrowly, but Elayne laughed. It was good to see Dani returning to some semblance of her old spirit. She told her as much, adding, “Where is Ilyena this evening? I had hoped she would join us.”

Her words were ill-conceived. She knew it straight away. “Dunno. Don’t care,” Dani muttered, her smile gone as though it had never been. “I got better—why not her, or the others, with a little effort?”

An awkward silence fell between them, one that was blessedly broken by Aviendha. “The stone ring. Is it the only way into the dreamworld?”

“No. We took an amber plaque and an iron disk from the Black sisters we captured that can have a similar effect,” Nynaeve said slowly. “They’re not as good as the ring, though. Any of us might use that, even you, Aviendha. A woman needn’t be able to channel, only sleep with it touching her skin. A man might be able to, for all we know. The other two only work for channelers.”

“Then could not someone—one or two of us—use it to go with Elayne Trakand?”

“Thank you for the thought, Aviendha, but I do not think that wise,” Elayne said.

Nynaeve surprised her by nodding agreement. “We do not know  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ as well as Elayne, or the rules of it.”

Aviendha nodded. “I see. A woman can make mistakes where she does not know the ways, and her mistakes can kill others as well as herself.”

“Exactly,” Nynaeve said. “The World of Dreams is a dangerous place. That much we do know.”

“But Elayne will be careful,” Dani added, speaking to Aviendha but obviously meaning it for Egwene’s ears. “She promised. She will look around—carefully!—and no more.”

“I am always careful,” Elayne said. Nynaeve sniffed loudly, as if to say that was anything but the honest truth. The woman was a stranger to reason at times. She was tempted to set her straight, but this was no time to be arguing.

_ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . The Unseen World. The World of Dreams. Not the dreams of ordinary people, though sometimes they touched  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ briefly, in dreams that seemed as true as life. Because they were. In the Unseen World, what happened was real, in a strange way. Nothing that happened there affected what was—a door opened in the World of Dreams would still be shut in the real world; a tree cut down there still stood here—yet a woman could be killed there, or Stilled. “Strange” barely began to describe it. In the Unseen World the whole world lay open, and maybe other worlds, too; any place was attainable. Or at least, its reflection in the World of Dreams was. The weave of the Pattern could be read there—past, present and future—by one who knew how. By a Dreamer. There had not been a Dreamer in the White Tower since Corianin Nedeal, nearly five hundred years earlier.

A list lay in Elayne’s pouch of the  _ ter’angreal _ , most small enough to slip into a pocket, that had been stolen by the Black Ajah when they fled the Tower. Many of those stolen  _ ter’angreal _ had “no known use” written alongside, and “last studied by Corianin Nedeal”. But if Corianin Sedai had truly not discovered their uses, Elayne and the others were, as Nynaeve had said, sure of one of them now. They gave entrance to  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ ; not as easily as the stone ring, perhaps, and perhaps not without channelling, but they did it.

Amico had spoken freely of them, and so had Joiya, after a session alone in her cell with Moiraine that had left the Darkfriend pale-faced and almost civil. Channel a flow of Spirit into either  _ ter’angreal _ , and it would take you into sleep and then into  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . Elayne had tried both of them briefly, and they worked, though all she saw was the inside of the Stone, and the Royal Palace in Caemlyn.

Two recovered still left many more with the Black Ajah, and that made  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ even more dangerous than it already was. She could find the Black Ajah waiting for her as soon as she fell asleep. Or worse: the Forsaken. The thought made Elayne’s stomach writhe, but her mind kept on mulling it over. Why had the Black Ajah taken so many  _ ter’angreal _ connected to the Unseen World? Had it been their own decision, or had Be’lal ordered them to bring him those particular items? And either way, what use did the Shadow intend to put them to?

Frowning at the map, she made her hands loosen their white-knuckled grip. They had to know what to do. They had to have something besides Amico’s vague tale. Something. If only she could learn where Mazrim Taim was in his caged journey to Tar Valon, or if she could somehow slip into the Amyrlin’s dreams and speak to her. Perhaps those things were possible for a Dreamer, but Elayne was no Dreamer, just a girl with a magic ring. Tanchico was what she had to work with.

Elayne did not know why she was scrutinizing the map. She already had it fixed in her head, everything in relation to everything else. Whatever existed in this world existed in the World of Dreams, and sometimes more besides, of course. She had her destination chosen. She thumbed through the book to the only engraving showing the inside of a building named on the map, the Panarch’s Palace. It would do no good to find herself in a chamber if she had no idea where it was in the city.

The engraving showed a large room with a high ceiling. A rope strung along waist-high posts would keep anyone from going too close to the things displayed on stands and in open-fronted cabinets along the walls. Most of those displays were indistinct, but not what stood at the far end of the room. The artist had taken pains to show the massive skeleton standing there as if the rest of the creature had that moment disappeared. It had four thick-boned legs, but otherwise resembled no animal Elayne had ever seen. For one thing, it had to stand at least twelve feet high, well over twice her height. The rounded skull, set low on the shoulders like a bull’s, looked big enough for a child to climb inside, and in the picture it seemed to have four eye sockets. The skeleton marked the room off from any other; there was no mistaking it for anything but itself. Whatever it was. If Eurian Romavni had known, he had not named it in these pages.

Dani leaned over to see what Elayne was studying, then nodded. “The Panarch’s Palace. It’s a good place to start.”

“Who is Panarch?” Dailin asked.

“One of the dual rulers of Tarabon, both of whom are chosen by vote by the assembled High Seats of the noble Houses, from among said Houses,” Elayne recited. “Two centuries ago, changes were enacted in Tarabon’s laws which resulted in the Meridarch position being opened to males. Restricted to males, in fact. The Panarch position remains available to females only. This representative style of rulership is part of the reason that Tarabon considers itself the most enlightened nation in Valgarda. The Panarch is the equal of the Meridarch in authority. She is responsible for collecting taxes, customs and duties; he for spending them properly. She controls the Civil Watch and the courts, except for the High Court, which is the Meridarch’s. The army is his, of course, except for the Panarch’s Legion. She—”

“We’re all fittingly educated now. Thank you, Elayne,” Nynaeve cut in, tugging at her braid yet again. “Are you planning to sleep at all tonight?”

Elayne sighed. Nynaeve was right. She was dithering. Avoiding her duty for fear of the Black Ajah, like the coward she was. Nynaeve would never have done that, and was right to rebuke her for it. A few nights ago she’d gone to visit Nynaeve late in the night, purportedly to chat, though she had been hoping for more than a chat if she was being honest. Advancing her relationship with Rand while refraining from any more passionate displays than kissing and fondling had grown quite frustrating. She’d been disappointed in that regard, though not in another, greater one. When she’d let herself into Nynaeve’s room, she’d found her still awake and fully dressed, balancing herself on an uncomfortably crooked stool she must have brought up for just that purpose, head nodding every two minutes, muttering about showing Theodrin, showing everyone. Elayne hadn’t felt right about trying to tempt her from her vigil, so she had slept alone in Nynaeve’s bed that night.

The candle was burning down; she was wasting precious minutes. She knew how to step out of the dream when she wanted to now, how to wake herself, but time passed differently in the World of Dreams, and it was easy to lose track. “As soon as it reaches the mark,” she said, and Nynaeve and Dani murmured reassurances.

Settling back on her feather pillows, at first she only stared at the ceiling, painted with blue sky and clouds and swooping swallows. Then she closed her eyes. She fixed in her thoughts the room in the Panarch’s Palace and the huge skeleton. For all its size, the ring lay heavily upon her chest.

Despite her anxiety, going to sleep proved no problem. It was just a matter of closing her eyes and taking deep, regular breaths.  _ What manner of beast was that? _

Elayne stepped back with a gasp, one hand to her throat. This close, the skeleton seemed even larger than she had thought, the bones bleached dull and dry. She stood right in front of it, inside the rope. A white rope, as thick as her wrist and apparently silk. She had no doubt this was  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . The detail was as fine as reality, even for things half-seen from the corner of her eye. That she could even be aware of the differences between this and an ordinary dream told her where she was.

She opened herself to  _ saidar _ . A nick on the finger in the World of Dreams would still be there on waking; there would be no waking from a killing stroke with the Power, or even from a sword, or a club. She did not intend to be vulnerable for an instant.

Instead of her shift, she wore something very much like Aviendha’s Aiel garb, but in red and white brocaded silk; even her soft boots, laced to the knee, were supple red leather, suitable for gloves, with white stitching and laces. Aiel garb, in Andor’s colours. She laughed softly to herself.  _ An Andoran Maiden of the Spear. What a silly idea _ . Clothes in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ were what you wanted them to be. Not that it mattered. No-one was going to see her here except in their dreams, and few ordinary dreams reached this place.  _ It would make no difference if I were naked _ .

For a moment she  _ was _ naked. Her face coloured with embarrassment. It was just as well there was no-one around to see. A moment’s concentration was all it took to bring her clothes back, but she should have remembered how stray thoughts could affect things here.

She took a closer look at the huge skull. Not four eye sockets after all. Two seemed to be for tusks of some kind instead, on either side of where its nose had been. Some sort of monstrous boar, perhaps, though it looked like no pig skull she had ever seen. It had a feel of age, though; great age.

With the Power in her, she could sense things like that, here. The usual enhancement of senses was with her, of course, but with something more as well. She could feel tiny cracks in the gilded plaster bosses covering the ceiling fifty feet up, and the smooth polish of the white stone floor. Infinitesimal cracks, invisible to the eye, spread across the floorstones as well.

The chamber was huge, perhaps six hundred feet long and nearly half as wide, with rows of thin white columns, and that white rope running all the way around except where there were doorways, with double-pointed arches. More ropes encircled polished wooden stands and cabinets holding other exhibits out in the floor. Up under the ceiling, an elaborate pattern of tiny carvings pierced the walls, letting in plenty of light. Apparently she had dreamed herself into a Tanchico where it was day.

“A grand display of artefacts of Ages long past, of the Age of Legends and Ages before, open to all, even the common folk, three days in the month and on feastdays”, Eurian Romavni had written. He had spoken in glowing terms of the priceless display of  _ cuendillar _ figures, six of them, in a glass-sided case in the centre of the hall, always watched by four of the Panarch’s personal guards when people were allowed in, and had gone on for two pages about the bones of fabulous beasts “never seen alive by the eyes of man”, Elayne could see some of those. On one side of the room was the skeleton of something that looked a little like a bear, if a bear had two front teeth as long as her forearm, and opposite it on the other side were the bones of some slender, four-footed beast with a neck so long the skull was half as high as the ceiling. There were more, spaced down the chamber’s walls, just as fantastic. All of them felt old enough to make the Stone of Tear seem new-built. Ducking under the rope barrier, she walked down the chamber slowly, staring.

A weathered stone figurine of a woman, seemingly unclothed but wrapped in hair that fell to her ankles, was outwardly no different from the others sharing its case, each not much bigger than her hand. But it gave an impression of soft warmth that she recognized. It was an  _ angreal _ , she was sure; she wondered if the Tower knew of it, and why they had not managed to claim it from the Taraboners if so. A finely jointed collar and two bracelets of dull black metal, on a stand by themselves, made her shiver; she felt darkness and pain associated with them—old, old pain, and sharp. A silvery thing in another cabinet, like a three-pointed star inside a circle, was made of no substance she knew; it was softer than metal, scratched and gouged, yet even older than any of the ancient bones. From ten paces she could sense pride and vanity.

Tucked into a corner of one of the cabinets, as if whoever put it there had been uncertain that it was worthy of display, lay the upper half of a broken figure carved from some shiny white stone, a woman holding a crystal sphere in one upraised hand, her face calm and dignified and full of wise authority. Whole, she would have been perhaps a foot tall. The figure was a  _ ter’angreal _ , she knew, or had been. The Seanchan had said she had a Talent that would allow her to make copies of  _ ter’angreal _ . She’d escaped before they could use her to make more  _ a’dam _ , thank the Light, but she’d also escaped before they could show her how to properly harness that Talent. Even so, she knew a  _ ter’angreal _ when she saw one, even one that had been broken millennia ago.

It was all very interesting, and left to her own devices she would have been happy to explore the whole museum, but that was not what she had come for. Her first task would be to find her way out of the Panarch’s Palace.

The palace was empty of life, of course. Human life, at least. Colourful fish swam in large fountains that splashed merrily in the courtyards surrounded by delicately columned walks and balconies screened by stonework like intricately carved lace. Lily pads floated on the waters, and white flowers as big as dinner plates. In the World of Dreams, a place was as it was in the real world. Except for people. Elaborate golden lamps stood in the hallways, wicks uncharred, but she could smell the perfumed oil in them. Her feet raised no hint of dust from the bright carpets that surely could never have been beaten, not here.

Once she did see another person walking ahead of her, a man in gilded, ornately worked plate-and-mail armour, a pointed golden helmet crested with white egret plumes under his arm. “Aeldra?” he called, smiling. “Aeldra, come look at me. I am named the Lord Captain of the Panarch’s Legion! Aeldra?” He walked on another pace, still calling, and suddenly was not there. Not a Dreamer. Not even someone using a  _ ter’angreal _ like her stone ring. Only a man whose dream had touched a place he was not aware of, with dangers he did not know. People who died unexpectedly in their sleep had often dreamed their way into  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ and in truth had died there. He was well out of it, back into an ordinary dream.

The candle was burning down beside that bed back in Tear. Her time in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ was burning away.

Hastening her steps, she came to tall, carved doors leading outside, to wide white stairs and a huge empty square. Tanchico spread out in every direction across steep hills, white buildings upon white buildings shining in the sun, hundreds of thin towers and almost as many pointed domes, some gilded. The Panarch’s Circle, a tall round wall of white stone, stood in plain sight not half a mile away and a little lower than the palace. The Panarch’s Palace rose atop one of the loftiest hills. At the top of the deep stairs, she was high enough to see water glinting to the west, inlets separating her from more hilly fingers where the rest of the city lay. Tanchico was larger than Tear, of a size with Caemlyn even, though the city was nowise near so well made, and the people a lackadaisical bunch in comparison.

So much to search, and she did not even know for what. For something that signified the presence of the Black Ajah, or something that indicated some sort of danger to Rand, if either existed here. Had she studied  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ in the White Tower, perhaps she would have known what to look for, how to interpret what she saw. But no-one remained who could teach her. Aiel Wise Ones supposedly knew how to decipher dreams, but Aviendha had been so reluctant to talk about the Wise Ones that Elayne had not asked any of the other Aiel. Perhaps a Wise One could teach her.

She took a step toward the square, and suddenly she was somewhere else.

Great stone spires rose around her in a heat that sucked the moisture out of her breath. The sun seemed to bake right through her clothes, and the breeze blowing in her face seemed to come from a stove. Stunted trees dotted a landscape almost bare of other growth, except for a few patches of tough grass and some prickly plants she did not recognize. She recognized the lion, however. It lay in a crevice in the rocks not twenty paces away, black-tufted tail switching idly, looking not at her but at something another hundred strides on. The large boar covered in coarse hair was rooting and snuffling at the base of a thorny bush, never noticing the Aiel woman creeping up on it with a spear ready to thrust. Garbed like the Aiel in the Stone, she had her  _ shoufa _ around her head but her face uncovered.

_ The Waste _ , Elayne thought incredulously.  _ I’ve come to the Aiel Waste! _

The Aiel woman froze. Her eyes were on Elayne now, not the boar. If it was a boar; it did not seem to be shaped exactly right.

Elayne was sure the woman was not a Wise One. Not dressed like a Maiden, from what she had been told, a Maiden of the Spear who wanted to become a Wise One had to “give up the spear”. That was another thing Aviendha hadn’t been comfortable speaking of. It was Dailin who’d told her, though even she would say no more than that. This hunter had to be just an Aiel woman who had dreamed herself into  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , like that fellow in the palace. He would have seen her, too, if he had ever turned around. Elayne closed her eyes and concentrated on her one clear image of Tanchico, that huge skeleton in the great hall.

When she opened them again, she was staring at the massive bones. They had been wired together, she noticed this time. Quite cleverly, so that the wires hardly showed at all. The half-figurine with its crystal sphere was still on its shelf. She did not go near it, any more than the black collar and bracelets that felt of so much pain and suffering. She rushed past them all this time, and quickly found her way back to the square.

Time passed differently here; Nynaeve could be waking her up any moment, and she still had not even begun. There might be no more minutes to waste. She had to be careful of what she thought from here on. No more thinking about the Wise Ones. Even the admonition made everything lurch around her.  _ Keep your mind on what you are doing! _ she told herself firmly.

She set out through the empty city, walking fast, sometimes trotting. Winding, stone-paved streets slanted up and down, curving every which way, all empty, except for green-backed pigeons and pale grey gulls that rose in thunderclaps of wings when she came close.  _ Why birds and not people? _ Flies buzzed by, and she could see roaches and beetles scurrying along in the shadows. A pack of lean dogs, all different colours, loped across the street far ahead of her.  _ Why dogs? _

She pulled herself back to why she was there. What would be a sign of the Black Ajah? Or of this danger to Rand, if it existed? Most of the white buildings were plastered, the plaster chipped and cracked, often showing weathered wood or pale brown brick beneath. Only the towers and the larger structures were stone, if still white. Even the stone had tiny fissures, though, most of it; cracks too minute for the eye to catch, but she could feel them with the Power in her, spiderwebbing domes and towers. Perhaps that meant something. Perhaps it meant Tanchico was a city not looked after by its inhabitants. As likely that as anything else.

She jumped as a shrieking man suddenly plummeted out of the sky in front of her. She only had time to register baggy white trousers and thick moustaches covered by a transparent veil before he vanished, only a pace above the pavement. Had he struck, here in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , he would have been found dead in his bed.

_ Dreaming of falling, poor fellow. I’m had that dream myself. _

Perhaps something inside the buildings. It was a small chance, a wild hope, but she was desperate enough to try anything. Almost anything. Time. How much time did she have left? She began running from doorway to doorway, putting her head into shops and inns and houses.

Tables and benches stood in common rooms awaiting customers, as neatly arranged as the dully gleaming pewter mugs and plates on their shelves. The shops were as tidy as if the shopkeeper had just opened for the morning, yet while a tailor’s tables held bolts of cloth, and a cutler’s knives and scissors, the ceiling hooks hung empty in a butcher’s shop and the shelves stood bare. A finger run along anywhere picked up no dust at all; everything was clean.

In the narrower streets there were homes, small simple white-plastered buildings with flat roofs and no windows onto the street, ready for families to walk in and sit on benches before cold fireplaces or around narrow tables with carved legs where a goodwife’s best bowl or platter was given pride of place. Clothes hung on pegs, pots hung from ceilings, handtools lay on benches, waiting.

On a hunch she retraced her steps once, just to see, back a dozen doors, and peered a second time into what was some woman’s home in the real world. It was almost the way it had been. Almost. The red-striped bowl that had been on the table was now a narrow blue vase; one of the benches, on it a broken harness and the tools for mending it, that had been near the fireplace now sat by the door holding a darning basket and a child’s embroidered dress.

_ Why did it change? _ she wondered.  _ But for that matter, why should it stay the same? Light, I don’t know anything about this place! _

There was a stable across the street, the white plaster showing large patches of brick. She trotted to it and pulled open one of the big doors. Straw covered the dirt floor, just as in every stable she had ever seen, but the stalls stood empty. No horses. Why? Something rustled in the straw, and she realized the stalls were not empty after all. Rats. Dozens of them, staring at her boldly, noses testing the air for her scent. None of the rats ran, or even shied away; they behaved as if they had more right there than she. In spite of herself she stepped back. Pigeons and gulls and dogs, flies and rats. Maybe a Wise One would know why.

As suddenly as that she was back in the Waste.

With a scream she fell flat on her back as the hairy boarlike creature darted straight for her, looking as large as a small pony. Not a pig, she saw as it leaped nimbly over her; the snout was too sharp and full of keen teeth, and it had four toes on each foot. The thought was calm, but she shuddered as the beast scampered away through the rocks. It was big enough to have trampled her, breaking bones and worse; those teeth could have ripped and torn as well as any wolf’s. She would have awakened with the wounds. If she had waked at all.

The gritty rock under her back was a blistering stovetop. She scrambled to her feet, angry with herself. If she could not keep her mind on what she was doing, she would accomplish nothing. Tanchico was where she was supposed to be; she had to concentrate on that. Nothing else.

She froze when she saw the Aiel woman watching her with sharp blue eyes from ten paces off. The woman was Aviendha’s age, no older than herself, but the wisps of hair that stuck out from under her  _ shoufa _ were so pale as to be almost white. The spear in her hands was ready to be cast, and at that distance she was not likely to miss.

The Aiel were said to be more than rough with those who entered the Waste without permission. Elayne knew she could wrap woman and spear in Air, hold them safely, but would the flows keep long enough when she began to fade? Or would they just anger the woman enough to make her cast her spear the moment she was able, perhaps before Elayne was truly gone? Much good it would do to take herself back to Tanchico with an Aiel spear through her. If she tied the flows, that would leave the woman trapped in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ until they were unravelled, helpless if that lion or the boarlike creature returned.

No. She simply needed the woman to lower her spear, just long enough to feel safe closing her eyes, to take herself back to Tanchico. Back to what she was supposed to be doing. She had no more time for these flights of fancy. She was not entirely sure someone who had only dreamed themselves into  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ could harm her the way other things there could, but she was not going to risk finding out with an Aiel spear-point.

“I mean you no harm,” she said, outwardly calm.

The woman did not lower her weapon. Instead, she frowned and said, “You have no right to wear  _ cadin’sor _ , girl, even one so strangely coloured.” And Elayne found herself standing there in her skin, the sun burning her from overhead, the ground searing her bare feet.

For a moment she gaped in disbelief, dancing from foot to foot. She had not thought it possible to change things about someone else. So many possibilities, so many rules, that she did not know. Hurriedly she thought herself back into thick shoes and a white dress with divided skirts. At the same time she made the Aiel woman’s garments vanish to reveal her leanly muscular body. She had to draw on  _ saidar _ to do it; the woman must have been concentrating on keeping Elayne naked. She had a flow ready to seize the spear if the other woman made to throw it.

It was the Aiel woman’s turn to look shocked. She let the spear fall to her side, too, and Elayne seized the moment to shut her eyes and take herself back to Tanchico, back to the skeleton of that huge boar. Or whatever it was. She barely gave it a second glance this time. She was growing tired of things that looked like boars and were not.

She frowned as she ran. Just as she had closed her eyes it had seemed she saw another woman, beyond the Aiel woman, watching them both. A golden-haired woman holding a silver bow _. You’ve been listening to too many of dear Thom’s stories _ , she told herself. Birgitte Silverbow was long dead; she could not come again until Min used the Horn of Valere to call her back from the grave. Dead people, even the Heroes of legend, surely could not dream themselves into  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ .

Well, other than Rand, of course. He was one of the Heroes, too, and she’d seen him in this place before. Did that mean he was a Dreamer? He certainly didn’t have a  _ ter’angreal _ , and he stayed in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ too long to be an accidental visitor.

Between one step and the next, the world changed around her again. One moment she was running through the Panarch’s Palace for the umpteenth time, and the next she was stumbling across a hilly grassland, and trying to avoid crashing into the trees ahead.

She managed to halt her momentum before she did herself an injury greater than scraping her hands on the rough bark of a tree, but it was yet another example of how little she knew of  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ and how to control what happened here. She should just give the ring to Nynaeve, or at least take Aviendha’s suggestion and bring two others with her. Even inexperienced, they couldn’t possibly do worse at this than Elayne was, and in time they might be able to figure it out between the three of them.

She’d come to a place she had no memory of, but a moment’s study of her surroundings convinced her she knew where it was. Those mountains to the west were almost certainly the Mountains of Mist. She’d seen them from the deck of their ship on the way to Tear. If  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ responded to one’s thoughts, then it was natural enough that thinking of Rand would bring her to his home, but it left her with the very unwelcome task of returning to Tanchico and starting her search over yet again.

She was trying to concentrate of doing just that when a strange voice drifted to her ears through the trees.

“Look at me—half girl, half beast. What right do I have to call myself a human being?”

She thought someone might have murmured something in response, but it was too low and too far away for her to hear.

“Oh, you! You’re too good to me. I can’t believe you’re ... so good ...”

Intrigued, Elayne picked her way through the woods in the voice’s direction. It almost sounded like a woman’s voice, but there was a deep, rumbling timbre to it that she’d never heard from any woman. Or even from any man, for that matter.

The voice fell silent, but there were other noises by which to track its source. And track it she did, approaching cautiously, until she found herself peering around a trunk at a most bizarre sight.

Some manner of beast was kneeling in a clearing full of long grass with its back to her. It was big for an animal, brown furred, with a bushy tail, and thicker hair atop its head than on the rest of its body. Padded and clawed feet dug into the ground on either side of what it was kneeling atop, the better to support it as it bounced up and down. The low rumbles that issued from its throat sounded ... pleased.

As she stared, unsure of what exactly she was seeing, a pair of human hands combed slowly through the creature’s hair. Pale hands. Strong looking ones. Familiar even ... She watched them move down the furry back to cup and squeeze a pair of equally furry, gyrating buttocks, and force an even louder rumble from the strange beast’s throat. It was only when they released their grip, and she saw the heron branded on one of his palms, that she realised what—and who—she was watching.

Elayne was unable to stop herself from gasping. The beast’s head snapped around to stare in her direction, and she saw that it was indeed a woman, though the strangest one she had ever seen. A light coat of brown hair covered her face as well as her body—even her breasts!—her ears came to points, and sat too high upon her head, her bared teeth were long and pointed, and the nose with which she sniffed the air between them was as hard and black as a dog’s. Large, golden eyes glared at her furiously.

The eyes were the only part of her she recognised, but they were enough.

“Raine!?” she said. Or squeaked, if she was being honest.

“What is it?” a familiar voice demanded. He sat up among the tall grass, the strong muscles on his stomach bunching up to support his weight, and frowned around him forbiddingly. That frown was washed away as soon as he saw her, and replaced with embarrassment. “Elayne! What are you doing here?” Rand gasped.

“I might ask the same of you, if it was not so obvious!” She was not so sheltered the she couldn’t imagine what Raine was doing, kneeling atop his waist like that. Her face grew even hotter than it had already been. “I came here to try to find out what the Black Ajah is plotting, but obviously you have more important uses for  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . I’ll leave you to it, shall I?”

She spun on her heel and stalked away, trying as best she could to banish the memory of the half-breast that was Raine Cinclare bouncing in Rand’s lap, and replace it with the now familiar skeleton of that long dead beast in Tanchico’s museum. She didn’t know what she was feeling, so wildly did her heart beat and her thoughts rush. Was it damning that Rand would consort with someone who looked like that? Did it mean he had no standards at all? Or did it speak well of him, that he might love someone who looked so strange and was so obviously troubled? She should be jealous. Was she?

Pushing those thoughts out of her mind, she concentrated on Tanchico. And just like that, she was there once more.

She made her way through the Panarch’s Palace at a sprint this time. She really had to be nearing the end of her allotted time now, and she’d barely explored any of the city on account of these constant interruptions.

She exited the palace, still at a run, and frowned about her. Where had she been when she’d been called away to the Waste for the second time? She would continue from there.

A tall woman was suddenly standing in the street ahead of her, slim in a bulky brown skirt and loose white blouse, with a brown shawl around her shoulders and a folded scarf around her forehead to hold white hair that spilled to her waist. Despite her plain clothes she wore a great many necklaces and bracelets of gold or ivory or both. Fists planted on her hips, she stared straight at Elayne, frowning.

Her sudden appearance gave Elayne pause but she knew every woman who had gone with Liandrin, and this woman was certainly not one of them. The woman did not vanish again, however; she stood there as Elayne approached.  _ Why is she not disappearing like the others? Oh, Light! She’s really ...! _ She snatched for the flows to weave lightning, or tangle the woman in Air, as needed.

“Calm yourself, girl,” the woman barked. “I had enough trouble finding you again without you running off again when I do.”

Elayne stared. It was the Aiel woman’s voice, but this was an older woman. Not as old as she had thought at first—in fact, she looked much younger than her white hair suggested—but with the voice, and those sharp blue eyes, she was sure it was the same woman. “You look ... different,” she said.

“You can be what you wish to be, here.” The woman sounded embarrassed, but only a little. “At times I like to remember ... That is not important. You are from the White Tower? It has been long since they had a dreamwalker. Very long. I am Amys, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel.”

Elayne pursed her lips in thought. “Are you a Wise One?” She had been thinking of what Aviendha had said of the Wise Ones just before appearing in the Waste, just as she’d been thinking of Rand before being drawn to his location.

“I am,” Amys said.

So you could go to people as well as places, if you concentrated on them. That was not as pleasing a discovery as it might be. If the Black Ajah could find her just by thinking of her, then  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ was even more dangerous than she’d realised.

“My name is Elayne Trakand,” she said, then hesitated. They had been allowing people to believe them to be Aes Sedai, but Elayne did not like to lie without a good reason. And Amys did not look like a woman who would appreciate being lied to. “I am the Daughter-Heir of Andor, and an Accepted of the White Tower,” she finished.

Amys’ expression did not change. “I meant to leave you standing in your skin until you asked for some proper clothes. Putting on  _ cadin’sor _ that way, as though you were ... You surprised me, pulling free as you did, turning my own spear on me. But you are still untaught, are you not? Else you would not have popped into the middle of my hunt that way, where you obviously did not wish to be. Did you come to  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ — _ Tel’aran’rhiod! _ —to stare at this city, wherever it is?”

Before she could answer, her attention was drawn to a rippling in the air nearby, a blurring of the city beyond that had her fearing that the Black Ajah had found her. She was readying to attack when the blurring became a familiar man, now blessedly clothed, and a not so familiar almost-woman, still arguably naked.

“There you are!” Rand called when he saw Elayne. He jerked his gaze hither and yon, frowning at the city around them. “Where are we?” Raine, still in her half-wolf form, stood at his side with her shoulders hunched, and kept her eyes fixed on the ground.

“It is Tanchico, the capital city of Tarabon,” Elayne said tightly, answering both of her pursuers at once.

“Who is this, Elayne Trakand?” asked Amys. Raine’s strange appearance merited only a brief study, to Elayne’s surprise. It was Rand on whom the Wise One focused her piercing stare.

He returned her stare suspiciously. The red coat and dark breeches he had hid his nakedness behind became a familiar suit of battered armour. “I might ask the same thing.”

Though she dearly wanted to continue the task for which she’d come here, and to put some distance between herself, Rand and Raine, Elayne could not see a diplomatic disaster in the offing without moving to avert it.

“This is Amys, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel. She is one of their Wise Ones, and a woman of some authority,” she said. The exact nature of that authority she had not yet been able to ascertain, but the truth of it was plain in the way Aviendha had spoken of them. “And this is Rand al’Thor. A skirt-chasing lout from the Theren. The hairy girl is his ... friend.”

Rand’s cheeks coloured, and he gave her a hurt look. Raine hung her head even lower.

Amys did not look amused. She shared her stern frown between the three of them, even Elayne, which she thought rather unfair. She was the one trying to keep things civil, after all.

“Children, all of you. Playing in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ with no understanding of the danger.” Her bracelets clacked together when she stabbed a finger at Rand. “You have a familiar look. Elayne Trakand does not flatter you, but I think her heart rules her tongue in this. Who are you and how do you come to this place? Male dreamwalkers are almost unheard of.”

Rand shrugged. “A dreamwalker? Never heard of it. I just keep ending up here, whether I like it or not. If I could stop myself from getting dragged into this place every other night, I’d be happy to. There are enough dangers in the real world, without adding dangerous dreams on top of it.”

The Wise One studied him intently. “You look like one of us, but you dress and speak like a wetlander. And you are a dreamwalker, but do not know it ... Could you be the one the shade of my heart went to find?”

Instead of answering her, Rand looked to Elayne for guidance. It was distressing how easily that mollified her, after what she’d caught him doing.

“There are many questions I would like to hear an answer to as well,” she said calmly. Mentioning that Rand was the Dragon Reborn was a risk she would rather not take. Amys seemed reasonable enough, if stern, but who could know how anyone, no matter how reasonable they seemed, would react to such a revelation? “I came to this place to find women of the Black Ajah, Darkfriends. I think they are here, and I have to find them if they are. Do you know anything about that, Amys?”

“It truly exists, then.” The Aiel almost whispered it. “An Ajah of Shadowrunners in the White Tower.” She shook her head. “You are like a girl just wedded to the spear who thinks now she can wrestle men and leap mountains. For her it means a few bruises and a valuable lesson in humility. For you, here, it could mean death.” Amys eyed the white buildings around them and grimaced. “Tanchico? In ... Tarabon? This city is dying, eating itself. There is a darkness here, an evil. Worse than men can make. Or women.” She looked at Elayne pointedly. “You cannot see it, or feel it, can you? And you want to hunt Shadowrunners in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ .”

“Evil?” Elayne said quickly. “That could be them. Are you sure? Can you tell what they are doing here?”

“A child,” Amys muttered, “demanding a silver bracelet from her father this minute when she knows nothing of trading or the making of bracelets. You have much to learn. Far more than I can begin to teach you, now. Come to the Three-fold Land. I will have the word spread through the clans that an Accepted called Elayne Trakand is to be brought to me at Cold Rocks Hold. Give your name and show your Great Serpent ring, and you will have safe running. I am not there now, but I will return from Rhuidean before you can arrive.” She frowned at Rand, and at the silent wolfsister, and her lips thinned. Pointedly ignoring Raine, she looked Rand in the eyes and said, “You should come as well, you who avoids my questions. I have never had to teach a male dreamwalker before, but I think it would be especially foolish to let you run unarmed through the dream.”

“It’s possibly I might go there someday,” Rand said. He was obviously making an effort to hide his intentions, so still was his face and expressionless his voice. It was a bit too obvious, in truth, but he was still learning.

Raine’s omission from the offered teachings was a curious one. “I cannot help but notice that Raine here has not faded from the dreamworld as most of those I’ve glimpsed do. Is she not a dreamwalker as well, then? Why do you not extend her the same offer you have us?”

“We do not by habit help any wetlanders,” Amys said, unapologetically and without hesitation. “The nature of your hunt, and the nature of this boy, are enough that I am willing to make exceptions for you.”

“And Raine being so,” she gestured at the silent girl’s brown-furred body, “so very ...” Rand was looking at her, pleading with her with his eyes. Raine just stood there miserably, waiting for whatever judgement Elayne might pass. With a soft sigh, she amended what she had been going to say. “So very skilled at using  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ to alter her true appearance, does not merit instruction? It seems a little unfair.”

“Such a heart ...” Rand murmured.

The heart he spoke of missed a beat. He could still do that to her, despite all she knew of his nocturnal proclivities. She felt warm all over, despite the ... the breeze?

_ Light. Don’t you dare. Not again _ . Elayne looked down slowly, hoping against hope to see that plain white dress she’d put on still in place. Somehow, she knew her hopes would be in vain; she knew it even before she saw the tops of her own naked breasts, out in the sunlight for all to see.

She snapped an arm across her chest and a hand down to cover her crotch as best she could, cringing low, and blushing furiously.  _ I hate this place so much! _

Red-faced, Rand took a sudden, heretofore unrevealed, interest in the architectural styling of Tarabon. He was looking everywhere except at her, but Elayne had no doubt he had already seen it all. Her face burned even hotter. He held one hand in front of Raine’s eyes as well, though whether to shield her from the sight of Elayne’s nudity, or to shield Elayne from her sight, she could not say.

“I’m not going to peek,” Raine muttered, but Rand didn’t move his hand.

Amys sighed in exasperation. “Children. I cannot tell you if your prey is here. I do not know them, or this place, this Tanchico. You must come to me. What you do is dangerous, far more dangerous than you know. You must—Where are you going? Stay!”

Something seemed to snatch at Elayne, pulling her into darkness.

Amys’ voice followed her, hollow and dwindling. “You must come to me and learn. You must ...”

It took Elayne a moment to get her bearings when she woke, which was not made at all easier by Dani shaking her so hard it felt as if her eyes were being rattled around in her skull.

“I’m up, I’m up!” she managed.

The shaking came to a merciful end. Aviendha was standing at the foot of the bed, her normally composed features tinged with frustration and anxiety. She flashed a quick smile when their eyes met.

“You would not wake up,” Dani said unsteadily. “I shook you and shook you, but you would not wake.”

Elayne put a hand on her arm and squeezed reassuringly. “I am back, now. I got distracted by ... I got distracted. I am sorry if I worried you.”

Nynaeve returned the pitcher of water to the washstand vigorously, sloshing some out. She must have been on the point of throwing it in Elayne’s sleeping face. Her features were composed, but the pitcher rattled the washbowl, and she let the spilled water drip to the carpet. “Was it something you found? Or was it ...? Elayne, if the World of Dreams can hold on to you in some way, maybe it is too dangerous until we learn more. Maybe the more often you go, the harder it is to come back. Maybe ... I don’t know. But I do know we cannot risk anyone becoming lost.” She crossed he arms under her breasts, ready for an argument.

Elayne sat up in the bed. “I met a Wise One, a woman named Amys. She said I should come to her, to learn about  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . At a place called Cold Rocks Hold.” She had caught a flicker of Aviendha’s eye at the mention of the Wise One’s name. “Do you know her? Amys?”

The Aiel woman’s nod could only be described as reluctant. “A Wise One. A dreamwalker. Amys was  _ Far Dareis Mai _ until she gave up the spear to go to Rhuidean.”

“A Maiden!” Elayne exclaimed. “So that’s why she ... Never mind. She said she is at Rhuidean now. Do you know where this Cold Rocks Hold is, Aviendha?”

“Of course. Cold Rocks is Rhuarc’s hold. Rhuarc is Amys’ husband. I visit there, sometimes. Or used to. My sister-mother, Lian, is sister-wife to Amys.”

Elayne exchanged confused glances with Nynaeve and Dani. Once Elayne had thought she knew a good bit about Aiel, all learned from her teachers in Caemlyn, but she had discovered since meeting Aviendha how little she did know. Customs and relationships all were a maze. First-sisters meant having the same mother; except that it was possible for friends to become first-sisters by making a pledge before Wise Ones. Second-sisters meant your mothers were sisters; if your fathers were brothers, you were second-father-sisters, and not considered as closely related as second-sisters. After that, it truly grew bewildering.

“What does ‘sister-wife’ mean?” she asked hesitantly.

“That you have the same husband.” Aviendha frowned at the way Dani gasped and Nynaeve’s eyes opened as wide as they would go. Elayne had been half-expecting the answer, but she still found herself fussing with a shift that already kept everything properly covered. “This is not your custom?” the Aiel woman asked.

Dani snorted. “No, it is not.”

“But you and Ilyena Volnicoliev care for one another as first-sisters. What would you do if a man caught both of your interests? Fight over him? Let a man damage the ties between you? Would it not be better if you both married him, then?”

“Why not just kill him instead?” a familiar voice drawled.

Elayne craned her head around to peer past Dani, and found the voice’s owner leaning against the wall where Aviendha had once sat. She was dressed in a dark blue dress trimmed with yellow, and cut in the Tairen style. Her pale hair was neatly combed save for the long fringe that hung low enough to almost curtain her eyes. Even her face had its old mocking half smile back in place.

Seeing her out and about made Elayne grin. “Ilyena! Where did you come from?”

That won her a flat, blue-eyed stare. “Volsung. It’s one of the Borderlands. Up in the north-west. I thought your tutors would have taught you these things.”

Despite the mockery, Elayne’s smile did not slip. “Well, it is good to see you. You look much better than last time.” Dani was smiling, too, but hers looked a bit rueful.

The Volsuni tossed her hair back. “Pretty impressive, isn’t it? The picture of perfect health, that’s me. I’d still happily stab any man who thought he could take advantage, though.”

“Yes. Well. Naturally. Any sensible woman would, I’d expect.” A foreboding grew in Elayne, though, in spite of her dismissive words. Rand was involved with several other women. Min had possibly seen a vision of Elayne sharing her husband. And Aiel marriages involved more than two spouses. The parts were starting to click into place, and she wasn’t at all sure she liked what they were becoming. Could she do such a thing? Would she? She knew her cheeks were red. What would she do if Min had really had a viewing of her future?  _ If it’s Berelain, I will strangle her, and him too! If it has to be someone, why couldn’t it be Min? Light, what am I thinking? _ She knew she was becoming flustered, and to cover it, she made her voice light. “You sound as if the man has no choice in the matter.”

“He can say no,” Aviendha said as if it were obvious, “but if he wishes to marry one, he must marry both when they ask. Please take no offense, but I was shocked when I learned that in your lands a man can ask a woman to marry him. A man should make his interest known, then wait for the woman to speak. Of course, some women lead a man to see where his interest lies, but the right of the question is hers. This is so with all marriages, but especially so with a  _ harem _ .”

Elayne frowned. “What is a  _ harem _ ?”

“It is a word in the Old Tongue,” Aviendha explained. “It means ‘a marriage of many’.”

“I see ...” Elayne said faintly. Now that she thought about it, she did vaguely recall having heard her one of her tutors use the word, though she’d said it meant ‘an intimate gathering’. That was not overly surprising, though. Words often had multiple meanings in the Old Tongue, depending on how they were combined with other words, and in what context they were used. This was certainly not a meaning she had imagined, however! “These  _ harem _ you speak of ... are they common? Is it always one man and two women? What if the women don’t like each other?”

Aviendha looked confused. “Why would you marry someone you did not like? And why would a woman not be able to have many husbands? You are asking these questions of the wrong person, Elayne Trakand. I do not really know very much of these things. I have wanted to be  _ Far Dareis Mai _ since I was a child. All I want in life is the spear and my spear-sisters,” she finished quite fiercely.

A silence fell, broken only by Dailin’s heavy sigh.

“Outrageous doesn’t even begin to cover it,” Nynaeve whispered to herself. She looked too shocked to shout, which was a rare blessing.

After a moment, Dani went and touched Aviendha’s shoulder. “No-one is going to try to make you marry,” she said soothingly. Aviendha gave her a startled look.

Nynaeve cleared her throat loudly. Elayne wondered if she had been thinking about Lan; there were certainly hard spots of colour in her cheeks. “I suppose, Elayne,” Nynaeve said in a slightly too energetic voice, “that you did not find what you were looking for, or you would have said something by now.”

“I found nothing of interest to our search,” Elayne replied regretfully. “But Amys said ... Aviendha, what sort of woman is Amys?”

The Aiel woman had taken up a study of the carpet. “Amys is hard as the mountains and pitiless as the sun,” she said without looking up. “She is a dreamwalker. She can teach you. Once she lays her hands on you, she will drag you by the hair toward what she wants. Rhuarc is the only one who can stand up to her. Even the other Wise Ones step carefully when Amys speaks. But she can teach you.”

Elayne shook her head. “I meant would being in a strange place unsettle her, make her nervous? Being in a city? Would she see things that weren’t there?”

Aviendha’s laugh was a short, sharp sound. “Nervous? Waking to find a lion in her bed would not make Amys nervous. She was a Maiden, Elayne Trakand, and she has grown no softer, you can be sure of it.”

“What did this woman see?” Nynaeve asked.

“It wasn’t something she saw, so much as something she claimed to feel,” Elayne said slowly. “She said Tanchico had an evil in it. Worse than men could make, she said. That could very well be the Black Ajah.”

“It could be,” Nynaeve said grudgingly.

Dani nodded. “Tanchico always felt the more likely plot to me. But what about this Amys’ offer? It would be nice if you didn’t need her help to tell what was going on there. Will you go to this Cold Rocks Hold, like she said?”

“Go to her?” Nynaeve sounded appalled. “Into the Waste?”

Elayne was already shaking her head. “We have duties to attend to. And I have personal business to settle here in Tear. It was a kind offer, but I will not to taking her up on it.”

“Amys does not have the right to make you do anything you do not choose to. She does not have the right to make anyone,” Aviendha said. If Elayne hadn’t known better, she’d have thought the Aiel looked sulky.

That was impossible, of course, but her words were no more than truth. Amys couldn’t make her do anything she didn’t choose to, and neither could Rand. The real question was whether, despite knowing all the complications and worse that loving him would bring with it, she would choose him anyway.


	33. Responsible Ownership

CHAPTER 30: Responsible Ownership

Rand didn’t leave the dreamworld when Elayne did, though he came to wish he had. She left him to deal with Amys and her questions and assumptions. He wasn’t sure if he liked Amys, and wasn’t sure if that was fair. But she looked at him as if she knew him already, and that put his back up. Many of the Aiel did that, but somehow Amys did it more.

It was almost a relief when she decided to introduce him to some of her fellow dreamwalkers, despite not knowing how she managed to force him and Raine to move when she did. It was to a mountaintop that she took them, where a beautiful girl sat looking down at a harsh, sun-baked land. She was dressed like Amys, in a plain skirt and blouse, and when she expressed her surprise at their arrival it was in an Aiel accent, but Rand wouldn’t have taken her for one based on her appearance. She was the first Aiel he’d seen who had brown hair, though her eyes were the same colour as his own.

“Newcomers to the dream. And two of them at once,” she said when Amys had made the introductions. The young woman’s named was Seana. She studied him and Raine with a calm certainty that belied her age.

“Three of them, in truth. Another wetlander called Elayne Trakand was here, but woke suddenly,” Amys said, blank faced. “I was hunting when she appeared nearby.”

Seana nodded her understanding, her face as expressionless as Amys’.

“Are there many Aiel who can dream like this?” Rand asked. He was starting to wonder if it was something they could all do. If he really did have Aiel blood in him, then it might explain his own aptitude for it. Raine, who watched the Aiel with silent wariness, plainly uncertain of them, had told him that all of the wolfkin could visit the dreamworld. He didn’t doubt her word. He’d already known that Perrin was, as the Aiel called it, a dreamwalker.

But Amys and Seana shook their heads.

“It is a rare gift. Once you have learned to master it, you will find it an excellent arrow to have in your quiver,” said Amys.

“You intend to teach him, then?” Seana asked.

“I do.”

Rand cleared his throat. “Don’t start trying to push me around. I get enough of that from the Aes Sedai. I never agreed to any lessons.”

Amys cocked her head at him. “There is no benefit to me in spending my time instructing you. Suspicion is not the reaction that my offer merits.” After a moment, she gave over trying to stab him with her eyes, and looked to Seana instead. “It is not simply a choice of appearance. He was raised in the wetlands. Though perhaps this is a thing that Dana should be speaking of, instead of me.”

“Oh? Do you think he is ...?” Seana cut herself off. She looked Rand up and down, as if comparing him to someone, but said no more.

“Yes,” Amys said. “Is Dana asleep at the moment?”

“I do not know, but we can check.”

Rand had heard enough. He did not like those looks, not one bit. And he definitely didn’t like the topic they were dancing around. “Maybe you can teach me a lot about this place, this  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ ,” he growled. “And maybe I’ll take those lessons and be grateful for them. We’ll see. I’ll need to know what is expected of me first, and what the price would be. But it’s late and I don’t want to be meeting ... anyone else right now.”

Raine had gotten very alive to his moods lately. She proved it then, straightening up, her hands curling into claws. With the long, dark nails on the ends of her fingers, they could probably function for claws, too. “Fight? Flight?” she asked, giving the Aiel women a golden glare.

“No fight,” Rand said firmly. “I just need to get some sleep, that’s all. Dreaming like this always leaves me cranky in the morning.”

“Dreamwalking is no substitute for normal dreaming. If you spent all night in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , it would be as if you had not gone to sleep at all,” Amys told him. “Consider that your first lesson. Given freely, and without expectation of gratitude.”

The way she kept implying things about him was bad enough without her calling him rude as well. Especially when he was. It left him feeling exposed. Seana looked him up and down again, this time while wearing an odd little smirk. Raine stepped between him and the Aiel women, as if to shield him with her body. Rand didn’t much like being defended by anyone. It always left him feeling that he wasn’t doing his job. But he found he didn’t mind it so much when it was her doing the defending. Still, they should leave before the wolfsister made good on her threat to fight. Battles in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ were surpassing strange, and these Aiel seemed to know the place well. Who knew how that conflict would go? Rand wasn’t eager to find out.

“Do you know how to return to normal sleep?” Amys asked.

“I figured that part out,” he said.

She nodded. “Good. We will meet again.”

Rand got the sleep he’d been asking for that night, though it was not without dreams of its own. They were just the normal ones, though. A great invisible shadow suffocating him while he flailed around uselessly. Familiar, beloved faces pleading with him not to hurt them; cursing him when he inevitably did. Bloody battle, mutilated corpses. The usual stuff.

He didn’t know how long the dreams lasted, but he knew he’d been tossing and turning in his sleep, for that was what woke him. More specifically, it was the way the covers refused to move along with him, leaving him pinned down. Still tired, he cracked an eyelid to scowl about. It was a futile gesture. It was still the middle of the night, and his room was pitch dark. It might have been otherwise if Moiraine hadn’t told him she’d warded it against the Myrddraal’s ability to move through shadows.

The darkness prevented him from seeing what his blankets were caught on, and his tugging didn’t dislodge them at first, but it did cause something to stir at the foot of his bed. A girlish mumble sounded, and suddenly a pair of glowing yellow orbs appeared in the darkness.

It was such a strange thing to see in the middle of the night, especially when only just awoken from sleep, that Rand shivered uncontrollably. He soon stamped down that bit of cowardice, though, for he knew who those glowing orbs belonged to.

“Raine. What are you doing down there?” She hadn’t been with him when he’d gone to sleep, any more than he’d expected to meet her in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . It was Imoen he’d been with. She was still in the bed, sleeping peacefully, he realised, now that he listened for the sound of her breathing.

“They let me in. Said I was on the list,” Raine explained. “Didn’t say you had company ... but I didn’t want to go.” He couldn’t see anything except her eyes, which he tracked as she came closer. “I liked ... dreaming with you. I like that you still touch me, even when I’m monstrous.”

Rand sighed. “How many times am I going to have to kiss your fangs, girl, before you realise you are very, very far from monstrous.”

She giggled. “It might take a lot of times. I’m not very smart.”

“You seem smart enough to me,” he whispered, conscious of Imoen asleep nearby. “You must have noticed that sleeping isn’t the only thing that’s deceptive in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , for example. Satisfying your body doesn’t actually satisfy your body, either. If anything, it just makes things worse ...”

“I’ve noticed that,” Raine said in a low growl. She crawled closer, until she was almost within reach.

“Would you like me to help you with that problem?”

She let out a long breath. “Oh yes. And I will do the same for you.”

Rand was careful in how he reached out to her, being unable to see anything but her glowing eyes. He found her body in the dark, spidered his fingers across it until he could wrap his arm around her, and then pulled her close.

Raine’s eyes came very close, so close that he was briefly stunned at how gorgeous they looked, but they disappeared from his view when she kissed him. Her lips were soft and sweet on his, not rough or hungry like they had been the other times. It pleased him to think that a sign of her growing trust, that she knew he would see to her, and that there was no need to rush.

Intent on proving that trust deserved, he traced her side, her hip and her leg with his palm, and then moved inwards seeking her tenderest place. She gasped when he found it, and immediately parted to let him enter. She was drenched. The legacy of their interrupted tryst in the dreamworld. Rand worried whether Elayne would scorn him for what she’d learned that night, but he didn’t worry about it long. It was a problem for tomorrow. Tonight belonged to Raine.

He stirred her with his fingers, seeking out all the spots he remembered his female counterpart in the Portal Stone worlds, Raye, having liked to touch most. He hoped Raine would like it as much.

She didn’t neglect his pleasure while he was seeing to hers. She pushed down the covers and sought him out with her hand, moving just as carefully as he had. Her grip proved to be surprisingly gentle. She didn’t tug at him, or squeeze too tight. Her hand moved up and down his cock insistently.

“That’s nice. That’s a good girl,” Rand breathed.

“’I’m glad you like it,” she said, and he could tell from her voice that she meant it.

She watched him as they touched each other. He liked that he could see her eyes, even in the pitch dark. Seeing the rest of her would be nice, too, but her eyes were all he needed. He stared into them as his fingers gently explored her body, without and within.

Raine was fairly quiet in his arms that night, as he was in hers. But he could tell from the way her breathing quickened that he was having an effect on her. Pleased, he stepped up his efforts, his fingers moving faster within her. He curled them just so, and made her shiver in his embrace.

It was when her hand stilled upon him that he knew she was nearing the brink. He hugged her tight, and kissed her on the forehead. “That’s it. Let it all out. That’s my girl.”

She stiffened against him, and her eyes disappeared from view again. She held her stiff pose for a moment, and then a long, low breath hissed out of her as she slowly relaxed once more.

“You are a wonderful mate, Shadowkiller,” he heard her whisper against his chest.

“So are you.”

She grunted softly. “No I’m not. Or I wouldn’t be leaving you lying there.” He felt her hand move again; stroking his cock towards what he knew would be its imminent satisfaction.

“That’s nice. That’s just the way to do it,” he told her. “I’m close now.”

“You shouldn’t mess up your bed.”

“It’s fine.”

“No. Do it here instead,” Raine whispered. He tracked the glowing circles of her eyes as she rose up in the bed and came to kneel above him. They disappeared for a moment, as her glorious heat slid down upon him, but soon returned. He stared into them as she bucked her hips, seizing him, shaking him, demanding that he give himself to her. He was glad to. In Raine’s new, even better grip, it didn’t take much longer before Rand was coming. He stared into her bright eyes as he did. It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought she looked pleased.

His own pleasure was undeniable.

Raine let him come in her. Only when he was completely done did she climb off to cosy up against him.

He wrapped his arm around her again, and sighed happily. “I think I’ll sleep much better now.”

“I hope so,” Raine said. “I’d like to, too. So ...” She found his hand in the dark, and pressed something into it. For a moment he wasn’t sure what the warm, supple thing was, but then he realised that it was her lead. He took it from her, but took hold of the hand that had offered it, too.

“You want me to keep this?” he whispered.

Her hair brushed against his chest when she nodded. “I don’t want to dream anymore tonight. Besides, this dream is far better than the wolfdream.”

Lying there with her warmth against his side, her soft skin silking against his, and such words echoing in his mind, Rand couldn’t help but agree.

“I’m glad I met you, Raine,” he said softly.

She only sighed softly, but someone else responded more vocally.

To his other side, he felt Imoen stir in the bed. “Wassat? Did you ...? Raine ...? I’m not—Oh, for the Light’s, Rand,” she said sleepily. “Y’should a’ least ask before makin’ a girl share a bed wi’ someone. Raine’s great an’ all, but still. You should at least ask.”

Raine spoke before he could. “Sorry. Didn’t get in at first. Thought it rude, like you say. Slept elsewhere. Then ...”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. We’re good, you and me. Besides, you’ve got Perrin eyes. I like that. It’s all Mister I-have-to-kiss-every-girl-in-the-world al’Thor’s fault anyway.”

“I ... will try to bear the guilt of it,” Rand said dryly.

The bed shifted as Imoen rolled over and tugged the covers around herself. “Hmph. It’s cuter when you act as if you don’t know.”

“Shadowkiller is the first of all. He mates his pack,” Raine said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Imoen grouched. “And I don’t want to. I want my sleep.”

“She’s right. We could all use some real sleep tonight,” Rand said.

Obedient to his will, Raine settled against him. In the pleasant silence that followed, he was finally able to get some rest.


	34. A Lily in Spring

CHAPTER 31: A Lily in Spring

Aviendha’s talk of  _ harem _ marriages lingered in Elayne’s mind all throughout the next day. Her words tripped too easily over what she knew and what she suspected of Rand’s activities with the bevy of beautiful girl’s he’d surrounded himself with. She didn’t know what to make of it all or even what she felt, despite the time she’d spent trying to examine her own heart. She knew why she’d decided to wear her Andoran gown that day, though. It wasn’t just that she liked being garbed in the red and white of Andor, it was the conservatively high neckline, too.

Whether it was the formal display she was making or her general demeanour, servants and nobles alike kept their distance from her as she paced the Stone’s corridors lost in thought.

She wondered what people would say about her if she were to get involved in such a relationship. She already knew what her mother would say, but refused to be held back by that. Morgase was going to have to accept that Elayne was her own woman sooner or later, and sooner would be much to her preference. Especially if she was going to try to deny her Rand! But if the Queen of Andor’s opinion wasn’t enough to stop her, then why should anyone else’s?

Even so, she’d declined Renay’s offer to help her hunt down Rand that morning. She and the other Maidens had been most helpful when it came to finding secluded corners where she and Rand could pause, alone. Of course, he always had Aiel trailing after him, but she’d soon come to care as little for what they thought as for what her mother would. She’d even entered a sort of conspiracy with the Maidens of the Spear; they seemed to know every hidden nook in the Stone, and they let her know whenever Rand was alone. They seemed to think the game great sport.

Elayne had enjoyed the hunt as well, and she’d especially enjoyed catching her quarry, and losing herself in his arms for a while. She’d soon come to wonder what it would be like to truly let herself go with him, to follow her heart with wild abandon, to throw all the rules and proprieties aside for once in her life. To take and be taken. The thought made butterflies the size of wolfhounds drum their wings in her middle.

If not for Berelain she might have given in to that temptation already. What was it about that woman that got under her skin so badly? Was she truly the source of her distress? Perhaps not. Berelain’s opinion of her mattered less than nothing, after all. It was the idea that Rand would think she was seducing him to advance her political position—as Berelain was—that troubled her. It tainted a relationship that she’d wanted desperately to be clean of such things.

The Mayener’s crass and heartless mockery of Elayne’s inexperience ... Well, she’d be lying if she claimed that hadn’t hurt. It was far too easy to imagine Rand’s disappointment. He’d be too nice to say anything, of course, but she still shied away from his imaginary looks. Berelain had been full of such innuendos, when she’d run afoul of her this past week. Elayne had known better than to be moved by her compliments on her posture that time, but she hadn’t expected her to turn the topic to the movement of her hips, especially not when they were at a public soiree. “Sadly stiff,” she’d called them. Elayne walked like she had an iron rod lodged ... down the back of her dress, the woman had claimed, smiling in mockery. “I don’t know how you expect to get anything done, moving like that,” she’d said, before sauntering off, her rounded hips swaying seductively.

Glaring at her back hadn’t stopped her barbs from finding purchase in Elayne’s skin.

She feared she had not come out the victor in that encounter. Or in many of them. Insulting Berelain’s promiscuity rang a little hollow when she was being promiscuous with the man Elayne wanted to be promiscuous with! She was probably with him now, off bouncing in his lap as Raine had been. The servants she was passing looked at her in surprise, fumbling and almost dropping the ornaments they were dusting. She sniffed at them. You’d think they’d never heard a woman growl before!

She couldn’t help but imagine Berelain with Rand, and it made her furious. She wanted to grab the First of Mayene by the hair, and drag her off him. Then take her place and make her watch!

Elayne flushed.  _ Light, what is wrong with me? _

Sad music being played masterfully on a harp drew her towards one of the dining halls. She wondered if it was Thom playing. She’d successfully managed to convince the old dear that she’d forgotten their drunken conversation, but it remained graven in her mind. As did the memory of her mother sitting on his lap. She’d probably still have scolded her even so, if she’d seen Elayne sitting on Rand’s lap, kissing his lips and his cheeks and his neck, while wishing she could kiss more ...

Rand was in the hall when she entered. She saw him right away. She always did. He was so beautiful. There was no sign of Berelain, thank the Light. Raine was with him, though, looking human again. And rather presentable, too. She’d swapped her usual ragged dress for a nice yellow frock. Very light and summery, as befit the season. She eyed the nearby nobles suspiciously, unseeing or uncaring of how little they liked having someone as ... barbaric as her sitting at their table.

Rand gave their resentful looks as little heed as Raine did. His attention was all on the singer, Master Balsara, whose powerful voice made even the softer parts of his lament ring through the cavernous chamber.

Wondering what it was about the man’s music that enraptured Rand so, Elayne tuned out the hubbub of chatting nobles, and focused on his words.

He sang of a man out of time, homeless and abandoned, whose hopes and dreams all slipped away from him. A dying man, his fate already decided. A man bidding his farewell to the one he loved. Elayne shivered as she listened. She didn’t know whether the song was old or new, but she knew why it had captured Rand’s attention.

“But touch my tears, with your lips,” Balsara sang, louder now, passionate in his tragedy. “Touch my war, with your fingertips. And we can have forever. And we can love forever! Forever ... is our today. Who wants to live forever? Who wants to live forever!?”

None of the Tairen nobles paid their Court Bard much mind as he strummed his ballad to its bittersweet end. Not until Rand began clapping. They masked their surprise quickly, and then began clapping along with him like the utter sycophants they were. They were exactly the kind of people she’d wanted to get away from when she left Caemlyn. And Rand was exactly the kind of person she’d hoped to meet. Honest and forthright. And lost, so utterly lost. Watching him be so visibly moved by the music, Elayne found herself trembling. Could they find a way to thwart the prophecies of his death? She wished it was so, but feared it was not.

_ And yet here I dither, as the little time we have runs out. For what? _ Not for her sake and not for his, that was certain. And who else should have a say in what they did?

Not wanting to face him just then, not with so many others around, Elayne turned back to the door. It was only then that she saw Tam, leaning against a wall with one of the Maidens at his side. The fine sword Rand that had given him, with its troubling emblem, made a marked contrast with his plain clothes. Her start drew his gaze. Was that a knowing look she saw in the bluff-faced man’s eye? Well, he could stuff his disapproval, too, assuming he had any. Not that he had been anything but polite to her since she’d met him. Withdrawn, but polite. Nynaeve said it was unusual for him to be so quiet, and didn’t understand the change in him.

“That is ... a sex thing, is it not?”

Elayne’s hand went to her throat of its own accord. Those butterflies came back with a vengeance. It wasn’t Tam who’d spoken, it was the pale-haired girl with him, carrying on a conversation Elayne had not been a part of. But regardless of the circumstances or the speaker, that was not a topic Elayne wanted to hear broached just then.

“Probably,” Tam sighed.

She followed his gaze to Raine, whose nice, girlish frock was being contrasted just as markedly as Tam’s coat, but in her case it was by a dark leather collar with an attached lead dangling down her front. A ... sex thing? She couldn’t see how. That was an expression of love. Leashes, in her experience, were used to express the opposite. It was more likely to have something to do with Raine’s status as a wolfsister.

_ I don’t care if Tam approves of me. And I don’t care what is happening with Rand and Raine, either _ , she told herself.  _ I love Rand. And I think he might love me, too. That is all that matters. The rest can burn _ .

Without bothering to speak to Rand’s father, Elayne marched from that hall with her head held high.

She didn’t go to her own room, though. No, it was to Rand’s chambers that she hurried. His impressively competent secretary rose from the seat behind her desk when Elayne entered the antechamber, but waved her through without preamble. Rand had arranged that. There were certain people who were to be allowed in at any time for any reason, and Elayne was one of them. She was even gladder of that now, for it spared her the need to explain her presence in a place that Rand quite obviously was not. She didn’t look back to see if Zofia was surprised when Elayne went not to his office or his sitting room ... but to his bedroom.

She found it unoccupied, for now. Just as she’d hoped. She hadn’t been about to risk his being otherwise engaged when she came calling, so she moved to secure the ground before they met. It was what Gareth Bryne would have done.

Having staked her claim, Elayne resolved that if any of his other girls showed up, she would kick them out. Literally, if need be. It was a bold thought but, alone in his private space with just his scattered possessions to examine, Elayne’s nerves soon came back in force. Was she really going to do this? She hadn’t planned to lose her virginity today! But it felt right. But what if it went wrong? She didn’t know what to do. He did. Was that a good or a bad thing? What would she say when he arrived? Blood and ashes! How did other women go about this?

While waiting for him to arrive, she occupied her time by exploring his rooms. Most of the decor was already familiar to her, though finer than that in her own rooms. His clothes were familiar, too. He was quite set in his ways in that regard, and hadn’t adapted to Tairen fashions at all. Though some lace or jewellery would look well on him, in moderation. Of the latter he had almost none at all, just the ring Morrigan had given him, and an enamelled pin shaped like the Red Eagle of Manetheren. Those he kept in a little bowl on his dresser. They looked rather sad on their own like that. Elayne was wearing a silver chain around her neck, and a pair of silver-and-sapphire earrings, all of which she’d bought here in Tear. She’d thought nothing of that yet Rand, despite having readier access to money than she currently did, hadn’t bought himself anything.

He didn’t have very many prized possessions at all, so far as she could tell. But then, his home had recently been burnt down by the Whitecloaks, presumably with most of his things inside. That must have hurt to see. She wished she had been there to comfort him. His longbow and quiver were propped in a corner, and the sword he’d taken from Syoman Surtir as a sign of his surrender hung from the back of a chair. She found the makeshift armour he’d worn during their campaign in Falmerden piled at the bottom of a wardrobe, and smiled. Those days had been hard and bloody, yet she found herself looking back on them with fondness. Their little group fighting the Shadow and anyone else who would threaten them. Her and Rand and Min, together. Those had been good times. She found books aplenty, and a plain wooden flute, of all things, in the leather pouch on his bedside table. But other than that, he didn’t have much at all.

_ I should buy him a gift. But what?  _ A little stuffed toy would serve him well. Let him see how he enjoyed being treated like a child! Well, if all went to plan, she would soon show him exactly how much of a woman she was!

The sudden click of the door latch made her spin around and take several quick steps away from his things. Ridiculous. What did she have to feel guilty about? She had only been looking. Yet her innocence and her determination both could be measured by the rapid beats of her heart.

It was Rand, and he’d brought company. Raine sniffed the air before she turned her golden gaze on Elayne. There was no surprise in the wolfsister’s eyes, naturally, though Rand’s were a different matter. His first instinct on finding his room occupied was to reach for  _ Callandor _ ’s hilt, but he relaxed immediately when he realised it was her. He even smiled, though it was a quizzical thing.

“Elayne. To what do I owe the honour? I’m glad you’re here, I—” He cut himself off, shooting a look at Raine. The colour in his cheeks told her he was recalling their encounter of the night before. Her own cheeks would have remained coolly unblemished, if only he hadn’t then glanced down her body, now more decently covered then it had been when she’d lost control in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . Was he recalling what he’d seen? And had he liked it ...?

Raine looked embarrassed, too, and adjusted her pretty dress unnecessarily. A conscious effort of will stilled Elayne’s own hands.

“There is an important matter I wish to discuss with you, Rand,” she said in a voice that sounded too tight even to her own ears.

He looked concerned. “What is it?”

She directed a stare at Raine, and hoped the wolfsister would not prove troublesome. “It is a matter of some delicacy ...”

Blue eyes met yellow for a tense moment. Raine didn’t look away, but she did duck her head, and slink silently towards the door. She cracked it just enough for her to slip out, but then paused, an uncertain smile on her face. She gave Elayne a timid little wave, as if to say, “Enjoy yourself”, before stepping out and easing the door shut behind her.

_ Such a strange girl. But she has a good nature, I think _ .

And so she found herself alone with Rand. At last.

“Is there a problem with the Black Ajah or the nobles?” he asked, all deadly seriousness.

That wouldn’t do. She made herself smile, and spoke teasingly. “You speak of them as though there is little difference between the two. I’m hurt. I am myself a noble, after all.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, smiling ruefully. “I suppose it’s not very fair to lump them all in together like that, but some of them are a real pain to have to deal with. Not you, of course. You’re the opposite. But if there’s no trouble, then ...”

Then why was she here? Despite her preparations, Elayne had no idea what to say. How was one supposed to go about hinting at these matters in a suitably decorous way? It would be just like him to make her ask outright, too! It was bad enough that he’d made her do the chasing. Was she supposed to now, now ... proposition him!?

“I’ve noticed that you have a great many ... friends. Besides me, that is,” she said stiffly.

He nodded solemnly, without even the grace to look embarrassed about it. “The only defence I can offer is that I never lied to you about it,” he said quietly. “I know you’ll want someone better, more faithful. You deserve it. I ... hope you don’t hate me ...”

He thought she was leaving him. Darn it. That was not what she had meant to imply. Far from it! “I don’t hate you. Quite the opposite,” she said quickly. “I won’t claim that this situation is entirely comfortable for me, but ...” But what? “... but I think we could overcome it?” She sighed. “Words fail me. My heart races each time I look at you. And words fail me. I think I’ve loved you from the moment you fell into my garden.”

He stared at her in awe. “You ... love me?  _ You _ ? It doesn’t seem possible ...” he whispered.

Elayne wet her suddenly dry lips. Words failed them both, it seemed. But where words failed, actions might yet win the day ...

“You have many friends, besides me. Yet there is something they have had from you that I haven’t,” she began, and choked, a flush scalding her face. To ask. To actually ask! Yet she had come this far, in defiance of all propriety. She refused to fall at the final step. Swallowing hard, she took a long breath. “You will have to help me with my buttons,” she said unsteadily. “I cannot take this dress off by myself.”

* * *

Rand could hardly believe what he was hearing. He’s seen and done a lot already in his young life, and even shared many a kiss and a cuddle with the stunning girl before him, but the idea that someone like her might ask such a thing of someone like him just wouldn’t fit in his mind. It was too much.  _ She _ was too much.

And she was turning her back on him, and brushing her beautiful red-gold curls out of the way to expose her neck and the buttons that trailed down the back of her dress, and waiting, waiting for him to ... He shook himself, and reached out with trembling hands to touch her buttons. His colour rose as he failed repeatedly to undo the delicate little things, but Elayne waited patiently. Her dress loosened at last, exposing the pale skin of her back.

“Are you sure you—”

She turned, and placed a finger upon his lips. “Shh. No words. We should show each other instead ....”

Her rosebud lips, so red upon her fairness, were slightly parted, waiting to be kissed. He had to. And he did. He crushed her against his chest and kissed her as hard as he ever had. She kissed him back with matching ardour, now as she had all the other times, but here, in this place at this time, she wanted something more than just kisses.

He did, too, of course. Part of him wanted nothing more than to throw her onto the bed and go wild, but experience allowed him to hold back that boyish impulse. Her youth, her nerves, and her nature all spoke of the newness of this experience. He was far from unfeeling of the trust she was placing in him. He had to make sure he earned it.

Relaxing his grip, he kissed his way across her cheek and down her neck. Her red dress was loose enough that he could push it wide of her shoulders, which he did. He didn’t push it down, though, just moved it far enough to fall on its own, if she chose to let it. She had to know that she could stop at any time. That was important.

The dress fell. And Elayne did not try to stop it.

The camise and petticoats underneath were as white as snow, and warm to the touch when he encircled her waist with his hands. He strangled his urges, and kept his touch gentle.

It was heartening to see Elayne’s hands tremble, too, when she was undoing the buttons of his coat. Rand dealt with the swordbelt that held  _ Callandor _ by himself and tossed the famed  _ sa’angreal _ carelessly to the ground when he was done. Elayne bit her lower lip. She undressed him of his coat with far more care than the act warranted, gently easing it to the floor before stretching up on tiptoes to kiss him again. He returned it with all the care he could muster, but as soon as she drew back he was yanking his shirt over his head to throw aside.

She giggled, a blush colouring her dimpled cheeks prettily. Boldly she reached out to trace the hard contours of his chest and stomach. Her heavy breathing made her breasts rise and fall beneath the soft fabric of her underwear.

She knew he was looking. He realised it when his gaze rose to meet her eyes, as huge and as blue as any eyes could ever be. Taking a particularly deep breath, Elayne pulled the camisole up over her head, and tossed it atop Rand’s shirt.

Rand couldn’t help but gasp. She stood topless before him, watching his face so carefully. He’d caught glimpses of her body before, in the Word of Dreams, where such things happened to the unwary, but her willing exposure painted this glimpsing with far more intimacy than those. Her breasts were beautiful, round and full and tipped with little pink nipples. His hands were drawn to them of their own accord. He cupped them, and squeezed them gently, and Elayne let out a shuddering sigh.

Emboldened, he explored her more, savouring the soft warmth. He brushed his thumbs around and around the smooth flesh that surrounded her nipples. “So beautiful,” he whispered.

Elayne leaned into his touch, her eyes unfocused. He enjoyed the expression on her face every bit as much as he enjoyed the way her breasts moved under the pressure of his hands. He fondled her for quite some time, uncaring of how tight his breeches had grown.

He only stopped when she reached out to touch his bulge, and gasped. “Oh my ... Is ... isn’t that sore?”

He swallowed. “Not at all.”

“I want to see,” she said, then bit her lip hard.

Perhaps Rand should have been shy about showing her, but he had enough experience in ... certain matters to know that he had nothing to be embarrassed about in that regard. Instead of stammering or blushing, he watched her carefully as he stripped himself of the last of his clothes. Watched, and tried to engrave every subtle shift in her expression onto his memory. When he went to his death at Shayol Ghul, memories like this were what he wanted to carry with him. They were what would make it all worthwhile.

Red-cheeked and wide-eyed, Elayne gulped noisily when she saw what he had to offer her. “It’s so big ... How would that even ... go where ...”

When she cut off, he cupped her cheek in his palm and made her look up at him. “Not all of it has to. Just as much or as little as you want. Don’t be too shy to tell me if it’s too much. I mean, assuming you haven’t changed your mind ...”

He trailed his fingers gently down her neck, where her pulse raced flatteringly. She seemed to like the way he touched it, so he touched it more, brushing along the gentle lines of it, and combing the little hairs at her nape ever so lightly.

Elayne’s eyes drifted closed. Her lips parted. He kissed her again, and touched his tongue to hers when he did. She was trembling even more by the time they parted for breath, but it certainly wasn’t from fear. “I haven’t changed my mind,” she said, looking him boldly in the eye. “Not at all.” As she spoke she undid the ties of her petticoats, slid them over the lovely curves of her hips, and let them fall to the carpet.

The legs she revealed to him were long and slender, and the hair that crowned her sex was as orange and curly as that which crowned her head. Forgetting himself in his heat, Rand cupped her sex in his hand and fondled it. She gasped loudly. Somehow, his other hand was tangled in her glorious mane, and his lips were pressing against her neck. He was being too rough, a dim part of his mind shouted, but she was so utterly beautiful.

Instead of shoving him away, Elayne wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer so that she could kiss his neck in turn. The act pressed his cock up against the softness of her belly in an unwitting tease.

He wanted her so much.

“Why haven’t you ... taken me to bed ... yet?” Elayne said between kisses.

Between her ardent words, and the hot slickness of her sex, Rand’s doubts evaporated. It was still impossible that the stunning, gentle, smart, powerful Daughter-Heir would want to be with him, but it was an impossibility that was happening. He’d fought a giant Forsaken in the sky above a city once. If that could happen, then so could this.

Even so, there was naked awe on his face when he put his arm behind her knees, and picked her up. She relaxed in the cradle of his arms as he carried her to the bed.

“This is more like it,” she sighed. “Why didn’t you do this to begin with?”

“I didn’t dare,” he said, as he eased her down onto the bed, and lay beside her.

Elayne parted her legs slightly. “Dare again. I liked it when you did ...” Her cheeks suddenly flared again. “Light, I can’t believe I said that. I want to be abandoned—I do!—but Light ...”

Rand laughed. “You are so sweet I could eat you!” He ran his hand up the inside of her leg, and found her wetness once more. She sounds she made as he explored her outer folds were music to his ears. “In fact ... I think I will,” he finished.

He kissed her lips then, but only briefly. Down he ventured, kissing his way along her neck and across her chest, pausing only briefly to suck on a now-stiff nipple. Down over her belly, to her bellybutton and across to her hips, then inward, as they drew, inward and down yet further, until ...

“Rand!” she shouted, when his lips touched her sex for the first time. “Oh fuck! Burn ... you’re burning me ... Bloodied onions ...” she cursed with questionable fluency. Even with his face pressed against her like that, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d noticed her semi-foul tongue in the past. Her efforts to curse like someone who hadn’t been raised in a palace only made her sound all the more sheltered to him. It was cute.

Since she was so obviously into it, he brought his fingers to bear, boldly slipping one into her tight little pussy, stroking her insides, forcing her to moan even louder. He found her other little button, hidden among her dimpled mound, and touched it with his tongue. His teasing woke the dimples in her cheeks as well, so he teased her more, stirring her pleasure from without as well as from within.

The silk sheets he lay upon were pleasant against his hardness, but nothing compared to what he wanted to touch it to. Nevertheless, he would have restrained himself if Elayne hadn’t tugged at his hair.

“Just the finger? You have more to give me than that ...”

Her head resting on his pillow, the Daughter-Heir of Andor stared down at him wantonly.

“Yes I do,” Rand growled.

He crawled up the bed and kissed her hard. Virgin or no, she didn’t need to be shown what to do. Her legs spread and her knees raised. His arms were too thick for her to encompass them with her grip, as he could hers, so she dug her nails into the flesh instead, careful even in her passion not to draw blood.

Rand supported his weight above her, and eased into position with his hips alone. His breath caught when he found her narrow opening, so wet and sweet, and there he paused, looking deep into Elayne’s eyes. She nodded her consent.

“I think I love you, too,” he said, as he pushed slowly forwards.

Whatever she was going to say was smothered in her moans of pleasure when she felt him spread her pussy with his tip. Those moans got even louder as he eased his way into her. She was hot and tight and so very, very sweet. Such a sheathe she had. It was all he could do to make himself go slowly instead of ravaging her like a wild beast.

He held her lovely, heart-like face between his hands as he entered her, watching carefully for any signs of pain. There was some, yes, but not enough to tell him to stop.

“Oh,” she gasped, as he went deeper. “Oh!” Her thin, light brows drew together. “OH!”

He stopped.

“Does it hurt too much?” he asked gently.

She shook her head in his grasp. “No. Oh, Light no. It feels wonderful. We’re one at last ...”

Even so, he kept it slow and shallow at first. It was only when she began rocking her hips against him that he sped up. Only when her hands clutched at his clenching buttocks that he went deeper. Only when she wrapped her legs around his waist that he crushed her breasts against his chest. He kissed her neck as he rode her, alive to her every movement and every sound she made. Encouragement was all she gave him, encouragement and a desire that he stoked in the hopes it might soon match his own. That desire he was still keeping restrained, mostly. Perhaps the hand that gripped her mane when he rose up to watch her face some more gripped it a little too tightly. Perhaps the cock that moved in and out of her did so with more insistence than was appropriate, in the circumstances. But he kept himself mostly under control.

He was confident she would come for him eventually, but surprised at how quickly she did. She was, too, going pop-eyed at the first sign of her buildup. “Oh. Just ... just like that ... You’re touching ... everything!”

A violent shudder passed through Elayne’s body as she lay in his embrace, impaled on his cock. Her hands jerked about spasmodically, as it unsure what they wanted to touch. Her pussy knew exactly what it wanted, though. Already tight, it now clamped around his cock so tightly that he thought she might crush him. But what a way to go ...

Rand grinned broadly as he watched Elayne come. The wild inhibition with which she kicked and clutched and spasmed was all the more enjoyable to behold, given how elegant she usually was.

It took a flatteringly long time for her to relax, and even when she did she lay supine in his bed, breathing deeply, her unfocused eyes staring at nothing. It was only when he kissed her softly on the lips that she came back to herself, and then only enough to touch his face, and mumble wordless endearments.

Rand was patient with her. He held her in his arms, and combed her dishevelled hair back from her face as he waited for her to catch her breath.

Her sex had long since stopped fluttering around him when Elayne finally blinked herself back to full awareness. She gazed up at him in wonder. “So that’s what all the fuss is about ... I understand now. I never thought anybody could touch me like that ...”

He smiled fondly. “I’m glad you liked it.”

She stretched languidly, a cat’s smile curving her lips. “More than liked.” Then she went suddenly still, her gaze locked on his. “Did you?”

“Of course I did! These are the kind of memories that make the world worth saving.”

“No. Well, yes, that’s sweet. But no. Did you ... enjoy it?” The intentness of the question, and the wariness in her eyes, told him to think carefully before he answered.

He did, though the conclusion he came to was a hard one to process. Elayne was worried he hadn’t enjoyed making love to her. She wanted to please him, and was a little afraid that she hadn’t. Or couldn’t? He’d known men to wrestle with such fears, had even wrestled with them himself in the past, but he’d never known a woman to be so afflicted. And a woman like Elayne at that! Nothing he recalled of the memories Raye had shared with him could help—she’d certainly never suffered from such insecurities. Rand brushed Elayne’s hair gently as he searched for the kindest way to explain why he hadn’t come yet.

“I enjoyed every moment of it,” he said at last. “You are so sweet, and cute, and sexy. Watching you lose control like that was an utter treat. It was all I could do to hold myself in check, to make sure I didn’t hurt you, or finish before you did.”

“Oh. Is that a concern? I never—Ahem. Never mind. So you haven’t ... done what you need to do?”

Rand felt himself blush slightly. Perhaps he should have been beyond such things by now, but her innocent queries brought it out of him. “I was hoping you’d help me with that, once you’d recovered ...”

Her brows rose, and a saucy smile dimpled her cheeks. “Oh! Well, I shall just have to do that now, then, shan’t I?”

He raised his own brow in turn. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I’ll ... bounce on it?” she said uncertainly, then continued with forced confidence. “Yes. I shall bounce on it like no-one has bounced before. It fits surprisingly well, after all. I must confess, I did not think I could manage it.”

“I had every faith in you,” he murmured.

She was still giggling when he rolled them both over, and her nervous laughter didn’t entirely abate even when she knelt above him, her hair framing her face, and her pert young breasts on glorious display.

“I just ... move up and down, yes? Of course I do. But perhaps you would like to ... to move my hips. With your hands. Just to show me how you like it best.”

He did grip her hips, as she said, but it was her eyes he was most interested in capturing. “Elayne. Look at me. There’s no perfect way to do this. We could have laid here and done nothing but cuddle, and it would have been wonderful just because it was you and I. That’s what matters, not some cold and practiced moves. That you are here is more than enough. You have nothing to prove.”

She got uncharacteristically shy then, lowering her eyes, and biting her lip. “I’m glad to hear that. I might have been worried—just a little!—on account of how much more experienced you are than me.”

“Don’t be.”

Brightening, she suddenly began to move, her pussy running up and down his cock. “I won’t. Not anymore. Do you like this?”

“Oh yes,” he groaned.

She smiled boldly. “I see that you do! I’ll wager you would like it even more if I went faster, wouldn’t you? I could tell you were holding back before.”

“That’s true. On both counts.”

“Well then. Take this!” She sped up, her tight little pussy caressing almost every inch of him. And soon it  _ was _ every inch of him, for Elayne took him even deeper than he’d dared to go before. She winced the first time she pushed herself down that far, but she didn’t stop doing it, and soon her winces became an excited smile. He held her by the hips but he did not direct her. He wouldn’t have even if he’d felt at all uninspired by her ministrations, and he certainly wasn’t that!

“You have such a sweet little pussy,” he breathed. “So tight. It’s like I can feel you gripping every part of me.”

Her boldness, it seemed, went only so far. “Light, Rand! You should not speak of that! It’s ... it’s so uncouth ...” But for all her complaints, Elayne started moving even faster, so fast that her hair and her breasts and her silver jewellery bounced before his admiring eyes.

“Well, I am a mere shepherd, as I keep telling people.”

“You are my shepherd. Among other things.” Her hands found his, and it only took a few bounces more before she began moaning. “Rand, I ... I think it might happen again.”

He grinned. “It will. Unless one of the Forsaken comes to pay a visit, I don’t mean for either of us to leave this room today.”

She laughed aloud. “Kidnapped! And singularly disinterested in rescue, I might add.”

“The princess doesn’t want to be rescued? Can none of the stories be trusted?”

A sharpness entered her gaze, though her smile remained warm. “It would seem not. But reality has its own wonders ...”

“It does. Elayne ... If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to stop ...”

Instead of slowing down, she sped up. “Good. I don’t want you to. Do ... do whatever you do.” She watched his face intently as she rode him, hair and breasts flying wildly. He thought that the sight of her alone might have been enough to finish him, even if what she was doing hadn’t felt so good.

He didn’t try to resist it when he felt his orgasm building within him. It was far too blessed a moment to even think of rejecting it. So he just lay there, relaxing blissfully in Elayne’s embrace, and let the pleasure wash over him, and into her.

“What is that? It’s even hotter ...” he heard her ask. He was vaguely aware of her gaping down at where they were joined as she felt him coming inside her for the first time, but the sheer bliss he was feeling was too much for him to respond.

Elayne’s hips kept moving, but slower now, just enough to squeeze out the last few drops before she stilled in his lap.

None of the prophecies, or the obedience of any soldier, or the submission of any nobles, had ever made Rand feel half so much like a king as being ridden to orgasm by Elayne Trakand did. She was a true queen. And, for now, she was his. The future might part them, for he feared she would eventually come to realise how beneath her he was, but that was a pain for later. For now, Rand intended to gorge on as much pleasure as he could.

She was still kneeling there when his awareness returned, smiling down at him benevolently.

“That felt wonderful,” he told her, while caressing her thigh.

“I’m glad. Would it hurt if I kept going?” she said softly.

The mild ache that he knew would accompany that was nothing close to pain, and certainly nothing that would cause him to deny her her satisfaction.

“It would only hurt if I didn’t get to hear you cry out again,” he said.

Her smile returned, and she began moving again, but more slowly now, rocking in his lap, stirring her own insides with his body.

He would have been happy to let her do that for as long as she liked, but the frustrated desire on her face inspired him to lend her a helping hand. She gasped in surprise when he touched her engorged bud with his fingertips, rubbing them back and forth, swirling them around. As excited as she was, and with his cock still lodged all the way inside her, it didn’t take much in the way of stimulation before Elayne was throwing her head back and screaming at the carved roof of his bedchamber. He could feel her spasming around him once more, her pussy sucking up all the come he’d put inside her. With her back arched like that he could no longer see her face, only her breasts as they strained towards the heavens. He was glad of his long reach then, for it let him squeeze one in his hand. He kept squeezing while she rode out her orgasm, and liked the feel of her so much that, when she let his softening cock slide out of her, and came to cuddle against him, he reclaimed that breast and squeezed it some more, albeit more gently this time.

“So. You and I,” he shook his head, still barely able to believe it.

“Why is that so shocking to you? I am a woman grown, and only a few years younger than you are. We have been friends for some time now. If anything, I would think the only shock is that it has taken us this long to realise what we were to each other. What we were meant to be.” She said while idly tracing the line of his jaw with her finger.

“Meant to be ...” he mused. “I do kind of feel as if we’ve done this before. As if I’ve always known you.” It was a feeling that he had quite often, in fact. Not specifically with Elayne, but just in general. As though he’d seen or done something already, or as if he’d met someone he was only now being introduced to, or already had a conversation he was in the middle of having. It made him worry about his sanity.

Luckily for her, such worries were far from Elayne’s mind. “Always? I’d like that. Imagine if we had been together in other lives. In all our lives. Like Birgitte Silverbow and Gaidal Cain. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

He hugged her tight. “It would.”

Smiling happily, Elayne snuggled against him. They rested together, though Rand made certain not to sleep. He’d meant what he said to her earlier. He was far from done with her. If being a bolder man really could have brought their relationship to this stage earlier, as she’d implied, then he’d been letting a red-golden opportunity go to waste. He intended to do everything in his power to make up for the time they’d lost. His hand drifted down Elayne’s back as they rested, and he gave her bum a little squeeze, just lightly, for now. Just enough to start stirring her passions again, so she’d be ready for all he was plotting ...

* * *

When Elayne woke the next morning, she found herself alone in Rand’s bed. The curtains were still drawn, but she could tell from the gaps between them that the sun was already high in the sky. She’d slept late. But then, she had a good excuse, for she hadn’t gotten to sleep much at all last night. Stretching languorously beneath the blankets, she remembered her abandon the night before—and most of the day as well! She could hardly believe it had been her!—and thought that she should be blushing like the sun! But she wanted to be abandoned with Rand, and she did not think she would ever blush again, not for anything connected to him.

Elayne was no expert on the topic, it was true, but she doubted any woman had ever been so thoroughly fucked as she had been the night before. Certainly, the days of him—or anyone!—treating her like a little girl were long past.

It had been so different from what she had known and expected. It wasn’t just the obvious physical differences between him and her previous lovers, either. There was something ... primal about what they had done. He’d been so passionate that he became almost rough, and so had she. That had been shocking. She’d never been rough like that with anyone before, but ... but the  _ hunger _ he’d woken in her.

She didn’t think she’d really been growling, though, no matter what he said. He’d meant it as a compliment, saying he liked the way she growled when they were doing it, but Elayne couldn’t be flattered by that no matter how she’d tried to stretch her imagination.

She’d successfully stretched in other ways, however, with his eager help. He’d stretched her in ways she hadn’t ever expected to be stretched, as a matter of fact. On one occasional, well after the sun had set, he’d had her legs pushed so far forward that her ears were touching her ankles. She had been stuck like that, while he drilled her as though he thought there was gold down there. She’d meant to rebuke him for that, but each time he’d delved her depths the sheer pleasure of it had driven thought from her mind.

Which time had that been? How many times had she taken him inside herself? She would have to think on it more carefully if she was to attach a number. He had certainly made good on his threat to keep her blissfully imprisoned. They’d eaten their supper here in his room, after he sent for it to be brought. She remembered making a game of feeding him his food with her bare hands. For some reason, he hadn’t thought it as much fun as she did.

She didn’t know who had brought the food, or if anyone wondered where she had disappeared to. Rand had poked his head out the door to order it, and again to receive it when it arrived. He’d shown a quite brazen lack of embarrassment when he went to answer the knock, too, sauntering across the room as naked as the day he was born. Elayne certainly hadn’t rebuked him for that. He was, it turned out, quite good at sauntering. He could saunter away from her any time he liked. So long as he had nothing to cover himself with. And so long as he always came back.

He’d laughed when she told him as much, and showed the embarrassment that, bizarrely, he hadn’t felt at walking around naked. Men were very strange. Or perhaps it was just he that was strange. He was the first man she’d ever been so intimate with. And if all went as she hoped, he might well be the only one.

He’d told her that she had a pretty bottom, too. Of course, he’d told her that while she was down on her hands and knees being quite mercilessly ravaged, which rather took the sweetness from it, but it was still nice to know he liked how she looked.

It had been a wonderful night. All she’d hoped for and more. Despite the already late hour, she thought she could happily have stayed in that bed all day. He’d left his scent behind. Best of all, he had left her a present. On the pillow beside her when she woke lay a golden lily in full bloom, the dew fresh on the lush petals. Where he could have gotten such a thing in the middle of the night she could not begin to imagine. Could he have made it, as he’d once boasted of being able? She couldn’t see how the Power could be used to do such a thing, but when she examined the flower more closely she noticed that the dewdrops were hard to the touch. Was it a real flower frozen in time so as to be fresh forever, or just a stunningly detailed imitation?

Either way, she knew she would keep it, and set it on a side table by her bed where she would see it every morning when she woke, a constant reminder of the man who had given her his heart.


	35. To Surrender at Last

CHAPTER 32: To Surrender at Last

Nynaeve was suspicious. It was hard not to be when Elayne had taken to strolling around with such a smug and dopey smile on her face. She’d giggled when Nynaeve mentioned it, instead of putting her nose in the air and making some inappropriate comment, which was so out of character that Nynaeve was all but certain that someone had diddled her brains out.

She hadn’t followed the girl, not exactly. And even if she had, there was good reason for her to have done it. She’d been taking care of Elayne for quite some time now. In more ways than one. She had a vested interest in her welfare. Why wouldn’t she want to make sure she was safe?

She thought the Maidens might have understood that. Dailin and Aviendha had proven to be friends, after all. And why else would Harilin and Jec let her pass so easily?

Still, she hesitated outside the door, her hand raised to knock. She had no idea what was beyond, or why Rand and Elayne had come here. Were they in a secret meeting with some nobles? Elayne was a great one for such schemes. She wouldn’t call them that, but it was what they were. And she was luring Rand into becoming interested in them, too. As well as in her. Should she risk intruding on something delicate?

Faint sounds drifted to her through the thick wood of the door. Voices perhaps, though oddly regular. She couldn’t tell what they were saying. That was why she knelt down to bring her eye close to the keyhole.

For her sins, she was given quite the eyeful. It was some king of dining room, with a long table not unlike the one in the room they used to interrogate the Black Ajah prisoners. There was no interrogation taking place in that room, though, and no dinner being served. Instead, Elayne was serving herself up to Rand, and he looked to be enjoying her immensely.

The Daughter-Heir was bent over the table, belly down with her fancy blue skirts bunched up around her hips. Rand stood behind her, pounding away. His pretty bottom clenched each time he moved, and a high-pitched growl issued from Elayne’s throat as she took what he had to give her.

Heart racing, Nynaeve stared for longer than was proper.  _ Well, at least that makes it certain _ , she told herself when she finally tore her gaze away. Elayne had finally gotten her man. Not Nynaeve’s man, though. Not at all. That was ... That didn’t ... She wasn’t jealous. And which would she have been jealous of even if she had been? She’d been indiscreet with them both.

Scrambling to her feet, she began dusting her knees vigorously as she stepped away from the door. One step was all she took. She stopped, bent over with her hands frozen over the dirty spots on her dress, staring at Theodrin.

The apple-cheeked Domani woman met her gaze, not saying a word.

Hastily Nynaeve considered and rejected the fool claim that she had been searching for something she dropped. Instead she straightened and walked slowly by the other woman as if there was nothing to explain. Theodrin fell in beside her silently, hands folded at her waist. Nynaeve considered her options. She could hit Theodrin over the head and run. She could get back on her knees and plead. Both notions had a good deal wrong with them to her way of thinking, but she could not pull up anything in between.

“Have you been keeping calm?” Theodrin asked, looking straight ahead.

Nynaeve gave a start. That had been the other woman’s instruction to her after yesterday’s attempt to break down her block. Keep calm, very calm; think only quiet composed thoughts. “Of course,” she laughed weakly. “What could there be to upset me?”

“That is good,” Theodrin said serenely. “Today I mean to try something a little more ... direct.” Nynaeve glanced at her. No questions? No accusations? She could not believe she was getting off so lightly.

It was only when they reached the Aiel sentries at the end of the hallway, and she saw the smirk on Harilin’s face, that she realised she’d been set up. And they’d let Theodrin pass to witness her peeking, too!

“Do you think that’s funny?” she asked furiously, tugging at her braid. Theodrin’s mumbling about staying calm went completely unheeded. “That is the kind of idiocy I’d expect from a boy, not a grown woman. Though it is hard to tell with you, I have to admit.”

Harilin’s brows rose. “A strange spear to throw, Theren clan. I have met many of the women of your homeland. They were a stiff group. I pitied the men, who must try to catch the interest of such prudes. I suspect many of your people die as virgins. I suspect you may do so, too.”

Nynaeve spluttered, as much from the effort of stopping herself from setting Harilin straight as from the effrontery of her broaching such a topic. She cast about for an insult, one that didn’t involve cursing, but the best she could come up with was, “Oh, go bugger yourself!”

It was surprisingly effective. Harilin’s jaw dropped, and her face went as red as her hair. Jec wasn’t the only one of the Maidens to burst out laughing.

“He told!? How can I erase this shame,” Harilin choked.

Nynaeve had no idea what she was talking about, and no interest in finding out. She escaped the laughing Maidens as fast as she could short of breaking into a run, while leading the too trusting Theodrin by the hand.

“Surprisingly vengeful of you,” the Domani said. She didn’t have to trot to keep up; she just stretched those long legs of hers.

“Some people have said I have a slight temper. There are times I wonder if it’s true. I probably shouldn’t have snapped at her like that,” Nynaeve confessed.

Theodrin laughed softly. “A temper? You? Surely not!” Ignoring Nynaeve’s suspicious look, she went on more solemnly. “There are times I wonder if I should have more of a temper than I do. I should be down in the dungeons every day, armed with a whip, making sure Amico gets what she deserves. I only went done once. Empty handed. And I didn’t stay long.”

“That’s nothing to be ashamed of, Theodrin,” Nynaeve said firmly. “That just proves that you are worth a hundred Amico’s, with change to spare.”

She was glad of the smile that won her, but she honestly hadn’t intended to seduce the woman. She was just been being nice. That was why, once they’d reached the safety and privacy of Nynaeve’s room, and Theodrin had announced her intentions, she found herself watching the woman through narrowed eyes.

“You want to get me drunk!? Why?” she demanded to know. “Are you trying to make me do something improper?”

Her companion wore her Great Serpent ring on her right hand not her left, and a green dress that went well with her bronze colouring. She looked quite elegant, and if they hadn’t been alone in Nynaeve’s room, she almost certainly wouldn’t have rolled her eyes so theatrically. Theodrin was usually much more polite than that. Or pretended to be, anyway. “Why would I need to get you drunk for that? Or have you forgotten the other night?”

Nynaeve scowled in an effort to hide her blushes. “Why, then?”

“For your block, of course. A loosening of inhibitions and a warping of the senses might be just what we need to get you channelling freely. I mean to try everything. Don’t you? I thought this would matter more ...”

“Of course it matters!” Nynaeve said, her hand shooting to her braid. “I just don’t like to drink very much. It’s a foolish habit.”

With how nice Theodrin was, and how helpful she was being, Nynaeve came close to admitting that she had no head for spirits, but pride stilled her tongue. That didn’t stop an all too knowing look from crossing the Domani’s face.

“You don’t have to get blazing drunk. Just a few sips to loosen you up should do.”

“Maybe. We’ll see,” Nynaeve said stubbornly.

They stared at each other for a long moment, before Theodrin tossed up her hands in exasperation. “I told you I wouldn’t take advantage of you, but if you want me to leave, I will. Honestly, Nynaeve. There are times I think your skull must be made of granite. I will be back to check on you later.”

With those rude words, Theodrin took her leave.

Some time later, Nynaeve was forced to admit that glaring at the closed door was a waste of her time. Sighing, she went and picked up the rosy bottle that Theodrin had left there earlier before going to hunt Nynaeve down, then poured herself a cup full. The Domani probably thought Nynaeve was afraid of a little wine. Well, she’d show her! A few sips couldn’t hurt. She drank. It would stop Theodrin from rolling her eyes like that, too. She drank again.

Nynaeve was never sure how it happened, but somehow she had ended up taking more than just a few sips.

The rolling of Theodrin’s eyes wasn’t the only thing she had to worry about after that. The grim corridors of the Stone of Tear had taken to rolling as well. It made it a bit difficult to walk. Or find her way.

_ Where am I going? _ she wondered.  _ Oh, yes! The kitchens _ . Her belly was rumbling. That was another thing she needed to shut up. There were so many such things.

Except ... the kitchen didn’t look at all like she remembered. It was just a cavernous, mostly empty room, filled with sweaty soldiers instead of bustling servants. As if it wasn’t bad enough that the corridors wouldn’t stay still, now the rooms were getting mixed up!

Somehow Lan was there, sitting on a bench with his shirt off and a wooden practice sword lying across his knees. What happy coincidence had brought him there, she couldn’t say, but a woman would have to be completely deluded not to know that there was unfinished business between her and that most stubborn of men.

What was wrong with him, anyway? He said he liked her. Respected her. Thought her attractive, even. But then he turned her away. Ignored her. Waffled on about honour and not wanting to dress her as a widow. Oh, he was happy enough to send his free time in her company, but only as friends. He’d never once tried to kiss her. Not once! She probably wouldn’t even have slapped him if he had ...

When she realised that her chin was trembling, a sudden fury sharpened Nynaeve’s fuzzy senses. It was all Lan’s fault! Making her feel so strange. She swayed only a little as she marched towards him, intent on giving him a piece of her mind.

Lan saw her coming, of course. Lan saw everything. He was probably feeling guilty about what he had done to her, too. Why else would he get up so quickly, set his sword down, say his farewells to a very surprised looking Tam, and rush over to intercept her like that?

He had no call to be seizing her by the arm, though. Not unless he meant to give into his very well hidden desires at last.

“You should not be walking about in your condition, Nynaeve. Especially not here. The Stone is full of eyes, and few of them are friendly,” he whispered urgently. And disappointingly.

“What do you care? I bet if some High Lord killed me you wouldn’t even blink,” she heard herself say.

Though normally hard to read, there was no missing the fury on Lan’s face just then. “I would cut him down, even if I had to leave the corridors of this fortress red with blood to get to him. And I would mourn you for the rest of my days.”

He steered her back towards the door she’d come in, all while moving with such exaggerated care that Nynaeve couldn’t work up the anger she needed. “Then why do you scorn me like this?”

“I do not scorn you, Nynaeve. You know this. You must,” he said softly. “I have told you my reasons. They are good ones and have not changed. This war ends only one way, for me as for Rand. You deserve better. I hope you will find it when you return to the Tower.”

They’d already decided on Tanchico, and likely would have left already if Elayne hadn’t been so hungry for Rand’s attentions. That wasn’t what she wanted to talk about, though.

“It’s a fool reason, Lan Mandragoran. If you care about me, then why would you let that stop you from admitting it? I wouldn’t let anything get in my way, if I loved someone,” Nynaeve said. She was fairly sure she didn’t slur her words at all.

If it was otherwise, Lan gave no indication. “I care about you. I care too much to inflict myself upon you.”

Nynaeve wanted to scream, or to cry, or to hit something. But they’d reached the exit by then, and the corridor beyond it was free of people, and he was standing so close ... She had to put her hands behind his neck and pull him down, while standing on tiptoe and stretching, so tall was he, but it would be worth it. She was sure it would ... If only he’d have let her.

He did not. On realising her intentions, Lan stood up straight, and fended her off with exaggerated gentleness. Nynaeve was left standing there, humiliated and sadly unkissed.

“I am sorry, Nynaeve,” Lan said quietly, “but even if I were another man, a man with a future, I could not take advantage of you in your condition.”

He went quiet, and looked away, leaving her to stare up at his statuesque profile. Even in her addled state, she knew he was giving her time to compose herself. She needed that time, too. She’d made a total fool of herself. It was all the wine’s fault! And Lan’s! And Theodrin’s! And her own most of all. She wanted to cry. Not doing so wasn’t made easier by his taking her by the arm again, more gently this time.

“Let me escort you back to your room,” he said. “You should lie down for a while. Be sure to drink water first. A lot of it.”

She jerked her arm out of his grip. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I do not need your help. I do not need anything from you!”

“Nynaeve ...” she heard him sigh as she stalked away. She refused to look back.

She made her escape from Lan, on legs that only wavered a little. But she didn’t get far before she found herself accosted by an even less welcome face.

There was not even a hint of surprise in Moiraine’s half-lidded eyes when Nynaeve rounded the corner and almost staggered right into her. There was even less patience.

“I felt Lan’s upset. Its source, I must confess, is a surprise, if not the person causing it. Drinking, Nynaeve? I would not have expected that to be one of your shortcomings,” the Aes Sedai said, her voice an icy chime.

“I wasn’t ... This isn’t ... You don’t ...” Nynaeve’s excuses all rang too hollow, even for her.

Moiraine shook her head scornfully. “I had thought my lessons, extreme though they may have been, had taken better than this. You seemed to be coming along nicely. Relatively nicely. But this? There is no point to my taking you aside for another lesson now. It would just be punishment at this stage. Deserved, perhaps, but without purpose. I do nothing without purpose.”

“Your lessons were cruel. You humiliated me,” Nynaeve said, the weak words tumbling out before she could stop them.

“I know,” said Moiraine. She sounded neither proud, nor ashamed. “I am conflicted as to the effect. Until today, I thought I had motivated you to improve yourself. This is quite the disappointment. Shame on you, Wisdom. You can—and must!—do better.”

After having piled that bit of embarrassment on Nynaeve’s already overflowing plate, Moiraine turned and glided off. She supposed she should be grateful the woman hadn’t decided to have her way with her again. Since she couldn’t have channelled to stop her if she’d tried.

Nynaeve stalked off in a different direction, walking fast and getting angrier by the minute. All she wanted was to get away. She had said she was not very good at surrendering, but maybe she was getting good at running away. It would be so wonderful to channel whenever she wanted. She never even noticed the tears that began leaking down her cheeks.

Her unsteady feet carried her to one of the Stone’s little gardens, seemingly knowing her needs even better than she did. A little fresh air would be nice. The garden wasn’t empty, but she hadn’t expected it to be. The Stone of Tear had not been built for luxury or comfort, so places like this were rare and rarely left unused. Apart from some gardeners and a few young nobles, Loial was there lamenting to Saeri and Luci over the stunted plants. It was a relief to see them. The Ogier was unfailingly polite, and the two girls had always hopped when Nynaeve said to. Good people, all of them. The kind you could trust.

Or so she had thought. In truth, the Ogier had even less manners than Mat, and the two girls were a pair of spineless ingrates. She realised that while shaking her fist at Loial’s broad back as he chivvied the wide-eyed girls away from her. A bad influence indeed! Her! Of all people in the world! Hadn’t he heard the rumours about Rand and Saeri? You’d think he’d be more interested in steering her away from him, but no! Nynaeve was somehow the one to be avoided. Bah!

She should probably speak to Rand about those rumours, come to think of it. The more girls he surrounded himself with, the more she was coming to suspect that there was truth to the tale. She already knew how hard he found it to resist temptation, after all. Saeri seemed happy to be with him—unwilling to be parted from him, in fact—but she was so young ... As much younger than him as he was younger than Nynaeve ...

She didn’t leave the garden, though. It was nice there. And there was no-one around to make her life difficult. It was there that Theodrin found her. She was surprisingly good at that actually. A woman of hidden talents, that was Theodrin. She couldn’t take a compliment, though. She just looked at you tolerantly, and pulled your arm over her shoulder.

It was many hours later before Nynaeve was able to fully appreciate that. By then, the crushing weight of her shame had become almost too much to bear. She did not think she would ever forget being carried back to her room singing—singing!—or remember without going red in the face. Everyone had to know. Nynaeve wanted to writhe.

Even so, it was easier to blame her difficulty in meeting Elayne’s eyes on the wine than on the other thing. The Daughter-Heir looked very chipper indeed when she came to inquire after Nynaeve’s health. Something she would not have done if someone hadn’t already filled her in on the gossip as thoroughly as Rand had been filling her earlier. Nynaeve wondered if Theodrin was the traitor, or someone else.

Worse, it had all been for nothing. Throughout the embarrassing adventure, Nynaeve hadn’t felt or seen  _ saidar _ even once.

While Elayne fluttered about, pouring water, arranging pillows on the bed, and being as solicitous as possible, Nynaeve wondered what the right thing to say was. She decided on the truth, or as much of it as she dared give.

Unable to look at Elayne, she spoke to the carpet. “You had every right to laugh. I ...” She swallowed hard. “I made a complete fool of myself.” She had. A few sips, Theodrin said; a cup. And she emptied the bottle. If you were going to fail, better to have some other reason than that you just could not do it. “You should have sent for a bucket and dunked my head until I could recite The Great Hunt of the Horn without a mistake.” She risked a glance from the corner of her eye. Small spots of colour rested in Elayne’s cheeks. So there had been mention of a bucket.

“It could happen to anyone,” the other woman said simply.

She stayed long enough to assure herself that Nynaeve wasn’t going to spew. Or to disappoint herself at not being able to return the favour of holding her hair out of it. It was hard to tell which. She didn’t blush when Nynaeve asked, with elaborate casualness, if she was off to give Rand another lesson. She just smiled serenely.

“No. It is time for him to put those lessons into practice. I fear I’ve taken up too much of his time lately. He’s hardly gotten anything done at all!” For all her supposed regrets, she giggled happily as she let herself out.

Though the day was still relatively young, Nynaeve settled down to rest. She would have welcomed sleep, so long as it came with the promise that this day would fade from her memory like a bad dream. But sleep eluded her, with her thoughts and her feelings in such turmoil as they were.

Lan still rejected her love. Moiraine’s scorn had turned from hot to cold. Elayne and Rand were moving on with each other, with neither of them even bothering to ask what Nynaeve felt about it. And in Rand’s case he was moving on with more than just Elayne! Who was surprisingly tolerant of those other women, for that matter! She should give them both a piece of her mind.

With that thought, she got up from the bed, smoothed her rumpled dress—good plain wool—and left her room once more.

Zofia was sat behind her desk in Rand’s anteroom when she arrived, writing something on one of the many notepads she kept there. If not for the way she wore her hair, the woman could almost have passed for a Therener. If she was less of a humourless bore, at least. She couldn’t think of any Theren woman who was as stern a stickler as Zofia. Nynaeve had suffered more than enough that day, and had no intention of letting the secretary pile even more misery on her plate, as she had last time. Making her wait! The nerve! Taking a firm hold of her braid, she strode up to the desk.

“Unless he has company, I’m going in. Don’t bother trying to stop me, or I’ll tie you in knots.” Zofia opened her mouth but Nynaeve bulled on over whatever she was going to say. “I’ll have none of your nonsense this time! I’m not in the mood.”

Rand’s secretary sighed. “That would be the opposite of my observations of the women who come here. But, as I was about to say—”

“You mind your manners!” Nynaeve snapped. Her mood had nothing to do with why she’d come. She was just going to give Rand a piece of her mind. That was all.

“As I was about to say,” Zofia continued with exaggerated patience, “you are on the list of those who are to be allowed through right away. There is no need to ask my permission. I will not set the Defenders on you, as I would if your name was not on that list.”

Nynaeve’s eyes narrowed, though she heroically refrained from blushing. “I knew that. I was just making sure you did. You can’t expect to treat people so obnoxiously without there being consequences.”

Zofia took a long, deep breath. “Light have mercy. This is already looking like my most challenging assignment yet. Go on in. No doubt he will be pleased to see you. For some reason.”

Nynaeve was far too dignified to respond to that insinuation. She showed the woman her back, added a good loud sniff for good measure, and glided off towards Rand’s door. Well, stalked really. Glided was for stuck up Aes Sedai like Moiraine. None of the Aiel on guard duty were familiar to her, but they made no more effort to stop her than Zofia had.

Even so, she was careful to knock on Rand’s door and wait for him to answer. She knew that at least some of those rumours were true, and she didn’t want to risk walking in on anything scandalous.

There was a scowl on his face when he opened the door, clad in a half-laced shirt, but his scowl disappeared as soon as he saw who had knocked.

“Nynaeve! This is a rare pleasure. What brings you here?” he pushed the door all the way open to allow her entry. He was so tall that she didn’t even have to duck to walk under his arm. He could be quite the show off sometimes, but she supposed she could forgive that.

There were other things that were a bit less forgivable, though. “I wanted to talk to you about what you’ve been getting up to lately.” His room was empty of people, save the two of them, but full of books. They were scattered across chairs and tables, the bed itself, and even the floor. Had he been this messy when he was living in Tam’s house? She’d never actually visited, so she didn’t know.

Rand shut the door, and leaned back against it. “What do you mean? I’ve been getting up to a lot.”

“Exactly! I wouldn’t have expected you to be smug enough to boast about it, Rand! That’s more Mat’s style,” she said, planting her fists on her hips.

“I wasn’t boasting, exactly,” he said slowly. “It’s just the truth. There is a lot to do, and not enough hours in the day to do it all. I’ve found some interesting passages in  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ , but it’s hard to make sense of them. They could mean any number of things, when you think about it carefully.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

He looked honestly confused. “It isn’t?”

Nynaeve made herself be patient, but it was harder than usual. How he could manage to look so innocent after all the things he’d done, she did not know. And that was just going by the things she knew he had done, not the ones she only suspected! She shook her head. “You and Elayne are a couple now. Don’t bother denying it. Nothing escapes the eyes of the Women’s Circle. That hasn’t changed, even if I’m the only one here.” Rand made a strange choking sound. No doubt it was a sign of his agreement. “You are a couple. So what are you going to do about these other women you’ve been dallying with? Stringing along. Seducing. And which ones are you sleeping with, anyway? There are rumours flying all over. Even Imoen and Saeri are mentioned!”

Frowning, Rand started pacing slowly about his room. “I don’t mind people knowing. I refuse to mind. But it’s not just about me. If you want to know what they are or are not doing in private, you’d need to ask the girl’s themselves. I would no more gossip about them than I would about you, and the things we’ve done.”

Nynaeve felt her face heat. “Don’t go bringing that up now. That’s in the past. You’ve forgotten—”

“Never!” he said with utter firmness. “It would be easier to forget how to breathe.”

She gaped. Why was her heart racing? With anger? It must be anger. She had to swallow before she could speak. “Then why haven’t you tried to ... to ...?”

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to. It would make sense if you didn’t, given what I am. It’s why I never try to make them ... or stop them from leaving me if they want to. They’d be better off. It’s just ... I need it ...” He whispered that last, and looked away for a time. When his eyes met hers again, there was a doleful look in them. “Besides. You love Lan. Not me.”

Nynaeve shuffled her feet. “I never said I didn’t love you.” She wasn’t about to tell him what had happened with Lan earlier. Or confess that she was starting to think her dreams might be hopeless there. If she told him, Rand would just take it for encouragement. He might try to kiss her ...

He smiled a wan smile. “And I never said I didn’t love those other girls. Just as I do you.”

She hugged herself, while a traitorous part of her wished it was his arms that squeezed her tight. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”

“Of course I mean it, Nynaeve. I meant it in Fal Dara, and I still mean it. I’ll always mean it, even if you don’t love me back.”

Her mouth fell open, but the words that were trying to batter their way out never managed to escape. Why could she not tell him she loved him? She loved lots of people. All the folk of Emond’s Field, for example. It should be easy to say it to him. So why couldn’t she?

Rand spoke into her silence, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s hard to know what’s right when you are here in this room, looking at me like that. I want to take you to that bed and make love to you over and over again. Even if it’s just your body I can possess, and not your heart, I still want it. I want to have every part of you.”

His blue-grey eyes seemed to scald her with their heat. She had to lick her dry lips, and might have blamed it on the southern weather if not for the way the rest of her body was reacting. This wasn’t what she’d come here for. Was it? She didn’t love him. Did she?

“It’s yours, all of it,” she heard herself say, and coloured. “My body, I mean. Do whatever you want with me.” And her heart? What of that? Was that his, too?

“Blood and ashes,” Rand breathed.

She was going to scold him for cursing, but when she opened her mouth he was already upon her. He had to lean down low to kiss her, which must have annoyed him because within seconds of their lips touching he was scooping her up into his arms. He did it effortlessly, and without even taking his lips from hers. He took her to the bed, and laid her down. There, too, he didn’t linger long. His busy hands roved over her, tugging at her clothes, undoing laces and buttons, stripping her. She let him. It felt good to be wanted.

She let him have his way this time. When he put her on her knees, she thought he’d take her like he had Elayne earlier, but he was just moving her around, the better to take off her dress. It was still daylight. He’d be able to see her everything, but that didn’t embarrass her the way it once would have. The way she moaned when he squeezed her now naked breasts did embarrass her, however, that she could not deny. No more than she could deny him.

He threw off his shirt, displaying to her his gorgeously sculpted body. She’d seen him topless before, but somehow it was different this time. No wonder he’d been able to lift her so easily, with muscles like that. She felt so small and girlish in comparison. That should have annoyed her, but it didn’t. He wasn’t slow about ridding himself of his breeches, either. She couldn’t help but notice his arousal when he did, for it jutted out like the trunk of a red-leaved tree. Their past encounters hadn’t afforded her the chance to look, but she drank in the sight of him now. Her thighs felt very slick, all of a sudden.

“I don’t know what to make of you half the time, Nynaeve,” he said, “but I know this: You are a beautiful woman.”

Before she could gather her addled wits and frame a response, he was on her again, kissing away what little reason she had left. He kissed her lips as he bore her back onto the bed, kissed her cheeks and her neck, then kissed further down, until suddenly he was taking her nipple in his mouth and sucking on it.

“Rand ...” Nynaeve moaned. There was power in his kisses, and in the hands that roved over her, brushing through her hair and along her skin, but that power was controlled and made gentle. It was all the more thrilling that way.

Perhaps she should have made a show of resisting, for dignity’s sake, but when his hand ran up her thigh towards her sex, she parted her legs immediately. His fingers entered her, and sought out her weakest spots with that same thrilling mix of power and gentleness. Somehow her hands were in his hair, and she was pressing his mouth against her breast.

She didn’t want it to end. The way his tongue was moving against her ... But all too soon Rand’s mouth went roaming elsewhere, down to her belly and her hips and her thighs. She’d thought he might kiss her sex, too, but he turned her over onto her belly instead.

Nynaeve rose to her hands and knees with an eagerness that managed to embarrass her even in her lust-addled state. They’d done it in that position before, and she well knew why Elayne had been moaning so wantonly earlier. She shouldn’t he arching her hips like that, presenting herself to him—the Women’s Circle would die of collective apoplexy if they had seen her then. But her hips remained arched, and a loud moan of satisfaction burst from her when Rand touched his mouth to her sex. His tongue traced the inside of her folds firmly, down one side and up the other. His fingers returned, too, to stir her passions yet more.

Even then, however, he didn’t stay in one place for long, her restless boy. He squeezed and fondled the bare cheeks of her bottom, and even touched his slick fingers to her tight little hole, rubbing the tips around and around the outside. It felt surprisingly sensual.

“Rand ... Stop teasing me ...” she heard herself groan. “I need ...” But she couldn’t admit what she needed. She just couldn’t.

“You wouldn’t thank me if I stopped,” Rand murmured. Then he said no more. Something wetter and softer than a finger was touching her backside now, moving around and around it as before, forcing a truly shocking sound from her lips. He was licking her! Licking her bu—She couldn’t even finished the thought. It was such a dirty thing to do. And such a dirty place to do it. But ... Light, but it felt so much better than it had any business feeling.

Perhaps she should have objected when he slipped a finger in there, but that felt good, too. She had been a virtuous woman once. Was this how far she had fallen? Part of her wanted to deny it still, to insist that such acts as this were forbidden for good reason. But to do that she would have had to make him stop. And that was unthinkable.

Nynaeve was lost, but she was not so lost that she didn’t notice when something much bigger than a finger began poking at her back passage. When she looked back, she found him kneeling behind her, nakedly muscular. He had his long, thick cock in his hand, and was aiming it carefully at her hole. Where it rested now was no accident.

“What do you think you’re doing, Rand?” she said in a high-pitched voice.

“Making love to you,” he answered immediately.

“But that’s the wrong place. It’s dirty back there ...”

Frozen in the act, he looked her in the eye. “No part of you is dirty. It couldn’t be. You’re too pure. I said I want every part of you. And I meant it.”

“I meant what I said, too, but ...” But Light! To allow such a thing. To surrender to her base desires in such a way. What would she become? What would  _ they _ become? Conflicted desires battered Nynaeve’s breast in time with her racing heart. Then she did something she had never done before in her life. She surrendered completely. This time the words won free, carried away on a long sigh. “Oh, do whatever you want. I’m tired of fighting it ...”

Rand smiled in relief. “Good. Then for once, and at last, you are mine.”

That was presumptuous of him, and she wanted to tell him so, but his cock was pressing into her, and her wetted hole was stretching to admit entrance where there was only supposed to be exit. She hissed in a breath, and held it, teeth gritted. He stretched her further, stretched her wide, and then he was going in, in, into her ass. It felt so wrong. And it felt so right.

“Burn me, Nynaeve. You’re even tighter than you were in my dreams,” Rand groaned.

“Don’t talk about such things. It’s improper,” she managed to get out.

He laughed at her. With his cock in her ass, he laughed at her. He even slapped her bottom, albeit lightly. “You’re so cute sometimes. I can’t believe some of the things you say. Or the times you say them.”

Her mouth worked soundlessly. She wanted to rebuke him, but it was nice that he thought her cute, she supposed. He had his good points. And no-one was perfect. So he was a perverse madman, younger than she, with a legion of female admirers besides herself. Was that so bad?

“Of course it—” she began muttering. But then he started moving his hips, and words, like thoughts, were driven from her.

Deeper he went, touching places no-one ever had, places she’d never even imagined anyone touching. He held her by the hips, claiming her as he stretched her wide, and Nynaeve, part of whom still wanted to deny the way she felt about him, let him claim her. It hurt, a little. And it embarrassed, a lot. But it was thrilling, too. A strange new pleasure was soon surging through her body each time Rand slowly moved his cock in and out of her butt.

Eventually, when he had her good and used to his presence, he began speeding up. She couldn’t stop the sounds she made then. Couldn’t even think to try. She knelt there and let him bugger her, wondering vaguely why she’d wanted him not to. Why was it so hard to surrender, when surrendering could feel so good? Her body felt so warm. Her untouched pussy was overflowing. It felt close to orgasm in fact, though he wasn’t paying any attention to it at all. She wanted to tug her braid but couldn’t find it. When she felt a light pull, she realised that Rand had hold of it. That was nice of him. He could tug it for her. Held by hip and hair, she took everything he had to give at last. She felt his balls press up against her as he hilted inside. He took it almost all the way out of its new sheathe, before pushing it back in again. Out. And in.

It didn’t hurt. Not really. You just had to relax and let it happen. Open yourself to it. Let it come inside, and then revel in the pleasure of it. She’d been denying herself for so long. Afraid to admit what she felt, or what she wanted. While letting Rand have his way with her, there was no room left for denial. It didn’t change what she felt for Lan, and it didn’t make the situation with he and his other women any less perverse, but there was no room left to deny it.

She loved him.

That admission broke the dam within her. All the pleasure that had been building up came crashing down. She screamed in shock at the sheer force of it. Her body began twitching uncontrollably, and she struggled to catch a breath. She didn’t want to fight him, but she couldn’t control her body. As she jerked around she was vaguely aware of Rand, who’d stopped his delicious thrusting, looking at her with concerned alarm. She wanted to reassure him but it was impossible just then. There was a fire within her, a fire fit to challenge the sun for heat.

Still impaled on his member, she reared up, whether struggling to be free of him or to touch him even more she could not have said, even if she’d had the wherewithal to form words. Up she reared, wrapped in Rand’s steadying embrace. Up, until her flailing hands found purchase in the bed’s curtains, and she was staring down at the pillows too far below. Why was she up so high? What was happening to her? Why did she feel so good? She couldn’t answer any of those questions, all she could do was float there while the most powerful orgasm of her life wracked her body with pleasure.

She didn’t know how long it lasted, she only knew that when it finally ended she came crashing back down to earth. Or to Rand’s bed, more specifically. The bed made for a soft landing, at least, but it was certainly not a comfortable one for either of them, not with Rand’s cock still lodged in her backside. Somehow, he had twisted around in the air so that he landed beneath her, cushioning her fall.

“Did you do that?” he asked. “Or is it another of those ... those bubbles?”

Still stunned by the tremors running through her, Nynaeve could not respond. He turned her face towards his, and looked at her with concern, but she just couldn’t make her brain work enough to form words. Had she done what? Come? Oh yes. Come just from being buggered by him. Light, the effect he could have on a woman’s body! No wonder so many were tripping over each other to find time with him.

“Nothing else is happening,” Rand went on, frowning about them. “No more mirrors. I don’t think I’ll ever be comfortable around a mirror again, but they’re just regular mirrors now. Did you channel, Nynaeve? Why did we float?”

Had she? She felt so strange that it was impossible to answer for certain. She couldn’t have channelled, though. After all ... “I’m not angry,” she said slowly.

But that warmth. It did feel a little familiar, despite how calm and relaxed she was. Very relaxed. Even in places she wouldn’t usually be. Someone giggled. It must have been Rand, because Nynaeve al’Meara never giggled. Relaxed, and calm ... and touching the One Power.

“I’m not angry,” she laughed. She kicked her feet in delight, unwittingly rubbing her cheeks along the rod still lodged between them, and forcing a moan from its owner.  _ Saidar _ filled her, not just with life and joy, but this time, with awe. With feathery flows of Air, she stroked Rand’s face. “I am not angry, Rand,” she whispered.

“Is that thing you were talking about gone? The block that prevented you from channelling when you wanted?”

She reached out with invisible hands of Air in response, and used them to pick him up. He rose a few feet into the air, taking her with him, before dropping back to the soft bed.

“It’s gone,” she breathed, filled with every kind of satisfaction imaginable. The effect he could have on her. She was no longer the woman she had been. She hadn’t been for some time in fact, ever since she’d given in to temptation and lost her virginity to him. There was no denying that she loved him, not anymore. She was past that. But what was she going to do with him?

Well, other than the obvious. He was still very hard, and unsatisfied. Nynaeve wasn’t cruel enough to leave him in such a state.

Planting her feet on the bed, she raised her hips, rubbing her ass along Rand’s shaft, and then brought herself back down again. It had the effect she’d anticipated, so she did it again and again, until he was clutching at her breasts and moaning beneath her.

She relaxed into his embrace, her head falling back. He could kiss her cheek, and her neck, but not her mouth. That was fine, for now. Up and down she went, pleasuring him with her backside. She wasn’t even embarrassed to do it.

“If you keep doing that, I won’t be able to stop myself,” Rand gritted.

“Does it feel like I want you to, you woolhead? Come in me,” she murmured, still moving at that steady, relaxed pace.

She doubted she’d have to do it for much longer. Pinned helplessly beneath her, Rand groaned her name out, took hold of her thighs, and began thrusting upwards eagerly. She was glad of it. They’d come so far and done so much, the two of them. She liked knowing she could have the same effect on him that he had on her.

“But why there?” a voice asked.

“Does it matter? It feels good,” she mumbled in response.

It took her a while, in her addled state, to realise that the voice hadn’t been in her head. Her heart skipped a beat, and her eyes went as wide as they could. Raising her head, Nynaeve gaped at the girl standing near the closed door of Rand’s bedroom, staring at her spread legs and the place where she and Rand were joined ...


	36. Indulgence

CHAPTER 33: Indulgence

She had a deliciously tight ass, but that alone wasn’t what reduced Rand to the feverish state with which he fucked her. It was that it was Nynaeve. Nynaeve, of all people, who was letting him fuck her so. And enjoying it. That last was as shocking as it was delightful. Her inconsiderable weight rested comfortably atop him as he held her steady, thrusting up. The desire to come in her ass had become a desperate need by then. He could barely think of anything else.

He was vaguely aware of her speaking, but only vaguely. They’d already said what needed to be said. She’d confessed to him something that he’d long ago stopped dreaming could be possible. He wanted nothing more than to stay in this new dream as long as he could.

“You weren’t supposed—ugh!—to be here. You—ah!—weren’t supposed to ... see,” Nynaeve managed to get out, despite his relentless fucking.

“That goes without saying! I must admit, I often suspected there might have been something between you. You are both so attractive, and so close to each other. Even so, I wasn’t expecting this. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s all so complicated,” Nynaeve whined.

“Doesn’t it hurt? I can see that he likes it, but ... Light, I should want to strangle you both! Why am I ...?”

“Rand, uhnn, we need to talk.” He was aware of Nynaeve’s words, but far too close to climax to speak just then. His cock pounded her ass mercilessly. So close ... “Not, not now. Not while she’s watching!” Heedless, he groaned out her name as he came in her ass, flooding it with enough come to soak them both. She groaned, too, but in her case it was one of despair rather than pleasure. “Light. Every time I think I’ve fallen as far as I can fall, you find another way ... Why can’t I stop you?”

Someone sniffed. “I expect you could, if you actually wanted him to. Making a display of yourself like that! I would never ... I mean ... You could at least have told me you were one of—one of! Light, what has become of me?”

His mind made fuzzy by pleasure, Rand craned his head up to look past Nynaeve’s shoulder at the girl standing at the foot of his bed. Elayne had shed her fancy gown for something lighter. A commoner’s dress, by Tairen lights, but one that did not make her look a bit less regal. She’d shed her giddy smiles of the past day as well. In their place was a downturned mouth, and an accusing pair of big blue eyes. Even in the immediate aftermath of his orgasm, seeing her look so unhappy made him feel bad.

“I thought you wanted to part for the day,” he said breathlessly.

“So you could get some work done! Not so you could, could ... could go fuck Nynaeve in the bum!” Her fair cheeks blazed. “Honestly, Rand! Can you not restrain yourself at all?”

He nodded to her rebuke. She was right. He was a total lecher. But with so many beautiful women around, how could he not be?

Oddly, it was Nynaeve, virtuous stickler that she so often was, who objected to Elayne’s words. “Don’t lie, girl. You didn’t come here at this time of the evening to chat about the weather.”

“And you did?” Elayne snapped. He couldn’t help but notice her lack of denial.

Nynaeve sighed. “No. I’m done lying. I wanted this. Well, not this exactly—I certainly wasn’t planning on losing that virginity!—but I wanted this intimacy.” She turned her face to his before finishing. “With you.”

“I’m glad,” he said softly, and kissed her lips.

“Don’t make me watch that ...” Elayne breathed.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Didn’t that Zofia tell you he had company?” Nynaeve asked.

“No. She just said he was relaxing in his room ...” Elayne said miserably.

Nynaeve growled. “That witch! She’ll pay for this!”

Rand decided he’d stay out of that. She probably wouldn’t do anything violent. Probably. He addressed Elayne instead. “If there is something you desire, that I can give you, I’d be happy to give it. I just need a few minutes to catch my breath. She’s worn me out.”

“You have the nerve to complain?” Nynaeve objected. “After what you’ve done to my poor bottom? I won’t be able to sit at all tomorrow!”

“Oh, boo hoo! That is the least you deserve for deceiving me. And after all we’ve been to each other!” Elayne said, her colour high. “Well, don’t go asking me to kiss it better. I mean ...” Her gaze strayed to the Nynaeve’s crotch. “I could, but ...”

A frown creased Rand’s brow as he looked back and forth between the two women. “Is there ... something going on between you two? I mean, you are both so attractive ...”

Nynaeve squirmed atop him. “That’s none of your business, Rand al’Thor. The nerve! Asking a woman such a thing!”

Elayne was rather more dignified about it. And more honest. “We have been intimate, yes. In the White Tower it is called being pillow-friends.”

“ ‘Pillow-friends’. Weird term for it,” he muttered. He didn’t spare the Tower’s customs much thought, though. He was too busy imagining Elayne and Nynaeve kissing, or touching each other’s naked bodies ... Despite having come so recently that his not fully softened cock was still lodged in Nynaeve’s butt, Rand felt himself growing aroused. “But that makes this easy. Sort of. Why don’t you join us? Then I won’t have to worry about neglecting one of you, or hurting your feelings.”

An incredulous laugh burst from Elayne. “How charmingly considerate of you! I certainly wouldn’t want you to put yourself out on my account,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And I doubt Nynaeve would either.”

But Nynaeve, who had come earlier yet kept going, was eyeing her consideringly. “I shouldn’t ... the Women’s Circle ...” he just about heard her say under her breath.

Elayne may not have heard her words, but she noticed the way Nynaeve was looking at her. “You are considering it!?”

Nynaeve let out a small sigh. “Is that so shocking? After all we’ve done, with each other and with him? You knew there were other women before you ever decided to make your move. I was there, remember?”

“You talk about me when I’m not around?” Rand asked dubiously.

It was a mark of Elayne’s upset that she rolled her eyes. She was usually much more composed. “Of course we do! Everyone does. You are the Dragon Reborn. I suggest you get used to it. As to the other thing ... I had thought it would be more of an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ scenario ...”

“It can be,” he said.

“If you want it to be,” Nynaeve added. She offered Elayne her hand, waiting.

Rand was more than surprised when she came and took it. Elayne was hesitant, her eyes darting between the two of them, but Nynaeve was anything but.

“Oh, thank the Light. I’ve been lying here on the edge for ...” She tugged the other woman towards them, and stretched her face up for a kiss. She got one, too, though it was a timid and experimental thing. Elayne’s hair curtained all three of them as she knelt above. It fell softly upon his face when she transferred her kiss from Nynaeve to him.

“You never cease to surprise me. And delight me,” he told her.

She quirked a smile in response, one whose hesitancy would have bid him take things slowly, but Nynaeve either didn’t see or was too worked up to care. She grabbed the Daughter-Heir’s head and pushed her face down towards her pussy. “Get in there, girl.”

Though she gasped at the rough treatment, Elayne let herself be steered. Rand stared, open-mouthed, as she knelt between Nynaeve’s still spread legs, and leant down to kiss her sex with a good bit less hesitancy than she’d kissed her lips.

Nynaeve moaned in pleasure as soon as she was touched. She held Elayne by the head and pressed her face against her pussy. His cock was still in her ass, and he could feel every little motion she made as Elayne stirred her pleasure with her tongue. He began moving again, slowly, staring down past Nynaeve’s breast at Elayne as he did. Their eyes locked. Could she feel him move down there? He heard her moan, too, though more softly than Nynaeve was.

He found that he enjoyed watching her pleasure another woman with her mouth. Though red in the face, the Daughter-Heir had a hand between her own legs, and was rubbing herself. She was rubbing herself very vigorously in fact. As he watched, she lowered her own underwear to get better access, then jammed her fingers into her pussy. The girl was a continuous wonder to him. Such passions she had, hidden behind that innocent face. When he smiled at her, she fingered herself even harder.

Pinned between the two of them, Nynaeve had no hope. She had a hand on both of their heads by then, and was urging them on with a wantonness he’d never seen from her before. Her abandon, and the sounds she was making, made him grin. It must have had the same effect on Elayne, too, for she dimpled a smile up at him before sticking two of her fingers deep into Nynaeve’s very wet pussy.

Her other hand rested idle on Nynaeve’s stomach. Rand wasn’t sure he dared take it. Wasn’t sure he had the right. But after a minute’s worth of them fucking Nynaeve from both ends, he put a hesitant hand on Elayne’s and gave it a little squeeze. To his surprised relief, she squeezed back.

“I can feel you moving in there,” she whispered.

“I can feel her moving, too. Every time you touch her. You’re surprisingly good at that ... for such a seemingly innocent girl ...”

Elayne smiled coyly. “Oh? Well, perhaps you aren’t the only one with a mysterious past ... And in case you haven’t noticed by now, I am very much not the sheltered princess you insist on thinking me.”

“You’ve definitely proven me wrong there,” he had to admit.

She bit her lip. “I can think of a way to completely rid myself of that label ... at least with you.”

He didn’t find out what that way was, for Nynaeve began thrashing about between them, her teeth clenched in the by now familiar sign that another orgasm was imminent.

“Again? And so soon. What’s gotten into you this evening, Nynaeve?” said Elayne.

“Quiet, you ... you little ...,” Nynaeve gasped. “Be quiet and keep fucking me.”

Grinning, Elayne attacked the other woman’s pussy with vigour. Seeing them like that, Rand couldn’t help but attack Nynaeve’s ass with a vigour that at least matched Elayne’s. Under their dual assault Nynaeve was soon brought to a screaming orgasm, the volume of which made Elayne’s brows rise nearly to her hairline.

“It was that good?” she whispered. “Perhaps I really will—” Biting her lip again, she looked at Rand, saw him watching her, and immediately looked away again.

Though made more than curious by Elayne’s curiosity, he couldn’t bring himself to neglect Nynaeve. Wrapping her in his arms, he held her tight, and stroked her brow as she rode out the waves of her pleasure.

He didn’t lie there long, however, just long enough for her to quieten. She’d done such a fine job of massaging him back to readiness, and there was another girl in the bed whom he also couldn’t bring himself to neglect. He held her carefully as he rolled her onto her side, and then eased himself out of her no longer virgin ass.

Wordless mumbles were Nynaeve’s only response, but Elayne crossed her arms when she saw his cock come free. “And what do you plan to do with that?” she asked.

“Anything you want me to,” he answered.

She burst into giggles. “I’m not going to say that I  _ want _ that ... Want is a rather large word. Say rather that I might tolerate it, if you asked nicely.”

He wasn’t sure he completely believed her coy words, not anymore, but he wasn’t about to argue that point just then. He put his arms around her, and kissed her tenderly instead.

She was trembling in his arms by the time he came up for air. “I can’t get enough of you, or your body,” he breathed. “You’ve already given me one of your virginities, but I want even more. I want to touch every last inch of you. Will you let me? I promise I’ll be gentle, and stop if you say to.”

Elayne had to swallow before she could respond. “I suppose I could indulge you. Yes. I ... I shan’t mind overmuch if you ... if you put it in m-my b-b-bum.” Her cheeks blazed. “Light! I can’t believe I just said that!”

“Neither can I,” said Rand, though he was already undoing the buttons of her dress.

Elayne was shyer than before, and made a great show of demureness as he stripped her, not even helping a little bit. She just knelt there with her shoulders drawn in girlishly. It only enflamed Rand more. He stripped her to her skin, save for the pretty white stockings she was wearing, and went for her breasts as soon as he had her naked.

They felt as lovely as ever, and the sounds she made when he squeezed them would have told her tale even if the stiff little nipples pressing against his palms hadn’t done so already. Still holding her from behind, he found her sex and explored its wetness. For all her demure protests, she was dripping down there.

Emboldened, Rand pushed Elayne onto her hands and knees not far from the near-comatose Nynaeve, who mumbled wordlessly at her gasping arrival. She knelt there and let him explore her with his hands. She let him explore all of her, for Rand was intent on transferring a goodly portion of her fluids from one hole to the other, with his fingers as the means of transfer. She was quiet the first time he touched her outer ring, but let out a cute little yelp when he first slipped a finger into her tight bottom. She let him swirl it around in there, to get her nice and stretched.

Though rock hard and very eager, he took his time with the preparations. He very much wanted Elayne to enjoy this. His ministrations took long enough that Nynaeve had time to recover from her orgasm, take in the sight before her, and frown up at them.

“Elayne ... what are you doing? I know you say you don’t care but Light, girl! What would your mother say?”

“What would yours say? If she was still alive, I mean,” Elayne said snippily.

“Probably that I had set a bad example. She always said I didn’t behave like a proper woman,” Nynaeve muttered. She chewed on her lips for a moment before continuing. “But ... I-If you did it, too ... I suppose that would, would make it less e-embarrassing ...”

“I’m not embarrassed,” Elayne squeaked, while she knelt beside her friend and let Rand stick his finger up her bottom. The lie was loud in her voice, but for once Nynaeve didn’t rebuke her for it.

“Can I watch?” she asked.

Elayne drew in a shuddering breath before nodding vigorously. “What exactly are you waiting for, Rand?” she said.

“I wouldn’t be so quick to rush off, if I were you. There might be cliffs ahead,” he muttered. “But if you are that eager ...”

He slid his cock into her, but not her ass, not yet. He wanted to get himself good and wet for her, and that was something that she was definitely inclined to help him with. Her moans told him that she was as pleased by their joining as he was, but as sweet as her pussy felt around him, he didn’t stay there long.

To her tight little butt he went, spreading her soft, pale cheeks to expose the little pink hole between them. She trembled when she felt the head of his cock press against her ass, but didn’t tell him to stop. She didn’t even when he pushed slowly forwards, or when she began to stretch so much wider than she had before. Even when the head popped inside her vicelike ass, she didn’t bid him halt, though she was panting in pain by then.

“And to think, when they called you a tightass, I thought they were insulting you,” he groaned.

“W-Who called me a tightass,” Elayne asked, momentarily distracted. “And what does that mean?”

“Never you mind,” he said, and began moving again.

“Oh. Rand. That feels so strange ... But not entirely terrible, I must admit ...”

“I dared to dream you would like it,” he said. Her moans teased his ears, and the wonderfully sculpted curves of her waist made for an excellent grip, as he slid deeper and deeper into Elayne’s ass. Though tight enough to grip every last inch of him, she was already shaping herself to his body. The moans she let out now were more of pleasure than of pain.

Having given her his full length, Rand moved back out, still taking it slow. When he went back in again, there was a lot less pain in the sounds she was making, so he dared to speed up.

“Oh, fuck me ... That feels so good,” the Daughter-Heir of Andor groaned, as she knelt there and took his cock all the way into her ass. There was no conscious thought in the pace he set after that. She was just too sexy. He had to have her.

There wasn’t much in the world that could have distracted Rand from the thrill of fucking Elayne, but Nynaeve managed it. Still naked and sweaty, she came to kneel beside the cavorting couple, chewing on her lips as her eyes roved all over them both.

“You ... You’re just going to do that right in front on me?” she whispered.

“No. I’m just going to do this while kissing you,” Rand said with a smile. He reached over and took hold of her hand. She didn’t resist when he pulled her to him, just stared, wide-eyed in a way that she so rarely was. For all her protestations, she melted into his embrace, her mouth opening to his.

He kept moving his hips as he kissed Nynaeve, though it wasn’t long before a change in the moans Elayne was making made him open his eyes. She was looking over her shoulder at them with her mouth hanging open, and one hand clutching at her own breast. Her big blue eyes sparkled with unknowable emotion.

As he fucked Elayne, he fondled her bottom with one hand, and Nynaeve’s with the other. The thought of comparing them never even occurred to them. They were both amazing. Nynaeve seemed to like watching his cock move in and out of Elayne’s ass, from the way she was staring. So he slipped a finger between the former Wisdom’s cheeks, and let her imagine it was something more. She shivered in his embrace.

“I never thought I’d see you like this, Elayne. You take it so well ...” she said.

“That better be a compliment,” Elayne gasped.

It was hard to tell whether it was denial or wonder that made Nynaeve shake her head like that. “You should see how far you are stretching,” she whispered.

Elayne’s face went redder than her hair. “Don’t talk about that!”

Her girlish protests spurred Rand on to even greater heights of depravity. Shifting from a kneeling to a crouching position, be began to truly ravage the Daughter-Heir’s tight little butt, pounding in and out of her with wild abandon. She took it all, that brave girl, and never once told him to stop. Her curly mane flew back and forth as she shook her head in futile denial of what was happening, or perhaps of the pleasure she was feeling. And it was pleasure now. He could tell. She was growling the same high-pitched little growl she had growled earlier, the one she’d gotten so offended by his mentioning. He didn’t understand why. It was a very cute sound.

Nynaeve kissed his cheek, and whispered something in his ear than he would never in his wildest dreams have imagined her whispering to him. “Make her come, like you did me. Just from the butt. I don’t want to be the only one who has to bear that ...”

“That’s my plan,” Rand whispered back but, even as he said it, he knew doubt. It was an easy boast to make, and definitely something he’d like to do, but Elayne felt so good, and he wasn’t sure he could last long enough to meet Nynaeve’s challenge. He might have to use his hand on her.

He certainly couldn’t tell from looking at Elayne how close she was or wasn’t to climax. There were no demure denials now. She was rocking her hips back against his as she took his cock up her ass, growling those growls, her curls flying back and forth. Her skin was decant, elegant silk beneath his hands, as pale as milk. The girl it belonged to ... Well. She was a delightful mystery, one that he was still trying to puzzle out.

“I ... I ... I ...” she said between the fierce strokes of his cock. “I’m going ... I’m going to ... I’m going to come!”

Rand grinned, as much in relief as in pleasure. “Good. Come for me, there’s a good girl.”

Her growl went high enough that it almost hurt his ears. She reared up, head high, her drawn in arms pressing her breasts together just as she pressed her hips together with his. He felt her clamp down even harder that when he’d first penetrated her, so hard he almost feared she’d tear his member off. Unintelligible sounds burst from her as she came. The sight of her, the feel of her, and the sound of her, all combined to bring Rand’s own climax close to realisation. Freed of the pressure to perform, it only took a few more frantic movements of his hips to bring his second orgasm of the night crashing down upon him. Satisfaction flooded him as he flooded the writhing Daughter-Heir’s ass with his come.

“Light! She’s like a fountain back here,” Nynaeve gasped. “I didn’t know women could—” She stopped herself from telling what it was that she hadn’t known women could do. She was leaning back, to look past Rand’s straining backside, and the place where he and Elayne were joined, to the slit than ran beneath it. What she saw there was beyond Rand’s sight, but it had made her jaw drop, and the mentioning of it brought a pitiable whimper from Elayne. “I can see the way your parts move when you are pumping your seed into her, too,” Nynaeve continued, somewhat embarrassingly. “It’s ... it’s very interesting.”

Rand couldn’t comment on that. Or on much of anything just then. With a loud groan, he collapsed onto his side, taking a twitching Elayne with him. They lay there for some time, gasping for breath, her sheltered in the den made by his body.

“Do you still think I’m a spoiled princess?” Elayne asked after a time.

“Definitely not. I’m sorry. Really,” he said.

She shifted against him, moving the softening cock that was still inside her. “I suppose I can forgive you. For that anyway. There are other debts that have been incurred. I don’t think I’ll be able to sit down at all tomorrow.”

Nynaeve, who was sat nearby, shifted, too. “There must be some kind of ointment that would help with that,” she muttered.

“I think you’ll manage it. You’re tougher than you look,” Rand said.

Elayne hid her eyes from him, but not her dimples. “So what now?” she asked. “Shall we sleep here? All three of us?”

“Absolutely not!” Nynaeve declared. “I hope you haven’t forgotten how to be discreet, girl. If you have, let me remind you that I wasn’t the only one to indulge her perversions this evening. I can’t stay here. People would start to suspect Rand and I were ...”

Elayne huffed out a little sigh. “There is no need to threaten me, Nynaeve. No need at all. And even if there were, I find the act offensive. I will not reveal your secret. That should go without saying. Though, again, I am rather surprised at your dishonesty in this matter.”

Rand hadn’t really expected her to admit to anyone else that she liked him, so he didn’t share Elayne’s reaction, but he still wore a wry smile as he said, “It’s alright. So long as Nynaeve and I know what we are to each other, I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

She looked at him then, her dark eyes stricken with tenderness. “It’s complicated,” she said again.

“Very,” Elayne agreed. She tried to get up, but the act was made difficult by the way they were joined. “Rand, could you ...?”

“Of course.” Holding her by her pretty hip, he eased himself out of her tight hole. Somehow, despite all they’d done, the act still managed to make her blush.

Once freed, she sat up beside Nynaeve. Rand took a moment to marvel at the sight of them both naked, their bodies marked by the signs of what had happened. Sweaty, flushed, their hair tousled and their nipples erect. It was a spectacular view. The knowledge that both of the beauties sitting there had butts full of his come made the sight even more memorable.

But all good things had to come to an end.

“Well, if you aren’t going to stay, then I suppose I must depart as well,” Elayne said reluctantly. “Having stayed here so long, it would arouse suspicions if we did not depart together.”

“I can set suspicious folk right,” Nynaeve said gruffly, though he noticed the way her hand closed around Elayne’s as she said it.

The younger girl smiled indulgently. “Even so. I shall accompany you. Once I am cleaned and dressed, naturally.”

“Naturally,” said Nynaeve, but then she shook her head wryly. “Though clean isn’t going to mean what it once did. Not after this.”

Sitting shoulder to shoulder with her, Elayne nodded her agreement.

Rand stretched out on the bed, his hands behind his head. “Well. I’m going to miss you both, but I suppose I understand. Discretion is a virtue.”

Elayne looked on him kindly. That she could still do that would have been enough to make him love her, even if she wasn’t possessed of all her many other virtues. “It will be alright, Rand. We will see each other again tomorrow. Though ... perhaps not right away. I really do feel I am taking up too much of your time. Duty must come first, and you have much to which you must attend.” She sat up straight, her soft look hardening. “And I do mean duty by that. Not your many girlfriends! When I return I expect to find you have advanced your cause greatly. I do not expect to find you cosied up with Raine, or Merile ... And definitely not with Berelain!”

Rand could only nod along with her rebuke. “You’re right. I know it. I’ll try to be good this time.” He had overindulged the past few days. Burn his eyes, he had overindulged the past few  _ weeks _ ! He just hoped he could make up for lost time before his enemies could rally against him.


	37. The Stone Stands

CHAPTER 34: The Stone Stands

The sun slid slowly toward the horizon on the evening of the next day. The half-drawn draperies of Rand’s bedchamber lessened the reddish yellow glare, but did little to cool the air. The heat and damp had seemed to sap even the Tairens’ strength that day. The city slowed to a lethargic walk, the Stone to a crawl. Servants worked nearly in their sleep, and the Defenders of the Stone slumped at their posts like half-melted candles, while their officers showed more interest in chilled wine than in making their rounds. The High Nobles kept largely to their apartments, sleeping through the hottest part of the day, and a few left the Stone entirely for the relative cool of their country estates. Oddly, only the outlanders, who felt the heat worst of all, pushed on with their lives as hard as ever, if not harder. For them, the heavy heat did not weigh nearly as much as did the hours rushing by.

It certainly didn’t for Rand, whose guilt at having spent so much time at play instead of at work gnawed at him all day. It was why he found himself alone in his room now, save for  _ Callandor _ glittered on its ornate stand like the purest crystal, and the High Lords sweating under his glare.

He stared at Meilan and Sunamon, then tossed the thick bundle of large vellum sheets at them. A treaty, all neatly scribed, lacking only signatures and seals. It hit Meilan in the chest, and he caught it by reflex; he bowed as if honoured, but his tight smile revealed clenched teeth.

Sunamon shifted from foot to foot, dry-washing his hands. “All is as you said, my Lord Dragon,” he said anxiously. “Grain for ships—”

“And two thousand Tairen levies,” Rand cut him off. “ ‘To see to proper distribution of the grain and protect Tairen interests.’ ” His voice was like ice, but his stomach seemed to be boiling; he nearly shook with the desire to pound at these fools with his fists. “Two thousand men. Under the command of Torean!”

“The High Lord Torean has an interest in affairs with Mayene, my Lord Dragon,” Meilan said smoothly.

“He has an interest in forcing his attentions on a woman who won’t look at him!” Rand shouted. “Grain for ships, I said! No soldiers. And certainly no bloody Torean! Have you even spoken to Berelain?”

They blinked at him as if they did not understand the words. It was too much. He snatched at  _ saidin _ ; the vellum in Meilan’s arms erupted into flame. With a yell, Meilan hurled the fiery bundle into the bare fireplace and hurriedly brushed at sparks and scorch marks on his red silk coat. Sunamon stared at the burning sheets, which were crackling and turning black, with his mouth hanging open.

“You will go to Berelain,” he told them, surprised at how calm his voice was. “By tomorrow midday you will have offered her the treaty I want, or by sunset tomorrow I’ll hang both of you. If have to hang High Lords every day, two by two, I will. I will send every last one of you to the gallows if you won’t obey me. Now, get out of my sight.”

The quiet tone seemed to affect them more than his shouting had. Even Meilan looked uneasy as they backed away, bowing at every other step, murmuring protestations of undying loyalty and everlasting obedience. They sickened him.

“Get out!” he roared, and they abandoned dignity, almost fighting with one another to pull the doors open. They ran. One of the Aiel guards put his head in for a moment, to see that Rand was alright, before drawing the door shut.

Rand trembled openly. They disgusted him almost as much as he disgusted himself. Threatening to hang men because they did not do as he told them. Worse, meaning it. He could remember when he did not have a temper, or, at least, when he rarely had, and had managed to keep it on a short rein. Was that the madness working on him? It could be. Anything could be.

He crossed the room to where  _ Callandor _ sparkled with the light streaming in between the draperies. The blade looked like the finest glass, absolutely clear; it felt like steel to his fingers, sharp as a razor. He had come close to reaching for it, to deal with Meilan and Sunamon. Whether to use it as a sword or for its real purpose, he did not know. Either possibility horrified him.  _ I am not mad yet. Only angry. Light, so angry! _

Soon. The Darkfriends would be put on a ship, soon. Elayne would be leaving. And Nynaeve. Back to Tar Valon, he prayed; Black Ajah or no Black Ajah, the White Tower had to be as safe a place as there was now. Soon. Were these escorts that Moiraine had sent for trustworthy? No. They were Aes Sedai. No Aes Sedai could be trusted by the likes of him. No more excuses to put off what he had to do. Not anymore.

He turned his hands over, looking at the heron branded into each palm. He had examined them so often that he could have sketched every line perfectly from memory. The Prophecies foretold them.

_ Twice and twice shall he be marked. _

_ Twice to live, and twice to die. _

_ Once the heron to set his path. _

_ Twice the heron, to name him true. _

_ Once the Dragon, for remembrance lost. _

_ Twice the Dragon, for the price he must pay _ .

But if the herons “named him true”, what need for Dragons? For that matter, what was a Dragon? The only Dragon he had ever heard of was Lews Therin Telamon. Lews Therin Kinslayer had been the Dragon; the Dragon was the Kinslayer. Except now there was himself. But he could not be marked with himself. Perhaps the figure on the banner was a Dragon; not even Aes Sedai seemed to know what that creature was.

“You are changed from when I last saw you. Stronger. Harder,” said an all too familiar voice.

He spun in place, heart hammering in his chest. And not from excitement, no matter how beautiful the tall woman now standing in his room looked. It was Lanfear. The Forsaken who claimed to love him. She was clad in a white dress, as usual, one that nearly blended with her pale skin, and which contrasted remarkably with her long, midnight tresses. Her expression spoke of an utter confidence that Rand could only envy. He wasn’t feeling at all confident just then. This was no dream, like their more recent encounters. She was here in person. He snatched at  _ saidin _ , but found himself shielded.

“How did you get in here? How long have you been—?” As he spoke, he backed slowly away from her. If he reached  _ Callandor _ , at least he would have a weapon. Perhaps it could not work as a  _ sa’angreal _ , but it would do for a sword. Could he use a sword against a woman? No, against Lanfear, against one of the Forsaken.

His back came up hard against something, and he looked around to see what it was. There was nothing there. A wall of nothing, with his back pressed against it.  _ Callandor _ glittered not three paces away—on the other side. He thumped a fist against the barrier in frustration; it was as unyielding as rock.

“I cannot trust you fully, Lews Therin. Not yet.” She came closer, and he considered simply seizing her. He was bigger and stronger by far—and blocked as he was, she could wrap him up with the Power like a kitten tangled in a ball of string. “Not with that, certainly,” she added, grimacing at  _ Callandor _ . “There are only two more powerful that a man can use. One at least, I know, still exists. No, Lews Therin. I will not trust you yet with that. You were wise to claim it, though. Wiser still to heed my warnings. The other Chosen will still want you dead, but most of them will hesitate to challenge someone armed with such a  _ sa’angreal _ . Most of them.”

Rand wasn’t exactly heartened by that. There was a “Chosen” in the room with him, and  _ Callandor _ sure wasn’t making him any less vulnerable to her! “What do you want?” he asked, trying to make himself sound sternly in control, but only managing to growl angrily.

“Everything. The world. Immortality. Power. You heart. Your body. And I will have all of those things, too,” she said with a smile of certainty. “You have been a very naughty boy while I was gone.” She waited a moment, her dark eyes glittering with what might have been anger, but then she laughed. “Oh, don’t be so nervous, my love. I care nothing for those basic slatterns. For what woman could rival me? So long as you understand the difference between a slattern and a wife, I will not punish you for playing with your little pets. I hope you do understand that difference, Lews Therin. I would hate to have to teach you that lesson almost as much as you would hate learning it.”

“I’m not a very good student,” he growled. “Just ask Moiraine.”

She tossed her hair back. “That so-called Aes Sedai? She isn’t qualified for the title, much less to teach. There are those who could teach you, however, show you what you once knew. None would dare oppose you, then.”

“Teach me? You want me to let one of the Forsaken teach me?” One of the Forsaken. A male Forsaken. A man who had been Aes Sedai in the Age of Legends, who knew the ways of channelling, knew how to avoid the pitfalls, knew—As much had been offered him before. “No! Even if it was offered, I’d refuse, and why should it be? I oppose them—and you! I hate everything you’ve done, everything you stand for.”  _ Fool! _ he thought.  _ Trapped here, and I spout defiance like some idiot in a story who never suspects he might make his captor angry enough to do something about it _ . But he could not force himself to take the words back. Stubbornly, he ploughed ahead and made it worse. “I’ll destroy you, if I can. You, and the Dark One, and every last Forsaken!”

A dangerous gleam flashed in her eyes and was gone. “Do you know why some of us fear you? Do you have any idea? Because they are afraid the Great Lord of the Dark will give you a place above them.”

Rand surprised himself by managing a laugh. “Great Lord of the Dark? Can’t you say his true name, either? Surely you don’t fear to attract his attention, as decent people do. Or do you?”

“It would be blasphemy,” she said simply. “They are right to be afraid, Sammael and the rest. The Great Lord does want you. He wants to exalt you above all other men. He told me.”

“That’s ridiculous! The Dark One is still bound in Shayol Ghul, or I would be fighting Tarmon Gai’don right now. And if he knows I exist, he’d want me dead. I mean to fight him.”

“Oh, he knows. The Great Lord knows more than you would suspect. It is possible to talk with him. Go to Shayol Ghul, into the Pit of Doom, and you can ... hear him. You can ... bathe in his presence.” A different light shone on her face, now. Ecstasy. She breathed through parted lips, and for a moment seemed to stare at something distant and wondrous. “Words cannot even begin to describe it. You must experience it to know. You must.” She was seeing his face again, with eyes large and dark and insistent. “Kneel to the Great Lord, and he will set you above all others. He will leave you free to reign as you will, so long as you bend knee to him only once. To acknowledge him. No more than that. He told me this. Asmodean will teach you to wield the Power without it killing you, teach what you can do with it. Let me help you. We can destroy the others. The Great Lord will not care. We can destroy all of them, even Asmodean, once he has taught you all you need to know. You and I can rule the world together under the Great Lord, forever.” Her voice dropped to a whisper, equal parts eagerness and fear. “Two great  _ sa’angreal _ were made just before the end, one that you can use, one that I can. Far greater than that sword. Their power is beyond imagining. With those, we could challenge even ... the Great Lord himself. Even the Creator!”

“You are mad,” he said raggedly. “The Father of Lies says he will leave me free? I was born to fight him. That is why I am here, to fulfil the Prophecies. I’ll fight him, and all of you, until the Last Battle! Until my last breath!”

“You do not have to. Prophecy is no more than the sign of what people hope for. Fulfilling the Prophecies will only bind you to a path leading to Tarmon Gai’don and your death. Moghedien or Sammael can destroy your body. The Great Lord of the Dark can destroy your soul. An end utter and complete. You will never be born again no matter how long the Wheel of Time turns!”

“No!”

For what seemed a long time she studied him; he could almost see the scales weighing alternatives. “I could take you with me,” she said finally. “I could have you turned to the Great Lord whatever you want or believe. There are ways.”

She paused, perhaps to see if her words had had any effect. Sweat rolled down his back, but he kept his face straight. He would have to do something, whether he had a chance or not. A second attempt to reach  _ saidin _ battered vainly against that invisible barrier. He let his eyes wander as if he were thinking.  _ Callandor _ was behind him, as far out of reach as the other side of the Aryth Ocean. His belt knife was lying on a table by the bed, together with a half-made fox he had been carving. The sword he’d carried since Falmerden hanging from the back of a chair, a drably clad man slipping in at the doors with a knife in his hand, the books lying everywhere. He turned back to Lanfear, tensing.

“You were always stubborn,” she muttered. “I won’t take you, this time. I want you to come to me of your own will. And I will have it. What is the matter? You’re frowning.”

A man slipping in at the doors with a knife; his eyes had slid past the fellow almost without seeing. Instinctively he pushed Lanfear out of the way and reached for the True Source; the shield blocking him vanished as he touched it, and his sword was in his hands like a red-gold flame. The man rushed at him, knife held low and point up for a killing stroke. Even then it was difficult to keep his eyes on the fellow, but Rand pivoted smoothly, and The Wind Blows Over the Wall took off the hand holding the knife and finished by driving through his assailant’s heart. For an instant he stared into dull eyes—lifeless while that heart still pumped—then pulled his blade free.

“A Grey Man.” Rand took what felt like his first breath in hours. The corpse at his feet was messy, bleeding onto the scroll-worked carpet, but there was no difficulty in fixing an eye on him now. It was always that way with the Shadow’s assassins; when they were noticed, it was usually too late. “This makes no sense. You could have killed me easily. Why distract me for a Grey Man to sneak up on me?”

Lanfear was watching him warily. “I make no use of the Soulless. I told you there are ... differences among the Chosen. It seems I was a day late in my judgment, but there is still time for you to come with me. To learn. To live. That sword,” she all but sneered. “You do not do the tenth part of what you can. Come with me, and learn. Or do you mean to try to kill me, now? I loosed you to defend yourself.”

Her voice, her stance, said she expected an attack, or at the very least was ready to counter it, but that was not what stopped him, any more than her loosing the bonds in the first place. She was one of the Forsaken; she had served evil so long she made a Black sister look like a newborn babe. Yet he saw a woman. He called himself nine kinds of fool, but he could not do it. Maybe if she tried to kill him. Maybe. But all she did was stand there, watching, waiting. No doubt ready to do things with the Power he did not even know were possible, if he attempted to hold her. He had managed to block Elayne and Alanna, but she was far more powerful. At least he had a firm grip on  _ saidin _ ; she would not surprise him that way again. The stomach-wrenching taint was nothing;  _ saidin _ was life, perhaps in more ways than one.

A sudden thought boiled up in his head like a hot spring. The Aiel. Even a Grey Man should have found it impossible to sneak through doors watched by half a dozen Aiel.

“What did you do to them?” His voice grated as he backed toward the doors, keeping his eyes on her. If she used the Power, maybe he would have some warning. “What did you do to the Aiel outside?”

“Nothing,” she replied coolly. “Do not go out there. This may be only a testing to see how vulnerable you are, but even a testing may kill you if you are a fool.”

He flung open the left-hand door onto a scene of madness.

Dead Aielmen lay at Rand’s feet, tangled with the bodies of three very ordinary men in very ordinary coats and breeches. Ordinary-looking men, except that six Aiel, the entire guard, had been slain, some obviously before they knew what was happening, and each of those ordinary men had at least two Aiel spears through him. He knew some of them by name. Young Melv had always been friendly, and solemn old Wavadin had been the soul of polite discretion every time one of Rand’s girls had come knocking. Neither of them looked to have seen their deaths coming.

That was not the half of it, though. As soon as he pulled the door open, a roar of battle had washed over him: shouting, howling, steel clashing on steel among the redstone columns. The Defenders in the anteroom were fighting for their lives beneath the gilded lamps, against bulky, black-mailed shapes head-and-shoulders taller than they, shapes like huge men, but with heads and faces distorted by horns or feathers, by muzzle or beak where mouth and nose should be. Trollocs. They strode on paws or hooves as often as on booted feet, cutting men down with oddly spiked axes and hooked spears and scythelike swords that curved the wrong way. And with them, a Myrddraal, like a sleek-moving man with maggot-white skin in black armour, like death made bloodless flesh.

Somewhere in the Stone an alarm gong sounded, then stopped with lethal suddenness. Another took it up, and another, in brazen tolls.

The Defenders fought, and they still outnumbered the Trollocs, but there were more men down than Trollocs. Even as Rand’s eyes found them, the Myrddraal tore off half Captain Mendora’s face with one bare hand while the other drove a dead black blade through another Defender’s throat, slipping Defenders’ spear thrusts like a snake. The Defenders faced what they had thought were only travellers’ tales to frighten children; their nerve was frayed to snapping. One man who had lost his rimmed helmet threw down his spear and tried to flee, only to have his head split like a melon by a Trolloc’s massive axe. Yet another man looked at the Myrddraal and fled screaming. The Myrddraal darted sinuously to intercept. In a moment the humans would all be running.

“Fade!” Rand shouted. “Try me, Fade!” The Myrddraal stopped as if it had never moved, its pale, eyeless face turning to him. Fear rippled through Rand at that stare, sliding over the bubble of cold calm that encased him when he held  _ saidin _ ; in the Borderlands they said, “The look of the Eyeless is fear”. Once he had believed Fades rode shadows like horses and disappeared when they turned sideways. Those old beliefs were not so very far wrong.

The Myrddraal flowed toward him, and Rand leaped the dead men in front of the doorway to meet it, his boots skidding on bloody black marble as he landed. “Rally to the Stone!” he shouted as he leaped. “The Stone stands!” Those were the battle cries he had heard on the night the Stone had not stood.

He thought he heard a vexed shout of “Fool!” from the room he had left, but he had no time for Lanfear or what she might do. That skid very nearly cost him his life; his red-gold blade barely turned the Myrddraal’s black one as he fought for balance. “Rally to the Stone! The Stone stands!” He had to keep the Defenders together, or face the Myrddraal and twenty Trollocs alone. “The Stone stands!”

“The Stone stands!” he heard someone echo him, then another. “The Stone stands!”

The Fade moved as fluidly as a serpent, the snakelike illusion heightened by the overlapping plates of black armour down its chest. Yet not even a blacklance ever struck so quickly. For a time it was all Rand could do to keep its blade from his own unarmoured flesh. That black metal could make wounds that festered, almost as hard to Heal as the one that ached in his side now. Each time dark steel forged in Thakan’dar, below the slopes of Shayol Ghul, met red-gold Power-wrought blade light flashed like sheet lightning in the room, a sharp bluish white that hurt the eyes. “You will die this time,” the Myrddraal rasped at him in a voice like the crumbling of dead leaves. “I will give your flesh to the Trollocs and take your women for my own.”

Rand fought as coldly as he ever had, and as desperately. The Fade knew the use of a sword. Then an instant came when he could strike a blow squarely at the sword itself, not merely divert it. With a hiss as of ice falling on molten metal the red-gold blade sheared through the black. His next blow took that eyeless head from its shoulders; the shock of hacking through bone shivered up his arms. Inky blood fountained from the stump of its neck. The thing did not fall, though. Thrashing blindly with its broken sword, the headless figure stumbled about, striking randomly at the air.

As the Fade’s head fell to roll across the floor, the remaining Trollocs fell, too, shrieking, kicking, tearing at their heads with coarse-haired hands. It was a weakness of Myrddraal and Trollocs. Even Myrddraal did not trust Trollocs, so they often linked with them in some way Rand did not understand; it apparently ensured the Trollocs’ loyalty, but those linked to a Myrddraal did not survive its death long.

The Defenders still standing, fewer than two dozen, did not wait. In twos and threes they stabbed each Trolloc repeatedly with their spears until it stopped moving. Some of them had the Myrddraal down, but it flailed wildly no matter how much they stabbed. As the Trollocs fell silent, a few surviving human wounded could be heard moaning, weeping. There were still more men littering the floor than Shadowspawn. The black marble was slick with blood, almost invisible against the dark stone.

“Leave it,” Rand told the Defenders trying to finish the Myrddraal. “It’s dead already. Fades just don’t want to admit they’re dead.” Lan had told him that, what seemed a long time ago; he had had proof of it before this. “See to the injured.”

Peering at the headless, thrashing shape, its torso a tatter of gaping wounds, they shivered and moved back, muttering about Lurks. That was what they called Fades in Tear, in tales meant for children. Some began to hunt among the downed humans for any still alive, pulling aside those who could not stand, helping those who could to their feet. All too many were left where they lay. Hasty bandages ripped from a man’s own bloody shirt were the only comfort that could be offered now.

A noise from the side drew his scowl, but it was only Zofia, climbing out from under her desk. Her face was as pale as he’d ever seen it, but she was unhurt.

“I did not believe ... They are real,” she said tremulously.

“Unfortunately. I’m glad you’re alive, but it’s not safe here. Barricade yourself inside my office until I come for you.”

“I ... Yes, as you say, my Lord Dragon.”

While she went to do that, he studied the Defenders. They did not look so pretty as they had, these Tairens. Their no longer gleaming breast-and backplates bore dents and scuffs; blood-soaked slashes marred once fine black-and-gold coats and breeches. Some had no helmets, and more than one leaned on his spear as if it were the only thing holding him on his feet. Perhaps it was. They breathed heavily, wild expressions on their faces, that blend of stark terror and blind numbness that afflicts men in battle. They stared at Rand uncertainly—fleeting, fearful stares—as if he might have called these creatures out of the Blight himself.

“Wipe those spearpoints,” he told them. “A Fade’s blood will etch steel like acid if it’s left on long enough.” Most moved slowly to obey, hesitantly using what was available, the coatsleeves of their own dead.

The sounds of more fighting drifted through the corridors, distant shouts, the muted clash of metal. They had obeyed him twice; it was time to see if they would do more. Turning his back on them, he started across the anteroom, toward the sounds of battle. “Follow me,” he ordered. He raised his fire-wrought blade to remind them of who he was, hoping the reminder did not bring a spear in his back. It had to be risked. “The Stone stands! For the Stone!”

For a moment his own hollow footsteps were the only sound in the columned chamber; then boots began to follow. “For the Stone!” a man shouted, and another, “For the Stone and the Lord Dragon!” Others took it up. “For the Stone and the Lord Dragon!” Quickening to a trot, Rand led his bloodied army of twenty-three deeper into the Stone.

* * *

Mat stared at the stones board on the table between him and Thom, but he could not really concentrate on the game, even with an Andoran silver mark riding on the outcome. It was just too hot. He set a white stone on the intersection of two lines; in three moves, he would capture nearly a fifth of Thom’s black stones.

“You could be a good player, boy,” the gleeman said around his pipe, placing his next stone, “if you put your mind to it.” His tabac smelled like leaves and nuts.

Mat reached for another stone from the pile at his elbow, then blinked and let it lie. In the same three moves, Thom’s stones would surround over a third of his. He had not seen it coming, and he could see no escape. “Do you ever lose a game? Have you ever lost a game?”

Thom removed his pipe and knuckled his moustaches. “Not in a long while. Morgase used to beat me about half the time. It is said good commanders of soldiers and good players of the Great Game are good at stones, as well. She is the one, and I’ve no doubt she could command a battle, too.”

“Wouldn’t you rather dice some more? Stones take too much time.”

“I like a chance to win more than one toss in nine or ten,” the white-haired man said dryly.

Mat sighed glumly. Thom wasn’t the only one who’d gotten reluctant to gamble with him. He had been right about the young lords who saw the playing cards try to kill him. Not only did they avoid him now, they had spread the word among their friends, often garbled; no-one in the Stone who had two pieces of silver in hand would say more than hasty excuses while backing away. The rumours even spread beyond the lordlings. More than one serving woman who had enjoyed a cuddle now declined, too, and two said uneasily that they had heard it was dangerous to be alone with him.

He’d tried his luck with Dena, the day after sharing her with Thom, but she’d turned him down, too. “It was fun”, she’d said, “but there’s a difference between fun and serious. I’m with Thom. That’s serious. I do like you, though, Mat. It would be a pity if you made this weird.” He’d gotten the message, and not tried again. It was a pity, though. She was good company, in and out of bed.

Moiraine, the one person Mat  _ wished _ would ignore him, instead seemed to be there whenever he turned around lately; she was just passing by, or crossing the corridor in the distance, but her eyes met his every last time, looking as if she knew what he was thinking and what he wanted, knew how she was going to make him do exactly what she wanted instead. None of it had made any difference in one respect; he still kept managing to find excuses to put off leaving for another day.

Yesterday, he had carried a lamp down into the belly of the Stone, to the so-called Great Holding, as far as the dry-rotted door at the far end of the narrow hallway. A few minutes of peering into the shadowy interior at dim shapes covered with dusty canvas, roughly stacked crates and barrels, their flat ends used as shelves for jumbles of figurines and carvings and peculiar things of crystal and glass and metal—a few minutes of that, and he’d hurried away, muttering, “I’d have to be the biggest bloody fool in the whole bloody world!”

Nothing kept him from going into the city, though, and there was no chance at all of meeting Moiraine in the dockside taverns of the Maule, the port district, or the inns in the Chalm, where the warehouses were, dimly lit, cramped, often dirty places of cheap wine, bad ale, occasional fights and unending dice games. The stakes in the dice games were small, compared to what he had grown used to, but that was not why he always found himself back in the Stone after a few hours. He tried not to think about what always drew him back, near to Rand.

There was some kind of commotion happening outside. “Sounds like someone’s having an argument,” he said. It might well be Dena. She’d gone off on some errand for Thom a while back, and wasn’t exactly one for biting her tongue, not even with nobles. Especially not with nobles.

But Thom shook his head, a frown creasing his brow even further. “That’s no argument. Can’t you hear it? Those are swords clashing.” He limped hurriedly to the door and threw it open.

Mat heard it clearly then. Thom was right. There was a fight on, and it was happening inside the Stone itself.  _ Burn me for a fool! I should have left weeks ago! _ But it wasn’t too late. Maybe if he could get to the gates while the attackers were still too busy fighting everyone else to notice him. He could still escape. He ran to the door, and snatched up the quarterstaff he’d left leaning there. Then he ran past Thom, out into the corridor where Trollocs, of all things, were rampaging about, hacking at anyone who didn’t run fast enough. Mat ran, but not towards the gate. He ran into the fray, cursing himself all the while.  _ Burn me! I really am a fool! _

* * *

Luci was quiet even when they were making love. She lay there on the white sheets with her hands across her mouth, just in case any sound might escape. The most encouragement she gave him was the pretty blush on her fair cheeks, but that was enough for Heita. He knelt between her widely spread legs and rode her slowly, while feasting his eyes on her small, softly jiggling breasts.

He had to go slow, because the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her, or remind her of anyone who had.

Save for the creak of the bed and their heavy breathing, it was almost silent in the room. It was so quiet that he heard the distant alarm gong as soon as it was struck. The motion of his hips came to a sudden halt, and he whipped his head around, topknot flying, to stare at the closed door.

“What is it?” Luci said, her voice muffled by her hand.

“An alarm. An attack,” he answered as he pulled out of her.

She sat up on the bed. “Who would dare? We’re in the Stone of Tear!”

“The Shadow would,” he said grimly.

It was with no little reluctance that he reached for his discarded trousers. It wasn’t just that he wanted to finish what they’d started—though there was definitely that!—more and more he’d come to resent his duties as an armsmen. They kept him too far away from her. How could he protect her if he wasn’t with her? His duties to the Lord Dragon had to come first. They had come first. But now ... Did the Lord Dragon even need him anymore? The Aiel and the Defenders of the Stone had taken over his former role, and left Heita and his fellow Shienarans to twiddle their thumbs. He should be with Luci, twiddling her nipples instead.

“The Shadow. Trollocs!” she gasped.

Instinctively, Heita abandoned his search for his clothes in order to hug her. “It’s okay. They won’t hurt you. Not while I’m here.”

She clung to him, her face pressed against his bare chest. All he could see was her mop of red hair, and all he could hear were her pleas. “Don’t go. Please.”

Torn between his duties, Heita froze in place. A long moment passed before he was ready to answer. “I won’t.” The answer shamed him. He was a soldier, and there was a battle to be fought. There was always a battle to be fought. But leaving her unprotected would have shamed him, too. “Peace. What have I become?” he whispered, as his arms tightened around Luci’s shoulders.

* * *

Dead men spotted the halls of the Stone in pools of their own blood, one here and farther on two or three more, Defenders, servants, Aiel. Women, too, linen-gowned noble and wool-clad servant alike struck down as they fled. Trollocs did not care whom they killed; they took pleasure in it. Myrddraal were worse; Halfmen gloried in pain and death.

A little deeper in, the Stone of Tear boiled. Knots of Trollocs rampaged through the halls, sometimes with a Myrddraal leading, sometimes alone, battling Aiel or Defenders, cutting down the unarmed, hunting for more to kill. Rand led his small force at any Shadowspawn they found, his sword slicing coarse flesh and black mail with equal ease. Only the Aiel faced a Fade without flinching. The Aiel and Rand. He passed up Trollocs to reach Fades; sometimes the Myrddraal took a dozen or two Trollocs with it in dying, sometimes none.

Where was Lanfear, and what part had she played in this? He had little time for wondering.

Some of his Defenders fell and did not rise, but Aiel joined them, nearly doubling their number. Groups of men broke off in furious battles that drifted away in shouts and clatter like a forge gone mad. Other men fell in behind Rand, broke away, were replaced, till none of those who had started with him remained. Sometimes he fought alone, or ran down a hallway, empty save for himself and the dead, following the sounds of distant combat.

Doncari was with him for a time, swinging a heron-marked blade that Rand judged him worthy of. Other familiar faces emerged from the chaos as well, from Urien and Uno fighting back to back, to young Nici going at a Trolloc with a deadly swiftness he would not have credited to her.

He ran to help her anyway, of course. She was female, so he couldn’t risk her being hurt. She didn’t need his help, as it turned out, and finished her Trolloc with a spear thrust through the neck before he managed to close the distance between them. She didn’t appreciate his praise either.

“You really think you are some kind of tough, don’t you?” she said, scowling. “I know some people who would eat you for breakfast.”

Rand had no idea why his complimenting her had caused offense, and no time to try to figure it out. He wrote it off as an Aiel thing, and moved on.

Once, with two Defenders, in a colonnade looking down into a long chamber with many doorways, he saw Moiraine and Lan, surrounded by Trollocs. The Aes Sedai stood, head high like some storied queen of battles, and bestial shapes burst into flame around her—but only to be replaced by more, dashing in through this door or that, six or eight at a time. Lan’s sword accounted for those who escaped Moiraine’s fire. The Warder had blood on both sides of his face, yet he flowed through the forms as coolly as if practicing before a mirror. When a wolf-snouted Trolloc thrust a Tairen spear toward Moiraine’s back. Lan whirled as though he had eyes in the back of his head, taking off the Trolloc’s leg at the knee. The Trolloc fell, howling, yet still managed to thrust the spearpoint at Lan just as another clubbed the Warder awkwardly with the flat of its axe, buckling his knees.

Rand could do nothing, for at that moment five Trollocs fell upon him and his two companions, all snouts and boars’ tusks and rams’ horns, pushing the humans out of the colonnade by the sheer weight of their rush. Five Trollocs should have been able to kill three men without much difficulty, except that one of the men was Rand, with a sword that treated their mail like cloth. One of the Defenders died, and the other vanished chasing after a wounded Trolloc, the lone survivor of the five. When Rand hurried back to the colonnade, there was a smell of burned meat from the chamber below, and great burned bodies on its floor, but no sign of Moiraine or Lan.

That was the way of the contest for the Stone. Or the contest for Rand’s life. Battles sprang up and drifted away from where they began, or died when one side fell. Not only did men fight Trollocs and Myrddraal. Men fought men; there were Darkfriends siding with the Shadowspawn, roughly dressed fellows who looked like former soldiers and tavern brawlers. They seemed as fearful of the Trollocs as the Tairens did, but they killed as indiscriminately, where they could. Twice Rand actually saw Trollocs battling Trollocs. He could only assume the Myrddraal had lost control of them and their bloodlust had taken over. If they wanted to slay each other, he left them to it.

He saw High Lord Storin once, standing with his sons at his side, and a loaded crossbow in his hands, barking orders at the Defenders. He hadn’t run, at least. Almost all the other nobles he’d glimpsed during the battle had been fleeing from their first encounter with Shadowspawn. Since Storin seemed to be doing his job, Rand left him to it.

Then, alone once more and seeking, he trotted ’round a corner and right into three Trollocs, each twice as wide as he and nearly half again as tall. One of them, with an eagle’s hooked beak thrusting out of an otherwise human face, was hacking an arm from the corpse of High Lord Sunamon’s plump daughter while the other two watched eagerly, licking their snouts. Trollocs ate anything, so long as it was meat. It was an even chance whether he was more surprised or they were, but he was the first to recover.

The one with the eagle’s beak went down, mail and belly alike opened across. The sword-form called Lizard in the Thornbush should have done for the other two, but that first fallen Trolloc, thrashing still, half-kicked his foot out from under him, and he staggered, his blade only scoring a slice along his target’s mail, right into the path of the second Trolloc as it fell, wolf’s muzzle snapping at nothing. It crushed him to the stone tiles beneath its bulk, trapping sword arm and sword alike. The one still standing raised its spiked axe, coming as close to a smile as a boar’s snout and tusks would allow. Rand struggled to move, to breathe.

A scythe-curved sword split the boar’s snout to the neck.

Wrenching its blade free, a fourth Trolloc bared goat teeth at him in a snarl, ears twitching beside its horns. Then it darted away, sharp hooves clicking on the floor tiles.

Rand heaved himself out from under the dead weight of the Trolloc, half-stunned.  _ A Trolloc saved me. A Trolloc? _ Trolloc blood was all over him, thick and dark. Far down the hallway, in the opposite direction from where the goat-horned Trolloc had fled, blue-white flashed as two Myrddraal moved into view. Fighting each other, in an almost boneless blur of continuous motion. One forced the other into a crossing corridor, and the flashing light faded from sight.  _ I’m mad. That’s what it is. I am mad, and this is all some crazed dream _ .

“You risk everything, rushing about wildly with that ... that sword.”

Rand turned to face Lanfear. She had put on the appearance of a girl, no older than he, perhaps younger. It was the disguise she had worn when he first met her, back when she was calling herself Selene. Why was she wearing it now? She lifted her white skirts to step over the Tairen lady’s torn body; for all the emotion on her face, it might as well have been a log.

“You build a hut of twigs,” she went on, “when you could have marble palaces for the snap of your fingers. You could have had their lives and such souls as Trollocs possess with little effort, and instead they nearly killed you. You must learn. Join with me.”

“Was this your doing?” he demanded. “That Trolloc, saving me? Those Myrddraal? Was it?” She considered him a moment before giving a slight, regretful shake of her head. “If I take credit you will expect it again, and that could be deadly. None of the others is really certain where I stand, and I like it that way. You can expect no open aid from me.”

“Expect your aid?” he growled. “You want me to turn to the Shadow. You can’t make me forget what you are with soft words.” He channelled, and she slammed against a wall hanging hard enough to make her grunt. He held her there, spread-eagled over a woven hunting scene, feet off the floor and snowy gown spread out and flattened. He tried to shield her just as she had him, but his shield refused to close around her.

Suddenly he flew across the hallway to crash into the wall opposite Lanfear, pressed there like an insect by something that barely allowed him to breathe.

Lanfear appeared to have no trouble breathing. “Whatever you can do, Lews Therin, I can do. And better.” Pinned against the wall as she was, she seemed unperturbed. The din of fighting surged up somewhere nearby, then faded as the battle moved away. “You half-use the smallest fraction of what you are capable of, and walk away from what would allow you to crush all who come against you. Where is  _ Callandor _ , Lews Therin? Still up in your bedchamber like some useless ornament? Do you think yours is the only hand that can wield it, now that you have drawn it free? If Sammael is here, he will take it, and use it against you. Even Moghedien would take it to deny you its use; she could gain much by trading it to any male Chosen. But the greater threat is the one I  _ know _ is here. Moridin has come for you, Lews Therin, and he wields a  _ sa’angreal _ that could almost rival  _ Callandor _ in strength. It is only by the sheerest luck that you have not encountered him yet, wandering these corridors as you have.”

He struggled against whatever held him; nothing moved but his head, flung from side to side.  _ Callandor _ in the hands of a male Forsaken. The thought drove him half-mad with fear and frustration. He channelled, tried to pry at what held him, but there might as well have been nothing to pry. And then abruptly it was gone; he lurched away from the wall, still fighting, before he realized he was free. And from nothing he had done.

He looked at Lanfear. She still hung there, as complacently as if taking the air on a streamside. She was trying to lull him, to gull him into softening toward her. He hesitated over the flows holding her. If he tied them off and left her, she might tear half the Stone down trying to get free—if a passing Trolloc did not kill her, thinking she was one of the Stone’s folk. That should not have troubled him— not the death of a Forsaken—but the thought of leaving a woman, or anyone, helpless for Trollocs repelled him. A glance at her unruffled composure rid him of that thought. No-one, nothing, in the Stone would harm her as long as she could channel. If he could find Moiraine to block her ...

Once more Lanfear took the decision from him. The impact of severed flows jolted him, and she dropped lightly to the floor. He stared as she stepped away from the wall, calmly brushing her skirts. “You can’t do that,” he gasped foolishly, and she smiled.

“I do not have to see a flow to unravel it, if I know what it is and where. You see, you have much to learn. I like you like this. You were often too stiff-necked and sure of yourself for comfort. It was always better when you were a bit uncertain of your footing. Are you forgetting  _ Callandor _ , then?”

Still he hesitated. One of the Forsaken stood there. And there was absolutely nothing he could do. Turning, he ran for  _ Callandor _ . Her laughter seemed to follow him.

This time he did not turn aside to fight Trollocs or Myrddraal, did not slow his wild climb through the Stone unless they got in his way. Then his sword carved of fire sliced a way through for him. He saw Raine and Tam, he with sword in hand, she guarding his back with her knives; the Trollocs seemed as reluctant to face Raine’s yellow-eyed stare as Tam’s blade. Rand left them behind without a second look. If one of the Forsaken took  _ Callandor _ , none of them would live to see the sun rise.

* * *

Elayne didn’t recognise any of the men gathered in the ransacked dining chamber, but she could guess their tale. Who else but Darkfriends would stand in the company of three Myrddraal like that? Fearful, yes, but not running, or trying to kill it. She would have struck already if it were up to her, but Alanna had demanded the right to lead their circle when she’d formed it, and so long as that was the case all Elayne could do was trust in the Aes Sedai’s judgement.

It rankled with her. Even if it had been someone—anyone—other than Alanna, leaving herself powerless in that manner would have rankled. She could feel the Aes Sedai’s suspicion, just as she could feel the emotions and sensations of the other women in their circle. It was, she imagined, rather like a Warder bond in that regard. Rather intimate. She would very much like to try it with Rand.

There wasn’t a single Accepted in the circle who didn’t share her frustration with Alanna’s hesitation. Nynaeve, Dani, Keestis, Emara, Ronelle, Shimoku, every last one of them was wishing the Aes Sedai would attack.

“Strike that thing down, if you are not Darkfriends,” Alanna demanded of the men.

Weapons were hefted, eyes narrowed, lips licked, but not one of the men did as she’d said. It was the women they advanced on, not the Halfman.

“Aes Sedai,” one dirty-faced fellow whispered.

“Doesn’t matter,” a hulking brute said. “Rush her!”

They had barely taken a step before the doors on the far side of the room burst open, and Aiel flooded in. The room erupted in screams and shouts as men swung their swords to try to deflect stabbing Aiel spears. The Myrddraal fought for their lives, too, with blades blacker than their garb. It was a whirlwind of sharpened steel that Elayne’s eye simply could not follow. And yet in seconds, silence reigned. Or almost silence.

Every human not wearing a black veil lay dead with a spear through him; one pinned that hulking rusher to the wall. Two Aiel lay still, as well, amid the jumble of overturned furniture and dead. The three Myrddraal stood back-to-back in the centre of the room, black swords in their hands. One was clutching his side as if wounded, though he gave no other sign of it. Another had a long gash down its pale face; it did not bleed. Around them circled the five veiled Aiel still alive, crouching. From outside came screams and clashes of metal that said more Aiel still fought in the Stone, but in the room was a softer sound.

As they circled, the Aiel drummed their spears against their small hide bucklers. Thrum-thrum-THRUM-thrum ... thrum-thrum-THRUMthrum ... thrum-thrum-THRUM-thrum. The Myrddraal turned with them, and their eyeless faces seemed uncertain, uneasy that the fear their gaze struck into every human heart did not seem to touch these.

“Dance with me, Shadowman,” one of the Aiel called suddenly, tauntingly. He sounded like a young man.

“Dance with me, Eyeless.” That was a woman’s voice. Branwen’s unless she was very much mistaken.

“Dance with me.”

“Dance with me.”

Their challenges went unanswered, though, for Alanna finally decided to act. The three Myrddraal were wrapped in flows of Air, bunched as tight together as the strands of a rope. Bound like that they had no chance to escape the column of flame that erupted from the ground beneath their feet, cooking them where they stood. Their screams sounded like glass smashing. It was a mercy to Elayne’s ears that the screaming ended so soon, though it was not a mercy that those creatures deserved.

The Aiel unveiled themselves then. A trifle hastily, Elayne thought, as if to tell the Aes Sedai they were no longer ready to fight. One of the women was Aviendha, thankfully unharmed. Rhuarc was with her, too. The screams and shouts outside were dying away.

Nynaeve started toward the fallen Aiel.

“There is no need, Aes Sedai,” Rhuarc said. “They took Shadowman steel.”

Nynaeve still bent to check each, pulling their veils away so she could peel back eyelids and feel throats for a pulse. When she straightened from the second, her face was white. It was Dailin. “Burn you! Burn you!” It was not clear whether she meant Dailin, or Rhuarc, or Aviendha, or all Aiel. “I did not Heal her so she could die like this!”

“Death comes to us all,” Aviendha began, but when Nynaeve rounded on her, she fell silent. The Aiel exchanged glances, as if not certain whether Nynaeve might do to them what had been done to the Myrddraal. It was not fear in their eyes, only awareness. “Shadowman steel kills, it does not wound,” Aviendha said. The grief she must surely feel at the death of her cousin—her second-sister—was hidden deeply.

“I am sorry for your loss, my friend,” Elayne said in a clear voice, “and that we interrupted your ... dance. Perhaps we should not have interfered.” She could feel Alanna’s annoyance at the implied criticism, accidental as it was. At least in this particular matter. She simply wanted to put the Aiel at ease, and give Nynaeve a chance to cool down. “You were handling things quite well. Perhaps we offended by interfering.”

Rhuarc gave a deep chuckle. “Aes Sedai, I for one am glad of ... whatever it was you did.” For a moment he looked not entirely sure of that, but in the next he had his good temper back. “We could have killed them, but three Shadowmen ... They would have killed two or three of us, certainly, perhaps all, and I cannot say we would have finished them all. For the young, death is an enemy they wish to try their strength against. For those of us a little older, she is an old friend, an old lover, but one we are not eager to meet again soon.”

Nynaeve seemed to relax with his speech. “I should thank you,” she said, “and I do. Do you know who is behind this attack? Have you seen Rand? Mat? Imoen?”

“I have not seen them, but I have seen who I believe to be the enemy leader. He carried a great spear, with three blades, all pointing in the wrong direction. He did not use it as a spear, but everywhere he went people died, much as these Shadowmen died. He was screaming words in the Old Tongue, speaking of blasphemy and the grave. I kept my people away from him. It will be for Rand al’Thor to face that one, I think.”

“One of the Forsaken,” Elayne said grimly. “It has to be.”

“ ‘The grave’ ... that is what Moridin means. That or ‘death’, even Serafelle Sedai wasn’t certain,” Shimoku said.

Dani grimaced. “Great. We have to fight the grim reaper himself, then. I wonder if he really has a fleshless skull, like the stories say.” Despite the daunting prospect before them, Elayne did not feel the fear in Dani that might have been expected. She wished she were half so brave.

“And we  _ will _ have to face him, won’t we, Alanna ... Sedai?” she said. The honorific did not sit easily on her tongue, but she needed the woman to cooperate. “It would be better if we dealt with this Forsaken ourselves, before he can find and threaten Rand. You agree, I hope?”

Alanna’s annoyance with her didn’t really grow, if only because it had been burning brightly since the moment they formed their circle, when their meeting was interrupted by the sound of the alarm gongs. Alanna didn’t like her, and Elayne was certain she knew why. She had forced her bond on Rand and, if she had her way, she would force her body on him, too. That Elayne had already had all that she had only fantasised of infuriated her. She looked the Aes Sedai straight in the eye, and deliberately brought to mind all the things she had done with Rand, the often surprising ways he had explored her body, and the stunning pleasure he had stirred in her.  _ You may have his bond, but I have everything else _ , she thought. As if she could read her mind, Alanna flushed and looked away.

“Where was this Forsaken when you saw him, Aielman?” the Aes Sedai growled.

* * *

Breathless, Rand scrambled through the columned anteroom, leaping the dead still lying there, Defenders and Trollocs alike, in his haste to reach  _ Callandor _ . He flung open both doors. The Sword That Is Not a Sword sat on its gilded and gem-set stand, shining with the light of the setting sun. Waiting for him.

Now that he had it in sight, safe, he was almost loath to touch it. Once, he had used  _ Callandor _ as it was truly meant to be used. Only once. He knew what awaited him when he took it up again, used it to draw on the True Source far beyond what any human could hold unaided. Letting go the red-gold blade seemed more than he could do; when it vanished, he almost called it back.

Feet dragging, he skirted the corpse of the Grey Man and put his hands slowly on  _ Callandor _ ’s hilt. It was cold, like crystal long in the dark, but it did not feel so smooth that it would slip in the hand.

Something made him look up. A Fade stood in the doorway, hesitating, its pale-faced, eyeless gaze on  _ Callandor _ .

Rand pulled at  _ saidin _ . Through  _ Callandor _ . The Sword That Is Not a Sword blazed in his hands as if he held noonday. The Power filled him, hammering down like solid thunder. The taint rushed through him in a flood of blackness. Molten rock pulsed along his veins; the cold inside him could have frozen the sun. He had to use it, or burst like a rotted melon.

The Myrddraal turned to flee, and suddenly black clothes and armour crumpled to the floor, leaving oily motes floating in the air.

Rand was not even aware he had channelled until it was done; he could not have said what he had done if his life had depended upon it. But nothing could threaten his life while he held  _ Callandor _ . The Power throbbed in him like the heartbeat of the world. With  _ Callandor _ in his hands, he could do anything. The Power hammered at him, a hammer to crack mountains. A channelled thread whisked the Myrddraal’s drifting remains out into the anteroom, and its clothes and armour, too; a trickled flow incinerated both. He strode out to hunt those who had come hunting him.

Some of them had come as far the anteroom. Another Fade and a huddle of cowering Trollocs stood before the columns at the far side staring at ash that sifted out of the air, the last fragments of the Myrddraal and all its garb. At the sight of Rand with  _ Callandor _ flaring in his hands, the Trollocs howled like beasts. The Fade stood paralyzed with shock. Rand gave them no chance to run. Maintaining his deliberate pace toward them, he channelled, and flames roared from the bare, black marble beneath the Shadowspawn, so hot that he flung up a hand against it. By the time he reached them, the flames were gone; nothing remained but dull circles on the marble.

Back down into the Stone he went, and every Trolloc, every Myrddraal he saw died wreathed in fire. He burned them fighting Aiel or Tairens, and killing servants trying to defend themselves with spears or swords snatched from the dead. He burned them as they ran, whether stalking more victims or fleeing him. He began to move faster, trotting, then running, past the wounded, often lying untended, past the dead. It was not enough; he could not move fast enough. While he killed Trollocs in handfuls, others still slew, if only to escape. He had to find their leader. He had to find Moridin.

* * *

The Myrddraal moved like a greased snake, but the Aiel woman was nearly as fast. She’d already scored what would have been a lethal hit on it by the time Mat was done with the Trolloc in front of him. A lethal hit on anything natural, at least. The Myrddraal ignored the wound and fought on. Mat knew the woman’s name—Ralani—but hadn’t been able to get to know her as well as he’d wanted, despite using his best smile. She was a stoic sort, not one for fun, and obviously a lot more deadly than he’d expected.

While he tried to fight his way through the Trollocs in order to come to her aid, she ducked under the Halfman’s attempted decapitation, and rammed her spear through its shin. She left the spear lodged there, quickly replacing it with one of the others she carried, and pressed the attack, jabbing at her opponent faster than Mat’s eye could follow. His staff whirled in a blur, too, one that had the Trolloc before him howling in confused fury each time one of the ends battered against his flesh. As soon as it lowered that axe, and gave him a clear shot at its throat ...

Ralani got her clear shot before Mat did. With its steps hindered by the spear protruding from one leg, the Myrddraal could no longer match her speed. She slipped past its sword, and rammed another spear right up under its jaw and through its eyeless head. Even that wasn’t enough to kill the bloody thing, as Mat knew from unwelcome experience, and Ralani was obviously not lacking in experience either. As soon as her spear found its mark, she was moving again, spinning around behind the Myrddraal, locking her grip around its swordarm, and kicking its standing leg out from under it. The Halfman flew, thrown over her hip to land on its ugly face, the tainted blade it had carried screeching away across the Stone’s corridor.

As the end of Mat’s quarterstaff thudded into his Trolloc’s throat, Ralani stabbed yet another spear into her Myrddraal. She didn’t go for the heart—assuming Myrddraal even had hearts—she went for the joints at its shoulder. With brutal efficiency, she jerked the long tip of her spear back and forth, crippling first one arm and then the other. She did the same for its legs, too, before stepping back to survey her handiwork. The remaining Trollocs were a good twenty feet down the corridor by then, and still picking up speed. Mat could hardly blame them.

“I’ll have to be especially careful if I ever play Maiden’s Kiss with you,” he said.

Ralani lowered her dark veil only long enough to flash him a toothy smile.

A slender, yellow-haired man in a long black robe walked into view, coming from the right side of the corridor junction down which the Trollocs had fled. He was scowling after them. One look at him had the hairs on Mat’s neck standing up. Scowling at Trollocs was only sensible, but something about the way this man was doing it alarmed him. And why was he carrying a scythe, of all things, and one with too many blades at that? Mat backed away slowly.

Ralani did not.

Ignoring Mat’s warning hiss, she rushed the stranger. Given the way she’d dismantled that Myrddraal, Mat had no fear that the man ahead could threaten her with that unwieldy thing he was carrying, but there was a dark suspicion in his mind.

“Don’t!” he shouted.

It made no difference. The man turned his scowl on her, and said something in a language that Mat half recognised. “Faithless even to her own creed,” he called her, in the heartbeats before he slaughtered her. Slaughter was the only word that fit it, too. It certainly couldn’t have been called a fight. One moment Ralani was there, the next she was char on the ground, and smoke on the wind. The flames that engulfed her burned so hot that it took only seconds to reduce her hard-won strength, speed and skill to nothingness. All gone, without even the pretence of effort on the part of her killer.

“Bloody channelers! Burn them all!” Mat swore as he fled. The world would be a better place without them. He was sure he knew what the man with the scythe was now. He’d suspected already, but seeing what he’d done to Ralani, he had to be a Forsaken.

He made it two corridors away from the man before he ran into more channelers, and came to a skidding halt. Nynaeve was there, with snooty Elayne and some of her other Accepted friends, all meekly trotting along at the heels of the darkly pretty Aes Sedai, Alanna. Half a dozen Aiel led by Rhuarc trotted along, too, but meekly definitely wasn’t the word for them.

“Don’t go that way,” Mat told them. “There’s a Forsaken back there!”

“There will not be for much longer,” Alanna said proudly. “There is no more need for fear, boy, your deliverance has arrived.”

Mat felt his colour rise. So what if he was afraid. Any sensible person would be afraid of channelers! Especially Darkfriend channelers!

“How close is he?” Elayne asked. Nynaeve had her lips pressed tightly together, and a white-knuckled grip on her braid, but her dark stare seemed to ask the same question.

“Too close. Two corridors away, when last I saw him. A right and a left. You’ll go the other way, if you’ve any sense,” Mat growled.

But the Aes Sedai sniffed, and Elayne shook her head, and the whole troop of them marched off in the direction of the Forsaken, leaving Mat to shuffle his feet and frown sourly at their backs.

“Don’t expect me to come save you!” he called. “Not after last time. I’m done doing you lot favours!”

Some of them looked back at him. He thought some of the Accepted looked guilty, and even Elayne gave a little grimace, spots of colour appearing on her cheeks. The Aiel didn’t look guilty, though. There was naked contempt on the faces of those of them who looked back.

“Your fearful attitude does you a most profound disservice, Matrim Cauthon,” one of the Maidens, a big woman named Branwen, declared, before turning away again.

Mat was left alone in the corridor, his heart racing. “It’s not cowardice! It’s common sense!” he growled, before stalking off in the other direction.

* * *

Nynaeve had only just gotten control over her channelling, so having had to hand that control over to Alanna was particularly infuriating. Still, at least she wasn’t Moiraine. She would have liked being powerless before her even less than she did with Alanna. She didn’t much like being able to tell what the other women were thinking either. Not when it meant they could do the same. Her bottom still stung a little from what she’d let Rand do last night. Elayne’s did, too. The idea that Alanna or the rest might notice and wonder why was more than unnerving.

The sight of the Forsaken, when they finally caught up to him in a grand assembly hall, was pretty unnerving, too. He was dressed in robes the likes of which no man of this Age ever wore, and that scythe he was shouldering certainly hadn’t been meant for farm work. The light of the setting sun made the edges of the three blades glitter dangerously, but they did not glitter half as dangerously as the man’s eyes. There was madness there, a vicious kind of certainty that she’d seen in the worst of the Whitecloaks.

He was alone, but not at all afraid. “Doko sain, Lews Therin, dudhi?” he demanded in a nasal voice. Nynaeve recognised the name, if not the rest of the words. The Old Tongue, obviously, but she’d never learned much of it in the Tower.

“You will not find him here, Forsaken. Or at all. Your rampage ends now,” Alanna declared. She faced him bravely. If they had not been linked, Nynaeve would not have thought her possessed of any fear at all. As it was, she could feel the way the other woman’s stomach threatened to betray her, and the effort she had to exert to keep her voice and face so sternly under control.

Small wonder. Moridin was surrounded by the dead. Armoured soldiers, livery clan servants, rich nobles, Aiel, Tairen, it didn’t matter. He’d killed them all indiscriminately. The only face Nynaeve recognised was that of the bard that Rand had taken a liking to. She knew the moment when Elayne saw him by the flood of pity that coursed through her, and the little sound of lament she made.

The way Moridin looked at Alanna made plain that he had no idea what she’d just said. He shrugged expressively, and said something else in the Old Tongue, before pointing at her aggressively.

_ Saidar _ was coursing through Nynaeve, but she could do nothing with it. That was maddening. She itched to use it to defend herself, but all she could do was hope that Alanna saw the attack coming.

She did, thank the Light. Something woven of invisible  _ saidin _ smashed against the protective barrier Alanna had placed about them all. None of them were harmed, not the Aes Sedai, the Accepted or the Aiel. None of them could strike back either, though, save for Alanna. Nynaeve was reduced to watching and hoping that the Aes Sedai was up to the task.

Her defences having held against the Forsaken’s initial attack, Alanna countered with a shield woven from the combined strength of eight women. Everything she’d learned in the Tower told her that that should have been enough to hold anyone, and perhaps it would have, if the shield had come close to closing around him. But she’d barely even begun to spin the threads together before something invisible sliced them to pieces. Laughing, Moridin spun his scythe in his hands. The words he spoke were gibberish to Nynaeve’s ears, but there was no mistaking the mockery in them. Alanna struck again, but it was as ineffective as the first time.

Angered by her failure, the Aes Sedai resorted to a more direct approach. Fire and Air were spun together to form lightning of such strength that Nynaeve’s hair stood on end just from being nearby. It lanced out at the Forsaken, only to stop short of his body, crashing against and crawling across a barrier that was twin to their own.

Alanna’s anger was a flickering candle compared to the bonfire that raged in Moridin. Though the attacks had failed, the fact that he’d been attacked at all drove him to scream what she was sure had to be obscenities. What else did men speak, while so red in the face and with such spittle flying from their lips?

Lightning to match Alanna’s crashed across her barrier, even while flames roared around them so hotly that Nynaeve immediately broke into a sweat. The fire and the smoke obscured everything beyond their protective bubble. While that bubble held against the fires themselves, it did nothing to change the temperature inside. The horrible thought that they might be cooked alive inside what amounted to a giant invisible pot had Nynaeve shaking and wishing that Alanna would pass control of her Power back to her. She hated being helpless!

Not being able to see what was going on outside her bubble was debilitating for Alanna. Frustrated, she lashed out with Water in an attempt to quell the flames, while simultaneously using Air to clear away the smoke.

She was successful, though Nynaeve wished she hadn’t been. For on the other side of the flames, leaning right up against the barrier, was a leering Moridin. She jumped at the sight of him, and her stomach roiled when he ran a long pink tongue all over his lips.

“Kill him!” Keestis shouted.

“I’m trying!” Alanna snapped. And try she did, but to no avail. Her weaves didn’t come close to touching him, severed as they were by whatever flailing blades of  _ saidin _ the Forsaken was spinning. And though her barrier held, it wasn’t enough to protect her. Somehow, the Forsaken wove inside it instead of going through it. Nynaeve couldn’t see what he did, but she could see the effect. Alanna’s feet flew out from under her, and she fell hard, her head bashing painfully against the stone floor.

The barrier unravelled as soon as the Aes Sedai lost consciousness, causing Moridin to stumble slightly. He didn’t mind. Not if the toothy grin he turned on the her and the others was anything to go by. The words he spoke remained meaningless, but that grin told her all she needed to know.

She tried desperately to spin  _ saidar _ , and felt the other Accepted do the same, but none of them could, not while they were still in a Circle. And they were still in a Circle. Alanna was unconscious but not dead. So long as she lived, and had not ended the link between them all, their power would remain hers to use. Even if she was no longer in any condition to use it.

Moridin knew that, too. She could tell. He laughed cruelly while she and the other women looked on in terror.

“We have to kill her,” Dani said in a strangled voice. She held out a hand to Aviendha. “Give me your spear.”

“There is no honour in that,” the Aiel Maiden responded. Like the rest of the Aiel, she raised her spear, and pointed it at Moridin. “May your next dream be a longer one, Daniele Rulonir.”

The Aiel charged Moridin bravely, despite knowing how useless it would be. While she struggled in stubborn futility to use the One Power, Nynaeve watched the flames wash over Aviendha and Rhuarc and the rest, leaving nothing but a roiling red-yellow mass where once they had so proudly stood. It would be them next, she knew, unless they did as Dani suggested. Her hand inched towards her beltknife ...

“ENOUGH!”

All eyes were drawn to the doorway, and the light that blazed there. White it was, not fire but blinding crystalline light. It shone in the hand of a familiar man, the sight of whom forced a heavy sigh of relief from Nynaeve. Rand strode into the chamber, with  _ Callandor _ in his grip, and a fearsome scowl on his face.

* * *

The robed man—Moridin, he had to assume—stepped back when he saw Rand, but there was no fear on his face. Just hatred, and a sharp calculation. He had come here with the intent to kill, and now he’d finally found his prey.

His flames wisped away as he turned his full attention on Rand, revealing the Aiel underneath. Unharmed, thanks to the shields Rand had spun around them. Their eyes were wide above their veils. They’d expected to die, and charged anyway. Fearless. Foolish, perhaps, but fearless. He let the shields wink out as soon as he got himself between them and Moridin. Even with  _ Callandor _ in hand, he’d need every last scrap of  _ saidin _ for this. That scythe the Forsaken was carrying had to be the  _ sa’angreal _ Lanfear had spoken of. Why else would anyone carry something like that around?

Moridin said something in the Old Tongue, but Rand was nowhere near familiar enough with that language to understand him. And he didn’t particularly want to understand him either, no more than Moridin cared enough about being understood to bother speaking the Common Tongue.

“Why waste the breath?” he growled. “One of us dies here. So let’s see which it will be!”

He struck as soon as he finished speaking, drawing deep on the One Power through  _ Callandor _ . The invisible hammerblow he threw could have shattered a mountain, but all it did to Moridin was drive him back a step. That was fine, though, for Rand’s racing mind had already spun a dozen more attacks out of the maelstrom of threads that surrounded him. He didn’t know what half of them would do, but he threw them at Moridin anyway.

“Die. Die, Death,” he said. Harsh laughter punctuated his blows.

Snarling silently, Moridin struck back at him as best he could. It was raw power he wielded, power that might even have matched Rand’s own, but he was slow. For every attack he mounted, Rand had already thrown half a dozen. And why not? With  _ Callandor _ , he could do anything. Even if he didn’t know what it was, he could still do it. His face felt uncomfortably tight, so wide was his smile as he drove Moridin back towards the far wall. The sunset looked pretty beyond the narrow windows. Moridin would look pretty when he burned, too.

The fires that bloomed around Rand were instantly snuffed, the ice melted, the lightnings dispersed. Moridin tried to make the stone under his feet explode, but his will clashed with Rand’s, and it was Rand that the stone—that the Stone—obeyed. The Forsaken’s defence was less successful. Smoke rose from his scorched robes, and the hands that held his scythe were bloodied and blackened by the time his back thudded against the far wall of the chamber.

He said something then, something Rand almost understood. Something about the Dark One. It brought a scowl to Rand’s face.

“Your foul master won’t save you now. You tell him I’m coming for him!” he snarled.

He gathered his full power, projecting it through  _ Callandor _ in a solid beam of light, all five powers woven together into ... something. Moridin flung up his scythe to defend himself, but whatever he wove only delayed Rand’s attack for a moment. It blasted through the scythe to touch the man who held it. Rand half expected the attack to fail even so, for a disembodied voice to speak and some manner of defence to activate, but no such creature jumped to Moridin’s aid. That beam of light blasted through his body as surely as it did his scythe, and the wall behind him. The light of the setting sun flooded into the room, almost blinding Rand in beautiful relief.

The lower half of the Forsaken’s body crumpled to the floor, his guts spilling disgustingly all over the place. The lower half of his scythe fell, too, a strange light glowing from the broken end, and a humming emanating from it, one that could be clearly heard in the stunned silence.

“Rand! Get rid of the  _ sa’angreal _ before it explodes!” Elayne shouted.

He looked back at her in confusion for a moment, part of him enjoying the awed way she and the other women were looking at him, before he realised she wasn’t talking about  _ Callandor _ . Hastily spinning threads of Air, he snatched up the remains of Moridin’s weapon, and launched it out into the open air beyond the Stone. Or tried to, at least. He only got it part of the way out, before his weave was ripped apart by the deadly blast that issued from the damaged  _ sa’angreal _ . Rand’s hastily woven shield protected him and the people behind him from the blast, but when the dust settled he found that the entire western wall of the room had been blown away. The searing ecstasy of the power flooding through him wasn’t enough to keep him from grimacing. The Stone of Tear had stood for three thousand years. He’d been in control of it less than a month and he’d already done more damage to it than a thousand sieges had managed.

He heard shaky breaths being let out by some of the women behind him. Only the non-Aiel, of course. When he looked, he found Rhuarc and the rest to be as stone-faced as ever.

Elayne’s golden-haired friend Keestis was one of those who wore her relief openly. “My goodness! You killed him. You killed one of the Forsaken,” she said. The way she said it, and the way she was looking at him, were very flattering.

He had, too. Moridin was very dead. No last minute escape, no otherwordly defender coming to his aid. He was as dead as dead could be. It was hard to believe, given how often he’d seen the Forsaken survive what would have killed a normal person. With  _ Callandor _ in his hands, he really could do anything.

Nynaeve, who was kneeling over the fallen Alanna, gently probing the back of her skull, gave Keestis a narrow-eyed look, before turning her attention on Rand. “Don’t go getting all swollen-headed, Rand. We still have work to do. There are Trollocs all over the Stone. And how did they get in, by the way?”

He didn’t know the answer to her question, but he could hear the truth of her statement. Distant screams could be heard from beyond the open door. They were everywhere, the Trollocs. And the screams. How long would it take him to run through the labyrinthine corridors of the Stone, killing any Shadowspawn he met? He was halfway to the door before he recognised one of the bodies he had to step gingerly over. Master Balsara would sing no more hair-raising ballads now. Moridin had stolen his voice from him. From them all. Fury rose in Rand. Was there no place for beauty in the world? Was there no fortress in which someone might be safe from the Shadow’s touch?

Suddenly he stopped, surrounded by the dead. He had to do something—something more. He couldn’t just wander the halls hoping to save as many as he could. The Power slid along his bones, pure essence of fire. Something more. The Power froze his marrow. Something to kill them all; all of them at once. The taint on  _ saidin _ rolled over him, a mountain of rotting filth threatening to bury his soul. Raising  _ Callandor _ before him in both hands, he drew on the Source, drew on it till it seemed he must scream screams of frozen flame. He had to kill them all.

Above his head, air slowly began to revolve, spinning faster, milling in streaks of red and black and silver. It roiled and collapsed inward, boiling harder, whining as it whirled and grew smaller still.

Sweat rolled down Rand’s face as he stared up at it. He had no idea what it was, only that racing flows he could not begin to count connected him to the mass. It had mass; a weight growing greater while the thing fell inward on itself.  _ Callandor _ flared brighter and brighter, too brilliant to look at; he closed his eyes, and the light seemed to burn through his eyelids. The Power raced through him, a raging torrent that threatened to carry all that was him into the spinning. He had to let go. He had to. He forced his eyes open, and it was like looking at all the thunderstorms in the world compressed to the size of a Trolloc’s head. He had to ... had to ... had to ...

_ Now _ . The thought floated like cackling laughter on the rim of his awareness. He severed the flows rushing out of him, leaving the thing still whirling, whining like a drill on bone.  _ Now _ .

And the lightnings came, flashing out to touch the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, to crackle along them in all directions like silver streams. The other humans in the room clustered together, and the Kaltori and Illianer Accepted tried to hop over the lightnings when they flowed too close. They needn’t have bothered. The lightnings left them unharmed, as Rand had somehow known they would. A Myrddraal stepped into the doorway, and before it could take a second step half a dozen flaring streaks stabbed down, blasting it apart. The other streams flowed on, fanning down every branching of the corridor beyond the door, replaced by more and more erupting every second.

Rand had not a clue to what he had made, or how it worked. He could only stand there, quivering with the Power that filled him with the need to use it. Even if it destroyed him. He could feel Trollocs and Myrddraal dying, feel the lightnings strike and kill. He could kill them everywhere, everywhere in the world. He knew it. With  _ Callandor _ he could do anything. And he knew trying would kill him just as surely.

The others gaped at what he had done, as clueless as to the how of it as Rand himself was. “I guess Elayne was right. You really are in a class of your own. You have amazing strength and potential,” Keestis said.

Rand was barely aware she had spoken. He just stood there, fighting a silent battle with himself, for he knew not how long. The lightnings faded and died with the last Shadowspawn; the spinning mass imploded with a loud clap of inrushing air, one that was almost matched by the relieved sighs of his companions. But  _ Callandor _ still shone like the sun; he shook with the Power.

Moiraine was there, in the doorway a dozen paces away, staring at him. Her dress was neat, every fold of blue silk in place, but wisps of her hair were disarrayed. She looked tired—and shocked. “How ...? What you have done, I would not have believed possible.” Her dark eyes flickered over Alanna, lying bloodied on the floor between them, before returning to Rand. He saw the questions there. The suspicion that it had been him to strike the other Aes Sedai down. Lan appeared, half-trotting up the hall sword in hand, face bloodied, coat torn. Without taking her eyes from Rand, Moiraine flung out a hand, halting the Warder short of her. Well short of Rand. As if he were too dangerous for even Lan to approach. “Are you ... well, Rand?”

Rand pulled his gaze away from her, and it fell on the body of a dark-haired girl, little more than a child. She lay sprawled on her back, eyes wide and fixed on the ceiling, blood blackening the bosom of her dress. Sadly, he bent to brush strands of hair from her face.  _ Light, she is only a child. I was too late. Why didn’t I do it sooner? A child! _

“I will see that someone takes care of her, Rand,” Moiraine said gently. “You cannot help her now.”

His hand shook so hard on  _ Callandor _ that he could barely hold on. “With this, I can do anything.” His voice was harsh in his own ears. “Anything!”

“Rand!” Moiraine said urgently.

He would not listen. The Power was in him.  _ Callandor _ blazed, and he was the Power. He channelled, directing flows into the child’s body, searching, trying, fumbling; she lurched to her feet, arms and legs unnaturally rigid and jerky.

“Rand, you cannot do this. Not this!”

_ Breathe. She has to breathe _ . The girl’s chest rose and fell.  _ Heart. Has to beat _ . Blood already thick and dark oozed from the wound in her chest.  _ Live. Live, burn you! I didn’t mean to be too late _ . Her eyes stared at him, filmed. Lifeless. Tears trickled unheeded down his cheeks. “She has to live! Heal her, Moiraine. I don’t know how. Heal her!”

“Death cannot be Healed, Rand. You are not the Creator.”

Staring into those dead eyes, Rand slowly withdrew the flows. The body fell stiffly. The body. He threw back his head and howled, as wild as any Trolloc. Braided fire sizzled into walls and ceiling as he lashed out in frustration and pain.

Sagging, he released  _ saidin _ , pushed it away; it was like pushing away a boulder, like pushing away life. Strength drained out of him with the Power. The taint remained, though, a stain weighing him down with darkness. He had to ground  _ Callandor _ on the floor tiles and lean on it to stay on his feet.

It wasn’t awe with which the Accepted were looking at him now. It was fear. Nynaeve was holding a hand to her own throat. Only Elayne looked unafraid. There was pity in her eyes, and tears on her cheeks. Though they showed no fear, the Aiel were looking to Rhuarc for answers that the grey-haired man did not seem to have.

“The others.” It was hard to speak; his throat hurt. “Tam, Imoen, the rest? Was I too late for them, too?”

“You were not too late,” Moiraine said calmly. But she had come no closer, and Lan looked ready to dart between her and Rand. “You must not—”

“Are they still alive?” Rand shouted.

“I’m sure they are,” Nynaeve assured him, in the firm, authoritative voice she’d always used when she was speaking as the Wisdom of Emond’s Field. “Calm yourself, Rand.”

He nodded in weary relief. He tried not to look at the girl’s body. All this time waiting, so he could enjoy a few stolen kisses. If he had moved a few days ago ... But he had learned things in those days, things he might be able to use if he could put them together. If. Not too late for his friends, at least. Not too late for them. “How did the Trollocs get in? I don’t think they climbed the walls like Aiel, not with the sun still up.”

Lan was the one who answered. “Eight large grain barges tied up at the Stone’s docks late this afternoon. Apparently no-one thought to question why laden grain barges would be coming downriver”—his voice was heavy with contempt—“or why they’d dock at the Stone, or why the crews left the hatches shut until nearly sunfall. Also, a train of wagons arrived—about two hours ago, now—thirty of them, supposedly bringing some lord or other’s things from the country for his return to the Stone. When the canvas was thrown back, they were packed with Halfmen and Trollocs, too. If they came in any other way, I don’t know of it, yet.”

Rand nodded again, and the effort buckled his knees. Suddenly Lan was there, pulling Rand’s arm over his shoulder to hold him up. Elayne and the others closed in fussily, but it was Moiraine who took his face in her hands. A chill rippled through him, not the blasting cold of full Healing, but a chill that pushed weariness out as it passed. Most of the weariness. A seed remained, as if he had worked a day hoeing tabac. He moved away from the support he no longer needed. Lan watched him warily, to see if he could really stand alone, or perhaps because the Warder was not certain how dangerous he was, how sane.

“I left some apurpose,” Moiraine told him. “You need to sleep tonight. Alone.” She gave Elayne a cool look that heated the Daughter-Heir’s cheeks.

Sleep. There was too much to do to sleep. But he gave another nod. He did not want her shadowing him. Yet what he said was “Lanfear was here. This was not her doing. She said so, and I believe her. You don’t seem surprised, Moiraine.” She was the only women present about whom that could be said, though she was not one of the Inner Circle that he’d already told about Lanfear’s interest in him. Would Lanfear’s offer surprise her? Would anything? “Lanfear was here, and I talked with her. She didn’t try to kill me, and I didn’t try to kill her. And you are not surprised.”

“I doubt you could kill her. Yet.” Her glance at  _ Callandor _ was the merest flicker of dark eyes. “Not unaided. And I doubt she will try to kill you. Yet. We know little of any of the Forsaken, and least of all Lanfear, but we do know she loved Lews Therin Telamon. To say you are safe from her is certainly too strong—there is a good deal she can do to harm you short of murder—but I do not think she will try to kill as long as she thinks she might win Lews Therin back again.”

Lanfear wanted him. The Daughter of the Night, used by mothers who only half-believed in her to frighten children. She certainly frightened him, and the Accepted, most of whom were shuddering just at the mention of her name. It was nearly enough to make him laugh. The Daughter-Heir of Andor wanted him, despite knowing who and what he was, and one of the Forsaken claimed to love him. Madness. All madness.

“The day after tomorrow.” He started away from them.

“What about it?” Moiraine said.

“I will tell you what I am going to do then.” Some of it, he would. The thought of Moiraine’s face if he told her everything made him want to laugh. If he knew everything himself, yet. Lanfear had given him almost the last piece, without knowing it. One more step, tonight. The hand holding  _ Callandor _ by his side trembled. With that, he could do anything.  _ I am not mad yet. Not mad enough for that _ . “A good night to us all, the Light willing.” Soon he would begin to unleash another kind of lightning. Another lightning that might save him. Or kill him. He was not mad yet.


	38. Dreamwalker

CHAPTER 35: Dreamwalker

By the time he finally dragged himself back to his rooms that night, the bodies had already been taken away. The same could not have been said of those that littered the rest of the Stone, but apparently Rand’s room merited priority treatment. He didn’t like that, but was too tired to complain.

Zofia was back at her desk. She was sending his twin servants off on some errand or other when he entered. Ruiz bowed, and Ynez curtsied as they hurried past him, but Rand could manage no more than a blank stare.

“I have gathered reports for you, my Lord Dragon,” Zofia said as he shuffled past.

“Were any of my friends killed?” he asked.

She hesitated. “I don’t know who you consider a friend or not, but none of those who have spent time alone in your quarters are among the slain.”

Her discretion brought a weary smile to his lips. “Thanks. I’ll look at the rest tomorrow.”

There was a gathering at the doors to his bedroom. A new group of Aiel led by Urien intermingled with some of Rand’s closer friends. Tam was there, with Merile and Raine, but it was Izana who spoke first.

“Is it true? Did you kill one of the Forsaken?”

He sighed. “Yes. Moridin. He didn’t have one of those  _ ter’angreal _ things to defend him.”

Izana grinned widely. “At last! Justice has been served!”

Tam nodded. “And it will send a message to the others. They will fear you now, and be warier of attacking. Well done, lad.”

“Hopefully.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Merile said glumly. “Could we, perhaps, do battle with a pack of pretty flowers or soft bunnies next time? I’d do much better.”

“Or we could do something to help you now ...” Raine added.

Rand didn’t want to make assumptions, but he had a feeling he knew what kind of help she was offering. “That’s nice. But I really just want to get some sleep right now.” Not that he expected to get much rest, asleep or otherwise. There was something he needed to do tonight.

He let himself into his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. His coat, shirt and boots soon became a trail that led to his nice soft bed. He collapsed face first upon it, half naked but with  _ Callandor _ still clutched in his hand. He wasn’t sure he’d dare let go of it, and that frightened him more than Moridin ever had.

Falling asleep was easy, as was finding his way to the World of Dreams. Finding those he needed to speak to was another matter. He wasn’t sure if Amys was simply not in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ that night, or if he was doing it wrong, but trying to find her the way he’d found Elayne in Tanchico simply wouldn’t work. Time passed differently in the World of Dreams, so he had no idea how long he sat silently in its reflection of his room, trying and failing to contact Amys, before he was forced to admit defeat.

“Ah. There you are,” a woman’s voice said.

Though she sounded nothing like Lanfear, Rand still started. Women appearing out of nowhere was surprising enough, but when one of the Forsaken tended to do it a man couldn’t help but get nervous. It was the other dreamwalker who stood before him now. The dark-haired one, Seana. She didn’t dress like any of the other Aiel, in that  _ cadin’sor _ , as they called it. She wore dark, bulky skirts and a plain white blouse instead. If she was at all impressed by the luxurious furnishings, it didn’t show on her tan face.

“You were looking for me, too?” he said with a frown.

She smiled slightly. “Are you surprised? Male dreamwalkers are rare enough. It is rarer still to find one of our own blood who behaves likes a wetlander. My fellow Wise Ones have had much to say of you. We looked for you in the dream these past nights, but could not find you.”

Rand grunted softly. He’d been with Elayne those nights. What need would he have had for dreams, when his dreams were coming true? He wasn’t about to tell Seana that, of course. Not intentionally, at least. The way her gaze travelled down his chest brought his attention to the fact that he was sitting there topless, the coat he’d been wearing having disappeared in response to his unguarded thoughts. With a slight grimace, Rand willed himself back to decency. It reminded him of his reason for coming here and trying to contact the dreamwalkers.

“Amys said she was willing to teach me how to control  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ . I’d like to take her up on that offer. At least a little. There’s something I need to know.”

Seana folded her hands at her waist, and faced him squarely. “Ask. I will answer if I can.”

He’d sought her out, yet still he hesitated, mulling over his words. That was the measure of his ignorance. He wasn’t even sure of the question he needed to ask, much less the answer. “Things that happen to you here can affect you in the real world, right?” he said slowly. He didn’t really need her nod of confirmation. He had personally experienced the truth of that. “But not everything seems to. I ...” Rand blushed. How could he tell her, or anyone, about the changes he’d felt? There had been an ... incident. With Perrin. He’d found himself taking on the form of someone else. Or someone who was him, and yet not. Raye al’Thor was her name. She was him. Or the him from another world, other worlds, ones in which he was born female instead of male. He’d experienced some of her lives when travelling through the Portal Stones before, and somehow  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ had turned him into her once. Could that affect the real world, too? It hadn’t then, but what if it could?

Seana was waiting patiently for him to ask his question, but Rand’s nerve failed him. Ashamed of his own cowardice, he made the snap decision to throw Raine under the cart instead. “You’ve met my friend, Raine. She’s the one with all the fur.”

“I remember her.”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t. She doesn’t look like that in real life, you know. Only here. And when she wakes up, she goes back to looking like herself even if she was all ... wolflike at the moment she woke. Is that normal? Is there any way it might go differently?”

“I understand. These questions have been wondered at before, by generations of Wise Ones. If you grow a penis, and make use of it, will you have one when you wake up? None have—”

“What!?” Rand blurted.

Seana was amused by his interruption rather than offended. “Did you think you and your friend were the first to ever see the possibilities of this place? Or worry over the dangers? I can assure you that those changes will not carry beyond the dream.”

Rand knew the voice of experience when he heard it, but he gave no more response than a raised eyebrow. In his own experience, women tended towards coyness when it came to such things, even those that were anything but coy behind closed doors.

“But why is that?” he asked. “Why does damage done carry over, while changes made don’t?”

Seana shrugged. “Why is there an abundance of animal life in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , but hardly a human to be seen? I did not create it, I have simply spent a lifetime trying to understand it.”

He looked her over, trying to guess at her age. She looked to have a slender figure under those loose clothes, and even constant exposure to the harsh sun of the Waste had not yet been enough to wrinkle her cheeks. She was probably around about Nynaeve’s age. He wasn’t sure he’d qualify that as old enough to have had a lifetime of study. He didn’t say anything about it, but it made him wish Amys had been around instead.

“What about mental stuff? I mean, it wasn’t just physical, I ... Um. Raine was different, too, in some ways. Can that carry over?”

Her grey eyes became as hard as pebbles. “Do you want it to?”

“I’m not looking to control anyone’s mind, if that’s what you’re asking. The opposite, in fact. I worry that someone might be able to control mine.”

Her brief nod was approving. “That is a much greater danger, and one you are wise to fear. Our thoughts shape who we are, in the most fundamental of ways. They are as important as our soul, when it comes to making us who we are. Everything that happens in our lives, both in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ and in the waking world, contributes towards the formation of our personalities. In that way, what happens to you in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ can have a great effect on your mind.”

“Things that you do, yes. But what about things that others do? Could someone control you here, if you let them get too close?” That was the realest danger. He needed her to cooperate, but the risks ...

“Yes. If their will is stronger than yours,” Seana said. She studied him carefully. “Who is it that you feel threatened by? Amys and I mean you no harm.”

“No, it’s ... it’s not you.” He heaved a sigh. “There’s something I must do. Something dangerous.” He couldn’t tell her the details. Who knew what she might do if he did?

Folding her arms, she ran her thumb along her bottom lip thoughtfully. “At its core, control of  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ is an act of will. You do not even need to be right, at times, you just need to believe it strongly enough. We can teach you the details, but the will itself—the most important part—must come from you. Are you strong-willed, Rand al’Thor?”

“I don’t know about that, but I’ve been called stubborn often enough,” he said wryly.

She smiled. “We can spar. Here. Now. I will give my word to leave no lasting mark, but expert my will against yours. Overcome it, if you can.”

Rand frowned. “I don’t like fighting women.”

“Very well. No fighting, then. Rise, and come to me.”

He was up out of his chair and halfway towards her before he even realised he was moving. Clenching his jaw, Rand made his feet stop moving by—as Seana had intimated—sheer force of will.

“Good. That is the core of it. And perhaps part of why the changes we spoke of earlier do not carry into the physical world. The core is harder for others to effect, and easier for us to defend. The peripheral details are another matter. Strip.”

At no more than her calmly spoken word, Rand was naked. Seana didn’t even make the pretence of not enjoying the show either, freely running her eyes all over him. She pursed her lips for a moment before speaking again. “Rise.” And he did, his cock going straight from flaccid to erect without even bothering with the stages between.

“Now hold on a bloody minute!” he roared. “This is not the kind of training I had in mind!”

But she just smirked at him. “I was never a Maiden, but I could have sparred with hands and feet if you had liked. This is much more to my preference, however. Your task is to stop me, Rand al’Thor, and you will not do that by whining.”

Despite her words, she hesitated before reaching out and touching his erection. And her grip, when it closed around him, was gentle. “Is this my dream, or yours?” she said softly. “Make me stop, before I shame us both ...”

He wanted to. His heart was racing, and not from excitement. But that surprisingly nice grip was sending shivers up his spine. “It would be easier if I wanted to ...” he heard himself say.

Seana’s eyes widened. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have shown myself to you in this way. Men often said they liked my hair ... Or perhaps it is for the best. You must learn to master yourself, if you are to survive the dream. Look at me.”

Suddenly, the Wise One was naked before him, her ripe young body proudly displayed. Her skin was pale where the sun had not touched it, and her gaze was utterly level. “I am planning to throw you to the ground and have my way with you. Stop me,” she said flatly.

That sounded good to Rand. Except ... “Are you doing this? Am I really feeling these things?”

Seana’s smiled softly. “That is the question, is it not?”

Blinking rapidly, Rand tried to will the heat from his cheeks. And from his loins.  _ Fool! Randy fool! Get a hold of yourself. If you can’t manage it now, what chance do you have? _ It took a while before anger replaced the lust he’d been feeling, but replace it it did. Rand’s cock softened in Seana’s hand, enough that, when he slapped said hand away, he didn’t even hurt himself in the process.

Far from being offended, Seana smiled. “Good.”

His heart was still racing, so he glared at her. “I still feel something. Whatever you’re doing, stop it.”

She lowered her eyes. The bulky clothes she’d been wearing reappeared between one heartbeat and the next, as if they’d never gone. “I am no longer exerting influence on you,” she said.

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure if he believed her or not. He still wanted to throw her onto the bed and ravage her, after all. But ... it was entirely possible that that was the result of something other than her will, or  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ ’s dangers. She was quite nice looking. Needing to prove something to himself, Rand willed his clothes back into being.

“It can be insidious, as you can see. Attacks in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ can be completely invisible, such that you can sometimes not even realise you are being attacked,” Seana said, her hands folded at her waist once more. “You must maintain constant awareness, not only of your surroundings, as usual, but of your own heart and mind. Hold fast to who you are, and let no-one influence that.”

“I see,” Rand said. He thought it might be true, too. But how far did these defences against being changed, physically or mentally, extend? Did he dare follow through on the plan he’d conceived? Or perhaps the real questions was, what choice did he have except to try? “Is there anything else who can teach me?”

To his relief, Seana nodded.


	39. Strings

CHAPTER 36: Strings

Favouring his stiff right leg, Thom bowed with a flourish of his gleeman’s cloak that set the colourful patches fluttering. His eyes felt grainy, but he made himself speak lightly. “A good morning to you.” Straightening, he knuckled his long white moustaches grandly.

The black-and-gold-clad servants looked surprised. The two muscular lads straightened from the gold-studded red lacquer chest, with a shattered lid, that they had been about to lift, and the three women stilled their mops in front of them. The hallway was empty along here except for them, and any excuse to break their labour was good, especially at this hour. They looked as tired as Thom felt, with slumping shoulders and dark circles under their eyes.

“A good morning to you, gleeman,” the oldest of the women said. A bit plump and plain-faced, perhaps, she had a nice smile, weary as she was. “Can we help you?”

Thom produced four coloured balls from a capacious coatsleeve and began to juggle. “I am just going about trying to raise spirits. A gleeman must do what he can.” He would have used more than four, but he was fatigued enough to make even that many an exercise in concentration. How long since he had nearly dropped a fifth ball? Two hours? He stifled a yawn, turned it into a reassuring smile. “A terrible night, and spirits need lifting.”

“The Lord Dragon saved us,” one of the younger women said. She was pretty and slim, but with a predatory gleam in her dark, shadowed eyes that warned him to temper his smile. Of course, she might be useful if she was both greedy and honest, meaning that she would stay bought once he paid her. It was always good to find another set of hands to place a note, a tongue that would tell him what was heard and say what he wanted where he wanted.  _ Old fool! You have enough hands and ears, so stop thinking of a fine bosom and remember the look in her eye! _ The interesting thing was that she sounded as if she meant what she said, and one of the young fellows nodded agreement to her words. He’d have Dena look into their histories later. If they were genuine in their gratitude, they might make good additions to Rand’s staff.

“Yes,” Thom said. “I wonder which High Lord had charge of the docks yesterday?” He nearly fumbled the balls in irritation at himself. Bringing it right out like that. He was too tired; he should be in his bed. He should have been there hours ago.

“The docks are the Defenders’ responsibility,” the oldest woman told him. “You’d not know that, of course. The High Lords would not concern themselves.”

Thom knew it very well. “Is that so? Well, I am not Tairen, of course.” He changed the balls from a simple circle to a double loop; it looked more difficult than it was, and the girl with the predatory look clapped her hands. Now that he was into it, he might as well go on. After this, though, he would call it a night. A night? The sun was rising already. “Still, it is a shame no-one asked why those barges were at the docks. With their hatches down, hiding all those Trollocs. Not that I am saying anyone knew the Trollocs were there.” The double loop wobbled, and he quickly went back to a circle. Light, he was exhausted. “You’d think one of the High Lords would have asked, though.” The two young men frowned thoughtfully at one another, and Thom smiled to himself. Another seed planted, just that easily, if clumsily as well. Another rumour started, whatever they knew for a fact about who had charge of the docks. And rumours spread—a rumour like this would not stop short of the city—so it was another small wedge of suspicion driven between commoners and nobles. Who would the commoners turn to, except the man they knew the nobles hated? The man who had saved the Stone from Shadowspawn. Rand al’Thor. The Lord Dragon.

It was time to leave what he had sown. If the roots had taken hold here, nothing he said now could pull them loose, and he had scattered other seeds this night. But it would not do for anyone to discover he was the one doing the planting. “They fought bravely last night, the High Lords did. Why I saw ...” He trailed off as the women leaped to their mopping and the men grabbed up the chest and hurried away.

“I can find work for gleemen, too,” the majhere’s voice said behind him. “Idle hands are idle hands.”

He turned gracefully, considering his leg, and swept her a deep bow. The top of her head was below his shoulder, but she probably weighed half again what he did. She had a face like an anvil— not improved by the bandage around her temples—an extra chin, and deep-set eyes like chips of black flint. “A good morning to you, gracious lady. A small token of this fresh, new day.”

He gestured with a flurry of hands and tucked a golden yellow sunburst blossom, only a little bedraggled for its time up his sleeve, into the grey hair above her bandage. She snatched the flower right out again, of course, and eyed it suspiciously, but that was just as he wanted. He put three limping strides into her moment of hesitation, and when she shouted something after him, he neither listened nor slowed.

_ Horrible woman _ , he thought.  _ If we had turned her loose on the Trollocs, she’d have had them all sweeping and mopping _ .

He yawned behind a hand, jaws creaking. He was too old for this. He was tired, and his knee was a knot of pain. Nights with no sleep, battles, plotting. Too old. He should be living quietly on a farm somewhere. With chickens. Farms always had chickens. And sheep. They must not be difficult to look after; shepherds seemed to loll about and play the pipes all the time. He would play the harp, of course, not pipes. Or his flute; weather was not good for the harp. And there would be a town nearby, with an inn where he could amaze the patrons in the common room. He flourished his cloak as he passed two servants. The only point in wearing it in this heat was to let people know he was a gleeman. They perked up at the sight of him, of course, hoping he might pause to entertain for a moment. Most gratifying. Yes, a farm had its virtues. A quiet place. No people to bother him. As long as there was a town close by.

Pushing open the door to his room, he stopped in his tracks. Moiraine straightened as if she had a perfect right to be going through the papers scattered on his table and calmly arranged her skirts as she sat on the stool. Now there was a beautiful woman, with every grace a man could want, including laughing at his quips.  _ Fool! Old fool! She’s Aes Sedai, and you’re too tired to think straight _ .

“A good morning to you, Moiraine Sedai,” he said, hanging his cloak on a peg. He avoided looking at his writing case, still sitting under the table where he had left it. No point in letting her know it was important. Probably no point in checking after she went, for that matter; she could have channelled the lock open and closed again, and he would never be able to tell. Weary as he was, he could not even remember whether he had left anything incriminating in the case. Or anywhere else, for that matter. Everything he could see in the room was right where it belonged. He did not think he could have been foolish enough to leave anything out. Doors in the servants’ quarters had no locks or latches. “I would offer you a refreshing drink, but I fear I have nothing but water.”

“I am not thirsty,” she said in a pleasant, melodious voice. She leaned forward, and the room was small enough for her to place a hand on his right knee. A chill tingle rippled through him. “I wish a good Healer had been near when this happened. It is too late now, I regret.”

“A dozen Healers would not have been enough,” he told her. “A Halfman did it.”

“I know.”

_ What else does she know? _ he wondered. Asking would have yielded no results, of course, so he just nodded. “Captain Danmielle told me you were the reason I woke up on a ship bound for Tear, instead of in an Andoran jail.”

Turning to pull his chair out from behind the table, he bit back an oath. He felt as if he had had a good night’s sleep, and the pain was gone from his knee. His limp remained, but the joint was more limber than it had been since he was injured.  _ The woman didn’t even ask if I wanted it. Burn me, what is she after? _ He refused to flex the leg. If she would not ask, he would not acknowledge her gift.

“The captain was well compensated for her assistance. I pay my debts, as all should.” It was baldly said, and made plain her purpose for coming here. Saying nothing, he went and sat down. “An interesting day, yesterday,” she continued.

“I’d not call Trollocs and Halfmen interesting,” he said dryly.

“I did not mean them. Earlier. The High Lord Carleon dead in a hunting accident. His good friend Tedosian apparently mistook him for a boar. Or perhaps a deer.”

“I hadn’t heard.” He kept his voice calm. Even if she had found the note, she could not have traced it to him. Carleon himself would have thought it by his own hand. He did not think she could have, but he reminded himself again that she was Aes Sedai. As if he needed any reminding, with that smooth pretty face across from him, those serene dark eyes watching him full of all his secrets. “The servants’ quarters are full of gossip, but I seldom listen.”

“Do you not?” she murmured mildly. “Then you will not have heard that Tedosian fell ill not an hour after returning to the Stone, directly after his wife gave him a goblet of wine to wash away the dust of the hunt. It is said he wept when he learned that she means to tend him herself, and feed him with her own hands. No doubt tears of joy at her love. I hear Alteima has vowed not to leave his side until he can rise again. Or until he dies.”

She knew. How, he could not say, but she knew. But why was she revealing it to him? “A tragedy,” he said, matching her bland tone. “Rand will need all the loyal High Lords he can find, I suppose.”

“Carleon and Tedosian were hardly loyal. Even to each other, it seems. They led the faction that want to kill Rand and try to forget he ever lived.”

“Do you say so? I pay little attention to such things. The works of the mighty are not for a simple gleeman.”

Her smile was just short of laughter, but she spoke as if reading from a page. “Thomdril Merrilin. Called the Grey Fox, once, by some who knew him, or knew of him. Courtbard at the Royal Palace of Andor in Caemlyn. Morgase’s lover for a time, after Taringail died. Fortunate for Morgase, Taringail’s death. I do not suppose she ever learned he meant her to die and himself to be Andor’s first king. But we were speaking of Thom Merrilin, a man who, it was said, could play the Game of Houses in his sleep. It is a shame that such a man calls himself a simple gleeman. But such arrogance to keep the same name.”

Thom masked his shock with an effort. How much did she know? Too much if she knew not another word. But she was not the only one with knowledge. “Speaking of names,” he said levelly, “it is remarkable how much can be puzzled out from a name. Moiraine Damodred. The Lady Moiraine of House Damodred, in Cairhien. Taringail’s youngest half-sister. Queen Laina’s niece. And Aes Sedai, let us not forget. An Aes Sedai aiding the Dragon Reborn since before she could have known that he was more than just another poor fool who could channel. An Aes Sedai with connections high in the White Tower, I would say, else she’d not risk what she has. Someone in the Hall of the Tower? More than one, I’d say; it would have to be. News of that would shake the world. But why should there be trouble? Perhaps it’s best to leave an old gleeman tucked away in his hole in the servants’ quarters. Just an old gleeman playing his harp and telling his tales. Tales that harm no-one.”

If he had managed to stagger her even a fraction, she did not show it. “Speculation without facts is always dangerous,” she said calmly. “I do not use my House name, by choice. House Damodred had a deservedly unpleasant reputation before Laina cut down  _ Avendoraldera _ and lost the throne and her life for it. Since the Aiel War, it has grown worse, also deservedly.”

Would nothing shake the woman? “What do you want of me?” he demanded irritably.

She did not as much as blink. “Elayne and Nynaeve take ship for Tanchico tomorrow. A dangerous city, Tanchico. Your knowledge and skills might keep them alive.”

So that was it. She wanted to separate him from Rand, leave the boy naked to her manipulations. It was just as Tam had predicted. “As you say, Tanchico is dangerous now, but then it always was. I wish the young women well, yet I’ve no wish to stick my head into a vipers’ nest. I am too old for that sort of thing. I have been thinking of taking up farming. A quiet life. Safe.”

“A quiet life would kill you, I think.” Sounding distinctly amused, she busied herself rearranging the folds of her skirt with small, slender hands. He had the impression she was hiding a smile.

“Why should I go to Tanchico?” She could do without titles.

“To protect Elayne? Morgase’s daughter?”

“I have not seen Morgase in fifteen years. Elayne was an infant when I left Caemlyn. And I am told that an escort has already been arranged for her.”

That brought a gleam to her eye, if only briefly. Rand did not trust her with such information, not the way he did Thom. When Tam had voiced his suspicion that Moiraine would try something like this, Thom had shrugged it off. It was the obvious move for her, to silence any dissenting views in Rand’s court. He’d been surprised that Tam had seen it, though. An interesting man, that one. He rather reminded Thom of Gareth Bryne. Unassuming, at first glance. Just a weathered old soldier doing his duty. Like Bryne, there was much more to Tam than there first seemed.

Moiraine hesitated, but when she spoke her voice was unrelentingly firm. “And your reason for leaving Andor? A nephew named Owyn, I believe. One of those poor fools you spoke of who can channel. The Red sisters were supposed to bring him to Tar Valon, as any such man is, but instead they Gentled him on the spot and abandoned him to the ... mercies of his neighbours.”

Thom knocked his chair over standing up, then had to hold on to the table because his knees were shaking. Owyn had not lived long after being Gentled, driven from his home by supposed friends who could not bear to let even a man who could no longer channel live among them. Nothing Thom did could stop Owyn not wanting to live, or stop his young wife from following him to the grave inside the month. He had been Thom’s last living relative.

“Why ...?” He cleared his throat roughly, tried to make his voice less husky. “Why are you telling me this?”

There was sympathy on Moiraine’s face. And could it be regret? Surely not. Not from an Aes Sedai. The sympathy had to be false as well. “I would not have done, had you been willing to go simply to help Elayne and Nynaeve.”

“Why, burn you! Why?”

“If you go with Elayne and Nynaeve, I will tell you the names of those Red sisters when I see you next, as well as the name of the one who gave them their orders. They did not act on their own.”

He drew an uneven breath. “What good will their names do me?” he asked in a flat voice. “Aes Sedai names, wrapped in all the power of the White Tower.”

“A skilled and dangerous player of the Game of Houses might find a use for them,” she replied quietly. “They should not have done what they did. They should not have been excused for it.”

“And to earn these names, all I have to do is abandon Rand to his enemies. Enemies like Alanna Mosvani. And you.”

Her lips thinned. “Do not be foolish. I am not his enemy. Far from it, I have been fighting for him for longer than anyone else has known he existed. I will teach you that not all Aes Sedai are like those Reds, Thom. You must learn that. As must he.”

“You are not doing a very good job of it. If not for Rand, Dena would have died in Cairhien. I will not abandon a living man—especially the Dragon Reborn—to seek vengeance for a dead one. You can keep your names. There is a man more likely to see them brought to justice than I am, and I will do all I can to support him.”

She was quiet for a time, her face still. Then she sighed. “That is disappointing. I had thought better of you. I thought Elayne and Owyn’s lives would have meant more.”

“Will you leave me, please?”

He stood leaning on the table until she was gone, unwilling to let her see him sink awkwardly to his knees, see the tears trickling down his weathered face.  _ Oh, Light, Owyn _ . He had buried it all as deeply as he could. _ I couldn’t get there in time. I was too busy. Too busy with the bloody Game of Houses _ . He scrubbed at his face testily. Moiraine could play the Game with the best. Wrenching him around this way, tugging every string he had thought perfectly hidden. Owyn, Elayne. Morgase’s daughter. Only fondness remained for Morgase, perhaps a little more than that, but it was hard to walk away from a child you had bounced on your knee.  _ That girl in Tanchico? That city would eat her alive. And Moiraine will give me the names _ . All he had to do was leave Rand in Aes Sedai hands. Just as he had left Owyn. She had him like a snake in a cleft stick, damned however he writhed.  _ Burn the woman! _


	40. The Day After

CHAPTER 37: The Day After

In many ways, the aftermath of a battle was even grimmer than the battle itself, Elayne had found. The day after the Shadow’s attack on the Stone was no different. With each new verse being added to the larger tale of the battle, she felt her spirits being drained. She hadn’t known Ralani as well as she had Dailin, for example, but she knew many of the women who’d known her, and their grief weighed on her as much as Aviendha’s did. Some small, selfish part of her wanted to lock herself away in her room to avoid it all, but she stamped that impulse down firmly.

“It is a shame to lose such an accomplished warrior,” Branwen was telling the other Maidens when Elayne ghosted the edge of their gathering, there in the room she and the other Accepted often used for their questioning of the prisoners.

Aviendha nodded, as still of face as ever. “It is. She had much honour.” Elayne didn’t understand. She was sure her friend had to be heartbroken, but she’d shown no sign of it so far. She’d been standing ready to comfort her for hours now, only for the opportunity to continuously fail to emerge.

It was a mostly female gathering. No-one had declared it would be so, but somehow that was how it ended up. The few men who’d wandered into that room had quickly become uncomfortable and then slunk away. She didn’t understand that, either. It was not as if anyone had demanded they leave. Loial was the only one who’d stayed, though he would have had a hard time leaving, what with all the flowers piled around him.

Raine had arrived only recently, and was frowning at those flowers when Elayne’s circuit of the room brought her near.

“Where did all these come from?” the wolfsister asked Merile, who’d been tied to the Ogier’s side all morning.

“Loial is a hero.” Loial made shushing noises, his ears twitching with embarrassment, and waved his big hands at her, but she went on, an open, easy smile on her face. “He gathered as many children as he could—and some of their mothers—into a large room, and held the door alone against Trollocs and Myrddraal through the entire fight. These flowers are from the women of the Stone, tokens to honour his steadfast courage.”

“It was nothing.” Loial’s ears twitched wildly. “It is just that the children could not defend themselves. That’s all. Not a hero. No.”

Merile rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t be silly. You are so a hero. I get to say it, even if you won’t. Those Trollocs would have killed me, after all, if you hadn’t held that door.”

“I must agree with her there,” said Elayne. “Thom should make room for a verse about you, when he writes the song of these times.”

Raine nodded solemnly. “Good work, Ogier. Pack-like. Your mother would be proud.”

Loial’s ears went stiff with shock, his huge eyes darting nervously towards the door at the mention of his mother. Elayne smiled to herself.

Stedding Shangtai was Loial’s home, in the Spine of the World not far from here, and since he was barely past ninety he was not old enough to have left on his own. Ogier lived a very long time; by their standards, Loial was no older than Elayne. But Loial had gone anyway, to see the world, and his greatest fear was that his mother would find him and drag back to the  _ stedding _ to marry, never to leave again.

“I didn’t expect you to stay for all of this, Merile. This has nothing to do with the  _ Tuatha’an _ , or their Way of the Leaf,” Loial said, plainly eager to change the subject.

“I love Rand, I wouldn’t go anywhere,” Merile said. Right in front of Elayne.

“But it’s not as if you can fight,” Loial persisted.

“I love Rand.”

“You said that.”

“I say it a lot,” Merile sighed. “It makes things clearer, takes away doubt when everything is crazy and people are dying.”

Loial’s huge head nodded ponderously. “I think I understand.”

“Oh, good. Someone should,” Merile said with a glum smile.

Folding her arms across her breasts, Elayne walked away. If it had been anyone else Merile had spoken of, she might have found her sentiment moving. But it was Rand she loved. Elayne’s Rand. How was she to cope with that? She and Nynaeve had shared him, in the most literal of senses. Was she to do the same with Merile? The girl seemed nice, but she barely knew her!

It was Nynaeve herself to whom her steps carried her, for whom else could she speak to about such things? The former Wisdom was grim-faced this morning, as was to be expected when so many lay dead. She was talking to Theodrin, but it would be easy enough to arrange some privacy. Theodrin was notably polite, and quick to take a hint.

Nynaeve saw her coming, and noted her mood, but before either woman could open her mouth, there was a knock at the door, followed immediately by Moiraine. The Aes Sedai took them in with one sweeping look that weighed measured and considered them and what they had been doing, all without the twitch of an eyelid to suggest her conclusions. “Joiya and Amico are dead,” she announced.

“Was that the reason for the attack, then?” Nynaeve said. “All that to kill them? Or perhaps to kill them if they could not be freed. I’ve been sure Joiya was so confident because she expected rescue. She must have been lying after all. I never trusted her repentance.”

“Not the main purpose, perhaps,” Moiraine replied. “The captain very wisely kept his men to their posts in the dungeons during the attack. They never saw a single Trolloc or Myrddraal. But they found the pair dead, after. Each with her throat rather messily cut. After her tongue had been nailed to her cell door.” She might as well have been speaking of having a dress mended.

Elayne’s stomach heaved leadenly at the detached description. “I would not have wanted that for them. Not like that. The Light illumine their souls.”

“Amico sold her soul to the Shadow long ago, and Joiya was no better,” Theodrin said roughly. She had both hands pressed to her stomach, though. “How ... How was it done? Grey Men?”

“I doubt even Grey Men could have managed that,” Moiraine said dryly. “The Shadow has resources beyond what we know, it seems.”

Not Grey Men, but someone who could enter a guarded cell, and get out again without needing to unlock the door. Elayne recalled what Rand had told her of the Darkfriend assassin he’d encountered in Emond’s Field, and thought she knew who was behind the murder. She shivered. How could they defend themselves against someone who could appear out of thin air?

Aviendha came to join them, a frown knotting her brows. “Impressive stealth. These Tairens are not very observant, but even they should have been able to prevent entry to that place.”

Theodrin smoothed her dress, and her voice. “If there was no attempt at rescue, does this mean they were both telling the truth? They could have been killed because they talked.”

“Or to stop them from it,” Nynaeve added grimly. “We can hope they do not know that those two told us anything. Perhaps Joiya did repent, but I’ll not believe it.”

Elayne swallowed, thinking of being in a cell, having your face pressed to the door so your tongue could be pulled out and ... She shivered, but made herself say, “They might have been killed simply to punish them for being captured.” She left out her thought that the killing might have been to make them believe whatever Joiya and Amico had said; they had enough doubts about what to do as it was. “Three possibilities, and only one says the Black Ajah knows they revealed a word. Since all three are equal, the chances are that they do not know.”

Nynaeve and Theodrin looked shocked. “To punish them?” Nynaeve said incredulously.

Nynaeve was tougher than she in many ways—she admired her for it—but she had not grown up watching the manoeuvrings at court in Caemlyn, hearing tales of the cruel way Cairhienin and Tairens played the Games of Houses.

“I think the Black Ajah might be less than gentle with failure of any kind,” she told them. “I can imagine Liandrin ordering it. Joiya surely could have done it easily.” Moiraine eyed her briefly, a reassessing look.

“Liandrin,” Nynaeve said, her tone absolutely flat. “Yes, I can imagine Liandrin giving that command.”

“You did not have much longer to question them in any case,” Moiraine said. “They would have been shipbound by midday tomorrow.” A hint of anger touched her voice; Elayne realized Moiraine must see the Black sisters’ deaths as an escape from justice.

Elayne met Nynaeve’s eyes and gave a slight nod.

Nynaeve nodded back, more assertively, before turning to the Aes Sedai. “Elayne and I will be going to Tanchico as soon as we can find a ship. A fast ship, I hope.”

“I ... I have a thought to go with Elayne and Nynaeve,” Aviendha said into the momentary silence. “If there is war in this Tanchico, they have need of a spearsister to watch their backs.”

She gave no reasons, and Moiraine’s eyebrows rose, but not as high as Elayne’s.

“I am glad you want to help us, Aviendha, but I thought you were eager to return home.”

“She is going neither to Tanchico nor her home,” Moiraine said before Aviendha could respond. She took a letter from her pouch and unfolded the pages. “This was placed in my hand an hour gone. The young Aielman who brought it told me it was given to him a month ago, before any of us reached Tear, yet it is addressed to me by name, at the Stone of Tear.” She glanced at the last sheet. “Aviendha, do you know Amys, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel; Bair, of the Haido sept of the Shaarad Aiel; Melaine, of the Jhirad sept of the Goshien Aiel; and Seana, of the Black Cliff sept of the Nakai Aiel? They signed it.”

“They are all Wise Ones, Aes Sedai. All dreamwalkers.” Aviendha’s stance had shifted to wariness, though she did not seem aware of it. She looked ready to fight or flee.

“Dreamwalkers,” Moiraine mused. “Perhaps that explains it. I have heard of dreamwalkers.” She turned to the second page of the letter. “Here is what they say about you. What they said perhaps before you had even decided to come to Tear. ‘There is among the Maidens of the Spear in the Stone of Tear a wilful girl called Aviendha, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel. She must now come to us. There can be no more waiting or excuses. We will await her on the slopes of Chaendaer, above Rhuidean.’ There is more about you, but mainly telling me that I must see you come to them without delay. They issue commands like the Amyrlin, these Wise Ones of yours.” She made a vexed sound, which brought Elayne to wonder if the Wise Ones had tried issuing commands to the Aes Sedai, too. Not very likely. And unlikely to be successful if tried. Still, something about that letter irritated the Aes Sedai.

“I am  _ Far Dareis Mai _ ,” Aviendha said angrily. “I do not go running like a child when someone calls my name. I will go to Tanchico if I wish.”

Elayne pursed her lips thoughtfully. This was something new from the Aiel woman. Not the anger—she had seen Aviendha angry before, if not quite to this degree—but the undertone. She could call it nothing but sulkiness. That seemed as unlikely as Lan being sulky, but there it was.

Moiraine shook her head, only slightly, but still deliberate. “I showed this to Rhuarc.” Aviendha opened her mouth, her face irate, but the Aes Sedai raised her voice and went on smoothly. “As the letter asks me to. Only the part concerning you, of course. He seems quite determined that you will do as the letter asks. As it orders. I think it wisest to do as Rhuarc and the Wise Ones wish, Aviendha. Do you not agree?”

Aviendha stared around the room wildly, as at a trap. “I am  _ Far Dareis Mai _ ,” she muttered, and strode for the door without another word. The door banged shut behind her.

“What do they want with her?” Theodrin wondered.

“Whatever the Wise Ones’ reason,” Moiraine said coolly, “it is surely a matter between Aviendha and them. If she wished you to know, she would have told you.”

“You cannot stop trying to manoeuvre people,” Nynaeve said bitterly. “You’re manoeuvring Aviendha into something now, aren’t you?”

“Not I. The Wise Ones. And Rhuarc.” Moiraine folded the letter, returning it to her belt pouch with a touch of acerbity in her manner. “She can always say no to him. A clan chief is not the same as a king, as I understand Aiel ways.”

“Can she?” Elayne asked. Rhuarc reminded her of Gareth Bryne. The Captain-General of her mother’s Royal Guards had seldom put his foot down, but when he did, not even Morgase could bring him around, short of a royal command. There would be no command from the throne this time—not that Morgase had ever issued one to Gareth Bryne when he had decided he was right, now that Elayne thought of it—and without one, she expected that Aviendha was going to the slopes of Chaendaer, above Rhuidean.

“Whatever she can or can’t do is not our business,” Nynaeve said, “we have work to do. Elayne and I must make preparations to sail for Tanchico, and decide who is going with us.”

“Yes. I don’t like the idea of leaving Rand undefended, not when the Forsaken are hunting him. I’d prefer to stay myself, but ...”

“But you are one of the strongest of us, and we’ll need you there when we catch Liandrin,” Nynaeve said.

Elayne nodded fiercely. “Oh, I want to be there for that, believe you me.” The woman had sold her to the Seanchan as a slave. There would be a reckoning for that.

“I suppose we can find a ship tomorrow, but that means deciding what to pack tonight,” Nynaeve said.

“There is a ship of the Atha’an Miere at the docks in the Maule,” Moiraine told them. “A raker. There are no ships faster. You did want a fast ship.” Nynaeve gave a grudging nod.

“Moiraine,” Elayne said, “what is Rand going to do now? After this attack ... Will he start the war you want?”

“I do not want a war,” the Aes Sedai replied. “I want what will see him alive to fight Tarmon Gai’don. He says he will tell us all what he means to do tomorrow.” The smallest frown creased her smooth forehead. “Tomorrow, we will all know more than we do today.” Her departure was abrupt.

_ Tomorrow _ , Elayne thought.  _ What will he do when I tell him? What will he say? He has to understand _ . She would go, when that time came; she had never considered not. Knowing that made her proud of behaving like a woman, not a girl; knowing it made her want to cry. Determinedly, she joined the other two Accepted to discuss their preparations.

* * *

The tavern’s business rocked along like any in the Maule, a wagon-load of geese and crockery careering downhill through the day. The babble of voices fought with the musicians’ offerings on three assorted drums, two hammered dulcimers, and a bulbous semseer that produced whining trills. The serving maids in dark, ankle-length dresses with necks up to the chin and short white aprons hustled between crowded tables, holding clusters of pottery mugs overhead so they could squeeze through. Barefoot leather-vested dockmen mixed with fellows in coats tight to the waist and bare-chested men with broad, colourful sashes to hold up their baggy breeches. So close to the docks, vestments of outlanders were everywhere among the crowd; high collars from the north and long collars from the west, silver chains on coats and bells on vests, knee-high boots and thigh-high boots, necklaces or earrings on men, lace on coats or shirts. One man with wide shoulders and a big belly had a forked yellow beard, and another had smeared something on his moustaches to make them glisten in the lamplight and curl up on either side of his narrow face. Dice rolled and tumbled in three corners of the room and on a number of tabletops, silver changing hands briskly to shouts and laughter.

Mat sat alone with his back to the wall where he could see all the doors, though mostly he peered into a still untouched mug of dark wine. He did not go near the dice games, and he never glanced at the serving girls’ ankles. With the tavern so crowded, men occasionally thought to share his table, but a good look at his face made them sheer away and crowd onto a bench elsewhere.

Dipping a finger in his wine, he sketched aimlessly on the tabletop. These fools had no idea what had happened in the Stone last night. He had heard a few Tairens mention some kind of trouble, quick words that trailed off into nervous laughter. They did not know and did not want to. He’d seen some of them glancing at the huge hole in the Stone’s side on his way here, bigger even than the one he’d made with his fireworks, but they’d glanced away again just as quickly. Best not to look. Best not to think about why Rand might have done such a thing. He almost wished he did not know himself. No, he wished he had a better idea of what had happened. The images kept flashing in his head, flashing through the holes in his memory, making no real sense.

The din of fighting somewhere in the distance echoed down the corridor, dulled by the wall hangings. He retrieved his knife from the Grey Man’s corpse with a shaking hand. A Grey Man, and hunting him. It had to have been after him. Grey Men did not wander about killing at random; they had targets as surely as an arrow. He turned to run, and there was a Myrddraal striding toward him like a black snake on legs, its pasty-faced, eyeless stare sending shivers into his bones. At thirty paces he hurled the knife straight at where an eye should have been; at that distance he could hit a knothole no larger than an eye four times in five.

The Fade’s black sword blurred as it knocked the dagger away, almost casually; it did not even break stride. “Time to die.” Its voice was a red adder’s dry hiss, warning of death.

Mat backed away. He had a knife in either hand, now, though he did not remember drawing them. Not that knives would be much good against a sword, but running meant that black blade in his back as sure as five sixes beat four threes. He wished he still had his quarterstaff, but he’d lost it to a Trolloc axe during the fighting. Or a bow; he would like to see this thing try to deflect a shaft from a Theren longbow. He wished he were somewhere else. He was going to die, here.

Suddenly a dozen Trollocs roared out of a side hallway, piling onto the Fade in a frenzy of chopping axes and stabbing swords. Mat stared in amazed disbelief. The Halfman fought like a black-armoured whirlwind. More than half the Trollocs were dead or dying before the Fade lay in a twitching heap; one arm flexed and thrashed like a dying snake three paces away from the body, still with that black sword in its fist.

A ram-horned Trolloc peered toward Mat, snout lifted to sniff the air. It snarled at him, then whined and began licking a long gash that had laid open mail and hairy forearm. The others finished cutting the throats of their wounded, and one barked a few harsh, guttural words. Without another glance at Mat, they turned and trotted away, hooves and boots making hollow sounds on the stone floor.

Away from him. Mat shivered. Trollocs to the rescue. What had Rand gotten him into now? He saw what he had drawn with the wine—an open door—and scrubbed it out angrily. He had to get away from here. He had to. And he could also feel that urge in the back of his head, that it was time to go back to the Stone. He pushed it away angrily, but it kept buzzing at him.

He caught a snatch of talk from the table to his right, where the lean-faced fellow with the curling moustaches was holding forth in a heavy Murandian accent. “Now this Dragon of yours is a great man no doubt, I’ll not be denying it, but he’s not a patch on Logain. Why, Logain had all of Ghealdan at war, and half of Amadicia and Altara, as well. He made the earth swallow whole towns that resisted him, he did. Buildings, people and all entire. And the one up in Saldaea, Maseem? Why, they say he made the sun stand still till he defeated the Lord of Bashere’s army. ’Tis a fact, they do say.”

Mat shook his head. The Stone fallen and  _ Callandor _ in Rand’s hand, and this idiot still thought he was another false Dragon. He had sketched that doorway again. Rubbing a hand through it, he grabbed up the mug of wine, and gulped down its contents.

He had to do something. He couldn’t just stay here, waiting for another Forsaken to attack. His luck was good, but there was no way it could be good enough for him to be saved by bloody Trollocs a second time. What other option did he have? Rand held him here as surely as if he had a hand around his throat. Burn him. Whether he meant it or not.

Scowling, Mat clambered off his bench and pushed his way towards the door, winning himself a purse full of anger on his way.

“Watch where you’re going, man!” some Cairhienin snapped, but his companion, the fork-bearded merchant, put a hand on his arm and whispered caution.

“You know these lordlings when they’re full of wine,” fork-beard said.

“I do not think he is a lord at all,” the Cairhienin said petulantly. Mat’s lip curled. A lord? He would not be a lord if it was offered to him.

Ignoring the men, he ploughed his way to the door, and pulled a pair of wooden clogs from the pile against the wall. He had no idea whether they were the ones he had worn in—they all looked alike—and did not care. They fit his boots.

It had started raining outside, a light fall. Turning up his collar, he splashed along the muddy streets of the Maule in an awkward trot, past blaring taverns and well-lit inns and dark-windowed houses. When mud gave way to paving stones at the wall marking the inner city, he kicked the clogs off and left them lying as he ran on. The Defenders guarding the nearest gate into the Stone let him pass without a word; they knew who he was. The Aiel further in were less trusting after last night, for all that their leader, Acavi, knew him just as well.

“Where are you going in such a hurry, Matrim Cauthon?” said leader asked suspiciously.

Mat stopped running. It would be better not to provoke them unnecessarily. “Nowhere. And that’s the Light’s honest truth. I’m just cooling my heels in this ugly fortress waiting for one of the Forsaken to come kill me. You know, the usual.”

“I would call no part of that ‘usual’.”

Mat snorted. “Then you’re saner than most anyone else in this bloody place.”

Acavi studied him closely. “You are not what I expected, Matrim Cauthon. I have seen you in battle. I know you can fight. But I have been killing Shienarans since my childhood, and you are nothing like them.”

Mat grinned. “You mean you’ve never met a wetlander so ruggedly handsome, startling brave and dazzlingly clever?”

Instead of grinning back, Acavi shook his head. “They fought with valour and discipline. You fight with words and tricks. My father would not have thought you and honourable opponent. But I have seen your victories. I believe you are a worthy foe.”

“Um. Thanks? So, what do Aiel men do with a ‘worthy foe’?”

“Usually, they kill him,” Acavi said solemnly. “A warrior can only challenge himself against enemies of honour and courage. There is no honour in attacking those beneath you. A worthy foe is a gift. In defeating them, we hone ourselves to the best we can be and bring honour to ourselves. Or so I was taught.”

It was small wonder they were all so crazy, then. Mat, of course, was not at all crazy. Which was why he didn’t tell Acavi that to his face. Instead, he plastered a friendly grin on his face and said, “Well, I’ve always been more of a lover than a fighter, so keep your spears to yourself.”

A small smile curved the Aiel man’s lips. “I may. But I make no promises.” Even so, he stepped aside to let Mat pass.

He should have gone to his room, or to Thom’s, but instead he found himself walking right past the stairs that would have led up that way. He didn’t want to do it. He didn’t want anything to do with the One Power at all. But what other choice did he have?

He saw Berelain coming toward him and grinned in spite of himself. For all her airs, she was a fine figure of a woman. That clinging white silk was thin enough for a handkerchief, not to mention being scooped low enough at the top to expose a considerable amount of excellent bosom.

He swept her his best bow, elegant and formal. “A good evening to you, my lady.” She started to sweep by without a glance, and he straightened angrily. “Are you deaf as well as blind, woman? I’m not a carpet to walk over, and I distinctly heard myself speak. If I pinch your bottom, you can slap my face, but until I do, I expect a civil word for a civil word!”

The First stopped dead, eyeing him in that way women had. She could have sewn him a shirt and told his weight, not to mention when he had his last bath, from that look. Then she turned away, murmuring something to herself. All he caught was “too much like me.”

He stared after her in amazement. Not a word to him! That face, that walk, and her nose so far in the air it was a wonder her feet touched the ground. That was what he got, speaking to the likes of Berelain and Elayne. Nobles who thought you were dirt unless you had a palace and bloodlines back to Artur Hawkwing. Well, he knew a plump cook’s helper—just plump enough—who did not think he was dirt. Dara had a way of nibbling his ears that ...

His thoughts stopped dead in their tracks. He had been considering seeing whether Dara was up for a cuddle. He had even considered flirting with Berelain. Berelain! As if he had already decided to stay, instead of getting as far away from this madness as he could. Only he had not. He would not, not so easily, just sliding into it. There was a way, perhaps.

Digging a gold coin from his pocket, he flipped it into the air and snatched it onto the back of his other hand. A Tar Valon mark, he saw for the first time, and he was staring at the Flame of Tar Valon, stylized like a teardrop. “Burn all Aes Sedai!” he announced loudly. “And burn Rand al’Thor for getting me into this!”

A black-and-gold liveried servant stopped in midstride, staring at him worriedly. The man’s silver tray was piled high with rolled bandages and jars of ointment. As soon as he realized Mat had seen him, he gave a jump.

Mat tossed the gold mark onto the man’s tray. “From the biggest fool in the world. Mind you spend it well, on women and wine.”

“Th-thank you, my lord,” the man stammered as if stunned.

Mat left him standing there.  _ The biggest fool in the world. Aren’t I just! _


	41. Into the Doorway

CHAPTER 38: Into the Doorway

Holding the glass-mantled lamp high, Mat peered down the narrow corridor, deep in the belly of the Stone.  _ Not unless my life depended on it. Well, burn me if it doesn’t! _

Before doubt could seize him again, he hurried on, past doors dry-rotted and hanging aslant, past others only shreds of wood clinging to rusted hinges. The floor had been swept recently, but the air still smelled of old dust and mould. Something skittered in the darkness, and he had a knife out before he realized it was just a rat, running from him, no doubt running toward some escape hole it knew.

“Show me the way out,” he whispered after it, “and I’ll come with you.”  _ Why am I whispering? There’s nobody down here to hear me _ . It seemed a place for quiet, though. He could feel the whole weight of the Stone over his head, pressing down.

The last door, she had said. That one hung askew, too. He kicked it open, and it fell apart. The room was littered with dim shapes, with crates and barrels and things stacked high against the walls and out into the floor. Dust, too.  _ The Great Hold! It looks like the basement of an abandoned farmhouse, only worse _ . He was surprised that Nynaeve had not dusted and tidied while she was down here. Women were always dusting and straightening, even things that did not need it. Footprints crisscrossed the floor, some of them from boots, but no doubt they had had men to shift the heavier items about for them. Nynaeve liked finding ways to make a man work; likely she had deliberately hunted out some fellows enjoying themselves.

Some of the footprints looked recent, which was why he only jumped half out of his skin when a woman stepped out from behind some stacked crates holding a globe of white light in her hand. He knew her, if only barely. Ilyena. One of the Accepted who’d rejected his advances back in the Tower. She looked as surprised to see him as he was to see her.

“What are you doing here, Cauthon?”

“I could ask you the same question!”

“These are items of the Power. Some of them, at least. Why wouldn’t I be interested in them? But you? I remember how loudly you complained about anything to do with the Power. So. Why are you here?”

Mat sighed heavily, and immediately regretted it as a veritable storm cloud of dust suddenly swirled around him. As he coughed, he wondered what answer he could give her. She was right, of course. He wanted nothing to do with the Power. But ...

“Sometimes it just doesn’t matter what you want. You have to do what you have to do.”

Ilyena’s lips thinned to a grim line. “This is true. Have they told you that Mair is dead?”

Mat winced. Not this again. He’d liked the girl, he was sad she was gone, but burn him if he was going to burst into tears just because that was what they expected of him. “I heard,” he said curtly. “The Shadow got her.”

The silence stretched long, there in that isolated basement. “It did. I’m surprised you do not want to avenge her. I do. The scum who killed her deserves to die.”

“Of course I want that! But what do you want me to do? Hunt down Be’lal and batter him with a stick? Rand will do for him sooner or later.”

Ilyena frowned down at the light in her hands. It pushed the shadow of her long fringe away, and let him get a good look at those big blue eyes of hers. He’d regretted it when she turned him down. She was definitely one of the prettier Accepted. But what did you do? Losses like that were just a fact of life. You took them on the chin and you moved on.

“What do I want you to do?” she said slowly. Her light winked out, and his own lamp’s light didn’t stretch far enough to chase the shadows from her face. But if he couldn’t quite see her, he could hear her quite clearly. “I want you to fuck me.”

“You want what!?” Mat blurted, even so.

There was a rustling of cloth. “You heard me. And I know you want to. So take it out, and get over here.”

“But ... but why? You didn’t want to before, and—”  _ What am I doing? Never try to talk a woman out of having sex, you idiot! _ Quick steps brought him and his light closer to Ilyena, whose underwear was already pooled on the dirty floor. She held her dark blue skirts up around her waist, allowing him a clear view of her privates, but her expression was as cool as ever. There was even a trace of hostility there. And yet she still turned around and bent over a nearby crate, showing him her pretty little ass, offering herself. Mat shook his head in bewilderment. She was such a strange girl. Even as he thought it, he was fishing his stiffening cock out of his breeches, of course. As bizarre and unexpected as the encounter was, he wasn’t about to turn down such an offer.

He set the lamp down on the ground nearby. Leaving it on the crate would have been too dangerous, given how rocky a perch that was about to be.

“Blood and ashes! Filled with regrets, were you? Wished you’d gotten that cuddle after all?”

Ilyena did not look at him. “You talk too much. Just do it.”

He slapped her pale ass cheek, not hard, but enough to make her hiss in a breath. “Fine by me.”

But when he touched the head of his cock to the still dry lips of her pussy, Ilyena shifted away. “Not there. The other hole.”

“Seriously? It’s so dry in here, and there, and I didn’t bring anything to make it otherwise.”

“Are you really this much of a stammerer, Cauthon? I thought you were the famous seducer, the wicked cad? Perhaps I should find a man with a bit more iron in his rod.”

“Oh, now you’ve done it,” Mat growled. “You want it raw? Then you’ll get it raw!”

So saying, he pressed his tip against her driest, tightest hole, and started to push forward. Ilyena took it in relative silence, with only the occasional low hiss to tell of any discomfort. Even when he popped past her outer ring, and drove deeper into her incredibly tight little ass, all she did was grip the crate she leant over even tighter.

Still scarcely believing what was happening, Mat gripped the Accepted by her slender hips and began pounding away at her ass. He reached around to play with her pussy, but she pushed his hand away. An assfucking was what she wanted, and only that. Not for the first time, he wished he understood women as well as Rand or Perrin did. Though he thought even they might have looked askance at Ilyena.

But if she wanted to have her tight little ass pounded raw, who was he to argue. Give the girls what they want, that was Mat’s policy. So he gave Ilyena what she wanted, and fucked that dry little hole of hers as hard as he could.

He didn’t try to draw it out, and the way she cursed at him and urged him on told him she didn’t really want him to anyway.

“Spank me,” she gasped once, when they were well into it. Mat obliged her there, too, his hand cracking across her cheeks again and again as his cock thrust in and out of her.

With her ass gripping him so tightly, and her cheeks quivering under his hand, it wasn’t long before Mat felt his climax building. He didn’t try to resist it, just fucked Ilyena all the harder. A few last, especially hard thrusts, and he came inside her, spurting deep inside her dirty little hole.

“Blood and ashes, that’s a tight fit,” he groaned.

Ilyena was breathing heavily by then, with only the folded hands on which her forehead rested keeping her face clear of the splintered crate. “Are you done? Then get off me.”

Mat blew out a breath, and did as she said. “Are all Volsuni as cold-blooded as you?”

“You don’t know what you are talking about!” she snapped. Her skirts fell down to hide her hips and legs from his view, and she crouched long enough to snatch up her underwear.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Mat muttered. “Not for me running my mouth, or for you being hard to understand, I bet.”

She considered that, and nodded. “I doubt it will be the last either. Go get whatever you came here to get, Cauthon. What I was looking for, I did not find.”

Ilyena walked away from him, moving stiffly on account of the pounding her sweet little ass had just taken. He watched her go, while slowly shaking his head. Women were very strange. Only when she’d passed beyond the broken door did he turn his attention back to the Great Hold.

What he sought stood out among the jumble. A tall redstone doorframe, looming oddly in the shadows cast by his retrieved lamp. When he came closer, it still looked odd. Twisted, somehow. His eye did not want to follow it around; the corners did not join right. The tall hollow rectangle seemed likely to fall over at a breath, but when he gave it an experimental push, it stood steady. He pushed a bit harder, not sure he did not want to heave the thing over, and that side of it scraped through the dust. Goose bumps ran down his arms. There might as well have been a wire fastened to the top, suspending it from the ceiling. He held the lamp up to see. There was no wire.  _ At least it won’t topple while I’m inside. Light, I am going inside, aren’t I? _

A clutter of figurines and small things wrapped in rotting cloth occupied the top of a tall, upended barrel near him. He pushed the jumble to one side so he could set the lamp there, and studied the doorway. The  _ ter’angreal _ . If Nynaeve knew what she was talking about. She probably did; no doubt she had learned all sorts of strange things in the Tower, however much she denied.  _ She would deny things, wouldn’t she now. Learning to be Aes Sedai. She didn’t deny this though, now did she? _ If he squinted, it just looked like a stone doorframe, dully polished and the duller for dust. Just a plain doorframe. Well, not entirely plain. Three sinuous lines carved deep in the stone ran down each upright from top to bottom. He had seen fancier on farmhouses. He would probably step through and find himself still in this dusty room.

_ Won’t know till I try, will I? Luck! _ Taking a deep breath—and coughing from the dust—he put his foot through.

He seemed to be stepping through a sheet of brilliant white light, infinitely bright, infinitely thick. For a moment that lasted forever, he was blind; a roaring filled his ears, all the sounds of the world gathered together at once. For just the length of one measureless step.

Stumbling another pace, he stared around in amazement. The  _ ter’angreal _ was still there, but this was certainly not where he had started. The twisted stone doorframe stood in the centre of a round hall with a ceiling so high it was lost in shadows, surrounded by strange spiralled yellow columns snaking up into the gloom, like huge vines twining ’round poles that had been taken away. A soft light came from glowing spheres atop coiled stands of some white metal. Not silver; the shine was too dull for that. And no hint of what made the glow; it did not look like flame; the spheres simply shone. The floor tiles spiralled out in white and yellow stripes from the  _ ter’angreal _ . There was a heavy scent in the air, sharp and dry and not particularly pleasant. He almost turned around and went back on the spot.

“A long time.”

He jumped, a knife coming into his hand, and peered among the columns for the source of the breathy voice that pronounced those words so harshly.

“A long time, yet the seekers come again for answers. The questioners come once more.” A shape moved, back among the columns; a man, Mat thought. “Good. You have brought no lamps, no torches, as the agreement was, and is, and ever will be. You have no iron? No instruments of music?” The figure stepped out, tall, barefoot, arms and legs and body wound about in layers of yellow cloth, and Mat was suddenly not so sure if it was a man. Or human. It looked human, at first glance though perhaps too graceful, but it seemed far too thin for its height, with a narrow, elongated face. Its skin, and even its straight black hair, caught the pale light in a way that reminded him of a snake’s scales. And those eyes, the pupils just black, vertical slits. No, not human. “Iron. Instruments of music. You have none?”

Mat wondered what it thought the knife was; it certainly did not seem concerned over it. Well, the blade was good steel, not iron. “No. No iron, and no instruments of—Why—?” He cut off sharply. Three questions, Nynaeve had said. He was not about to waste one on “iron” or “instruments of music”.  _ Why should he care if I have a dozen musicians in my pocket and a smithy on my back? _ “I have come here for true answers. If you are not the one to give them, take me to who can.”

The man—it was male at least, Mat decided—smiled slightly. He did not show any teeth. “According to the agreement. Come.” He beckoned with one long-fingered hand. “Follow.”

Mat made the knife disappear up his sleeve. “Lead, and I will follow.”  _ Just you keep ahead of me and in plain sight. This place makes my skin crawl _ .

There was not a straight line to be seen anywhere except for the floor itself, as he trailed the strange man. Even the ceiling was always arched, and the walls bowed out. The halls were continuously curved, the doorways rounded, the windows perfect circles. Tilework made spirals and sinuous lines, and what seemed to be bronze metalwork set in the ceiling at intervals was all complicated scrolls. There were no pictures of anything, no wall hangings or paintings. Only patterns, and always curves.

He saw no-one except his silent guide; he could have believed the place empty except for the two of them. From somewhere he had a dim memory of walking halls that had not known a human foot in hundreds of years, and this felt the same. Yet sometimes he caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye. Only, however quickly he turned, there was never anyone there. He pretended to rub his forearms, checking the knives up his coatsleeves for reassurance.

What he saw through those round windows was even worse. Tall wispy trees with only a drooping umbrella of branches at the top, and others like huge fans of lacy leaves, a tangle of growth equal to the heart of any briar-choked thicket, all under a dim, overcast light, though there did not seem to be a cloud in the sky. There were always windows, always along just one side of the curving corridor, but sometimes the side changed, and what surely should have been looking into courtyard or rooms instead gave out into that forest. He never caught as much as a glimpse of any other part of this palace, or whatever it was, through those windows, or any other building, except ...

Through one circular window he saw three tall silvery spires, curving in toward each other so their points all aimed at the same spot. They were not visible from the next window, three paces away, but a few minutes later, after he and his guide had rounded enough curves that he had to be looking in another direction, he saw them again. He tried telling himself these were three different spires, but between them and him was one of those fan-shaped trees with a dangling broken branch, a tree that had been in the same spot the first time. After his third sight of the spires and the strange tree with the broken branch, this time ten paces farther on but on the other side of the hallway, he tried to stop looking at what lay outside at all.

The walk seemed interminable.

“When—? Are—?” Mat ground his teeth. Three questions. It was hard to learn anything without asking questions. “I hope you are taking me to those who can answer my questions. Burn my bones, I do. For my sake and yours, the Light know it true.”

“Here,” the peculiar, yellow-wrapped fellow said, gesturing with one of those thin hands to a rounded doorway twice as large as any Mat had seen before. His strange eyes studied Mat intently. His mouth gaped open, and he inhaled, long and slow. Mat frowned at him, and the stranger gave a writhing hitch of his shoulders. “Here your answers may be found. Enter. Enter and ask.”

Mat drew a deep breath of his own, then grimaced and scrubbed at his nose. That sharp, heavy smell was a rank nuisance. He took a hesitant step toward the tall doorway, and looked around for his guide again. The fellow was gone.  _ Light! I don’t know why anything in this place surprises me now. Well, I will be burned if I’ll turn back now _ . Trying not to think of whether he could find the  _ ter’angreal _ again on his own, he went in.

It was another round room, with spiralling floor tiles in red and white under a domed ceiling. It had no columns, or furnishings of any kind, except for three thick, coiled pedestals around the heart of the floor’s spirals. Mat could see no way to reach the top of them except by climbing the twists, yet a man like his guide sat cross-legged atop each, only wrapped in layers of red. Not all men, he decided at a second look; two of those long faces with the odd eyes had a definite feminine cast. They stared at him, intense penetrating stares, and breathed deeply, almost panting. He wondered if he made them nervous in some way.  _ Not much bloody chance of that. But they’re certainly getting under my coat _ .

“It has been long,” the woman on the right said.

“Very long,” the woman on the left added.

The man nodded. “Yet they come again.”

All three had the breathy voice of the guide—almost indistinguishable from it, in fact—and the harsh way of pronouncing words. They spoke in unison, and the words might as well have come from one mouth. “Enter and ask, according to the agreement of old.”

If Mat had thought his skin crawled before, now he was sure it was writhing. He made himself go closer. Carefully—careful to say nothing that even sounded like a question—he laid the situation before them. The Aes Sedai, trying to control him. A  _ ta’veren _ pulling at him so he could hardly move. He saw no reason to give names, or mention that Rand was the Dragon Reborn. His first question—and the other two, for that matter—he had worked out before going down to the Great Hold. “How do I escape from Tear?” he asked finally.

Three sets of slitted eyes lifted from him—reluctantly, it seemed—and studied the air above his head. Finally the woman on the left said, “You must go to Rhuidean.”

As soon as she spoke their eyes all dropped to him again, and they leaned forward, breathing deeply again, but at that moment a bell tolled, a sonorous brazen sound that rolled through the room. They swayed upright, staring at one another, then at the air over Mat’s head again.

“He is another,” the woman on the left whispered. “The strain. The strain.”

“The savour,” the man said. “It has been long.”

“There is yet time,” the other woman told them. She sounded calm—they all did—but there was a sharpness to her voice when she turned back to Mat. “Ask. Ask.”

Mat glared up at them furiously.  _ Rhuidean? Light! _ That was somewhere out in the Waste, the Light and the Aiel knew where. That was about as much as he knew. In the Waste! Anger drove questions about how to get away from Aes Sedai and how to recover the lost parts of his memory right out his head. “Rhuidean!” he barked. “The Light burn my bones to ash if I want to go Rhuidean. And my blood on the ground if I will! Why should I? You are not answering my questions. You are supposed to answer, not hand me riddles!”

“If you do not go to Rhuidean,” the woman on the right said, “you will die.”

The bell tolled again, louder this time; Mat felt its tremor through his boots. The looks the three shared were plainly anxious. He opened his mouth, but they were only concerned with each other.

“The strain,” one of the women said hurriedly. “It is too great.”

“The savour of him,” the other woman said on her heels. “It has been so very long.”

Before she was done the man spoke. “The strain is too great. Too great. Ask. Ask!”

“Burn your soul for a craven heart,” Mat growled, “I will that! Why will I die if I do not go to Rhuidean? I very likely will die if I try. It makes no—”

The man cut him off and spoke hurriedly. “You will have sidestepped the thread of fate, left your fate to drift on the winds of time, and you will be killed by those who do not want that fate fulfilled. Now, go. You must go! Quickly!”

The yellow-clad guide was suddenly there at Mat’s side, tugging at his sleeve with those too-long hands.

Mat shook him off. “No! I will not go! You have led me from the questions I wanted to ask and given me senseless answers. You will not leave it there. What fate are you talking about? I will have one clear answer out of you, at least!”

A third time the bell sounded mournfully, and the entire room trembled.

“Go!” the man shouted. “You have had your answers. You must go before it is too late!” Abruptly a dozen of the yellow-clad men were around Mat, seeming to appear out of the air, trying to pull him toward the door. He fought with fists, elbows, knees. “What fate? Burn your hearts, what fate?” It was the room itself that pealed, the walls and floor quivering, nearly taking Mat and his attackers off their feet. “What fate?”

The three were on their feet atop the pedestals, and he could not tell which shrieked which answer.

“To marry the Daughter of the Nine Moons!”

“To die and live again, and live once more a part of what was!”

“To give up half the light of the world to save the world!”

Together they howled like steam escaping under pressure. “Go to Rhuidean, son of battles! Go to Rhuidean, trickster! Go, gambler! Go!”

Mat’s assailants snatched him into the air by his arms and legs and ran, holding him over their heads. “Unhand me, you white-livered sons of goats!” he shouted, struggling. “Burn your eyes! The Shadow take your souls, loose me! I will have your guts for a saddle girth!” But writhe and curse as he would, those long fingers gripped like iron.

Twice more the bell tolled, or the palace did. Everything shook as in an earthquake; the walls rang with deafening reverberations, each louder than the last. Mat’s captors stumbled on, nearly falling but never stopping their pell-mell race. He did not even see where they were taking him until they suddenly stopped short, heaving him into the air. Then he saw the twisted doorway, the  _ ter’angreal _ , as he flew toward it.

White light blinded him; the roar filled his head till it drove thought away.

He fell heavily onto a dusty floor in dim light and rolled up against the barrel holding his lamp in the Great Hold. The barrel rocked, packets and figurines toppling to the floor in a crash of breaking stone and ivory and porcelain. Bounding to his feet, he threw himself back at the stone doorframe. “Burn you, you can’t throw me—!”

He hurtled through—and stumbled against the crates and barrels on the other side. Without a pause, he turned and leaped at it again. With the same result. This time he caught himself on the barrel holding his lamp, which nearly fell onto the already shattered things littering the floor under his boots. He grabbed it in time, burning his hand, and fumbled it back to a steadier perch.

_ Burn me if I want to be down here in the dark _ , he thought, sucking his fingers.  _ Light, the way my luck is running, it probably would have started a fire and I’d have burned to death! _

He glared at the  _ ter’angreal _ . Why was it not working? Maybe the folk on the other side had shut it off somehow. He understood practically nothing of what had happened. That bell, and their panic. You would have thought they were afraid the roof would come down on their heads. Come to think of it, it very nearly had. And Rhuidean, and all the rest of it. The Waste was bad enough, but they said he was fated to marry somebody called the Daughter of the Nine Moons. Marry! And to a noblewoman by the sound of it. He would sooner marry a pig than a noblewoman. And that business about dying and living again.  _ Nice of them to add the last bit! _ If some black-veiled Aielman killed him on the way to Rhuidean, he would find out how true it was. It was all nonsense, and he did not believe a word of it. Only ... The bloody doorway had taken him somewhere, and they had only wanted to answer three questions, just the way Nynaeve had said.

“I won’t marry any bloody noblewoman!” he told the  _ ter’angreal _ . “I’ll marry when I’m too old to have any fun, that’s what! Rhuidean my bloody—!”

A boot appeared, backing out of the twisted stone doorway, followed by the rest of Rand, with that fiery sword in his hands. The blade vanished as he stepped clear, and he heaved a sigh of relief. Even in the dim light, Mat could see he was troubled, though. He gave a start when he saw Mat. “Just poking around, Mat? Or did you go through, too?”

Mat eyed him warily for a moment. At least that sword was gone. He did not seem to be channelling—though how was anybody to tell?—and he did not look particularly like a madman. In fact, he looked very much as Mat remembered, but for the fancy red coat. He had to remind himself they were not back home any longer, and Rand was not what he remembered. “Oh, I went through, alright. A bunch of bloody liars, if you ask me! What are they? Made me think of snakes.”

“Not liars, I think.” Rand sounded as if he wished they were. “No, not that. They were afraid of me, right from the first. And when that tolling started ... The sword kept them back; they wouldn’t even look at it. Shied away. Hid their eyes. Did you get your answers?”

“Nothing that makes sense,” Mat muttered. “What about you?”

Suddenly Moiraine appeared from the  _ ter’angreal _ , seeming to step gracefully out of thin air, flowing out. She would be a fine one to dance with if she were not Aes Sedai. Her mouth tightened at the sight of them.

“You! You were both in there. That is why ...!” She made a vexed hiss. “One of you would have been bad enough, but two  _ ta’veren _ at once—you might have torn the connection entirely and been trapped there. Wretched boys playing with things you do not know the danger of.”

That Moraine was angry there was no doubt. The blood had drained out of her cheeks, and her eyes were dark augers boring into Rand. “At least you escaped with your lives. Who told you of this? Which one of them? I will make her wish I had peeled off her hide like a glove.”

“A book told me,” Rand said calmly. He sat down on the edge of a crate that creaked alarmingly under his weight and crossed his arms. All very cool; Mat wished he could emulate it. “A pair of books, in fact.  _ Treasures of the Stone _ and  _ Dealings with the Territory of Mayene _ . Surprising what you can dig out of books if you read long enough, isn’t it?”

“And you?” She shifted that drilling gaze to Mat. “Did you read it in a book, too? You?”

“I do read sometimes,” he said dryly. He would not have been averse to a little hide-peeling for Nynaeve or Elayne after what they had done to him after he freed him from that cell, yet it was more fun to tweak Moiraine’s nose. “ _ Treasures _ .  _ Dealings _ . Lots of things in books.” Luckily, she did not insist that he repeat the titles; he had not paid attention once Rand brought up books.

Instead she swung back to Rand. “And your answers?”

“Are mine,” Rand replied, then frowned. “It wasn’t easy, though. They brought a ... woman ... to interpret, but she talked like an old book. I could hardly understand some of the words. I never considered they might speak another language.”

“The Old Tongue,” Moiraine told him. “They use the Old Tongue—a rather harsh dialect of it—for their dealings with humans. And you, Mat? Was your interpreter easily understood?”

He had to work moisture back into his mouth. “The Old Tongue? Is that what it was? They didn’t give me one. In fact, I never got to ask any questions. That bell started shaking the walls down, and they hustled me out like I was tracking cow manure on the rugs.” She was still staring, her eyes still digging into his head. She knew about the Old Tongue slipping out of him, sometimes.  _ Bloody woman! I’ll wager she was noble born _ . “I ... almost understood a word here and there, but not to know it. You and Rand got answers. What do they get out of it? The snakes with legs. We aren’t going upstairs to find ten years gone, are we, like Bili in the story?”

“Sensations,” Moiraine replied with a grimace. “Sensations, emotions, experiences. The rummage through them; you can feel them doing it, making your skin crawl. Perhaps they feed on them in some manner. The Aes Sedai who studied this  _ ter’angreal _ when it was in Mayene wrote of a strong desire to bathe afterward. I certainly intend to.”

“But their answers are true?” Rand said as she started to turn away. “You are sure of it? The books implied as much, but can they really give true answers about the future?”

“The answers are true,” Moiraine said slowly, “so long as they are in regard to your own future. That much is certain.” She watched Rand, and himself, weighing the effect of her words. “As to how, though, there is only speculation. That world is ... folded ... in strange ways. I cannot be clearer. It may be that that allows them to read the thread of a human life, read the various ways it may yet be woven into the Pattern. Or perhaps it is a talent of the people. The answers are often obscure however. If you need help working out what yours mean, I offer my services.” Her eyes flickered from one of them to the other, and Mat nearly swore. She did not believe him about no answers. Unless it was simply general Aes Sedai suspicion.

Rand gave her a slow smile. “And will you tell me what you asked, and what they answered?” For answer, she returned a level, searching look, then started for the door. A small ball of light, as bright as a lantern, was suddenly floating ahead of her, illuminating her way.

Mat knew he should leave it alone, now. Just let her go and hope she forgot he had ever been down here. But a knot of anger still burned inside him. All those ridiculous things they had said. Well, maybe they were true, if Moiraine said so, but he wanted to grab those fellows by the collar, or whatever passed for a collar in those wrappings, and make them explain a few things.

“Why can’t you go there twice, Moiraine?” he called after her. “Why not?” He very nearly asked why they worried about iron and musical instruments, too, and bit his tongue. He could not know about those if he had not understood what they were saying.

She paused at the door to the hall, and it was impossible to see if she was looking at the  _ ter’angreal _ or at Rand. “If I knew everything, Matrim, I would not need to ask questions.” She peered into the room a moment longer—she  _ was _ staring at Rand—then glided away without another word.

For a time Mat and Rand looked at each other in silence. “Did you find out what you wanted?” Rand asked finally.

“Did you?”

A bright flame leaped into existence, balanced above Rand’s palm. Not the smooth glowing sphere of the Aes Sedai, but a rough blaze like a torch. As Rand moved to leave, Mat added another question. “Are you going to declare war on Illian tomorrow, like they say?” He wasn’t sure what he thought about that. Sammael had to be killed, obviously. To avenge Bayle, and just for being Sammael. But it was beyond weird to think of Rand declaring a war.

“I must do what I have to, or the Theren and everything else will fall, and to worse than the Seanchan,” Rand replied in a pained voice. Mat stood watching the light of that flame fade away down the hall, until he remembered where he was. Then he snatched up his lamp and hurried out.  _ Rhuidean! Light, what am I going to do? _


	42. Into the Darkness

CHAPTER 39: Into the Darkness

He sought out Raine before he went to bed that night, but not for the reason he would usually have sought her. It was the Maidens of the Spear who directed him. They often did, come to think of it, as if they made it their business to know where everyone was in the Stone. He’d often noticed them waggling their fingers at each other in what, after some consideration, he’d decided must be a sort of secret language, like the whistles that hunters or sentries often used when they didn’t want to give themselves away by speaking. His one and only request to be shown how that language worked had been very firmly refused.

Raine, it turned out, was having supper with Ayla and Lidya in the corner of a mess hall when Branwen led him down to see her. She saw him coming, of course. It was hard to surprise one of the wolfkin. But she didn’t break off her conversation as he wended his way through the tables and benches, past Defenders and servants, all of whom watched him warily. Whether those looks were more wary than they had been, or less, he could not say.

“I do not know what you see in her. She is so bizarre,” Nici said, while pouting in Raine’s direction.

He’d gotten so used to her rudeness that it didn’t even bother him anymore. “She’s brave and loyal and sweet. And we’re all bizarre in our own way,” he sighed.

“Okay, fine. But that does not make her any less bizarre,” she said. Then she frowned. “How are you bizarre?”

He stared at the young Maiden walking along beside him, searching for some sign that she was joking. What about him wasn’t bizarre? But Nici just looked at him with what he came to realise was genuine bewilderment.

“Well, I guess opinions will vary,” he ended up saying. He certainly couldn’t tell her what he intended to do tonight, though that would surely have changed her view of him. Elayne was busy preparing for her departure tomorrow, so that just left Raine to get out of the way.

“You are short, but I have heard you may actually be stronger than you look,” Ayla was saying when he drew close to their table. She and Lidya perched on the bench opposite Raine, looked rather uncomfortable, as Aiel usually did when sitting on anything but the floor. “Perhaps we can hunt together someday.”

“She fights well enough, for a wetlander,” Lidya said with a nod of respect. “Many Trollocs fell to her knives last night. No Shadowmen, however.”

Raine frowned at the food on her plate, her fork stilled. “Did my best. Foolish to challenge Neverborn alone.”

Shadowmen and Neverborn were two more of the many names by which people referred to the Myrddraal, Rand had come to realise. He was glad Raine had the sense not to tangle with one of those unless she had no other choice, but Ayla didn’t seem to agree. “Ha! Another milk drinker crying about her effort. Glory only awaits those who triumph. And as Aiel, our glory must always be hard-fought.”

The three women looked at Rand then, as he came to stand over their table, and he was hard tempted to say something about Moridin. If Ayla was going to try to embarrass Raine for doing the sensible thing, then giving her a taste of her own medicine seemed right to him. Or part of him. The kinder part won out, however, and he swallowed his planned rebuke. What he said instead was, “I was wondering if you could do me a favour, Raine. There are a lot of people I’m going to need to speak to tomorrow, to organise things, but I don’t fancy running all over the Stone looking for them. Would you mind hunting them down for me now, and passing on the message? I want to meet them halfway between Morn and High, so we can get things sorted before I speak to the High Nobles.”

She set down her fork immediately. “Of course. Name them, Shadowkiller. They will not escape me.”

He had to smile. “It’s no rush. Finish your meal first. And it’s just a simple message. I don’t think you’ll need to chase or ambush anyone.”

Branwen and the other Maidens started laughing so hard that the Tairens in the room were soon looking concerned. No doubt for the women’s sanity. Rand couldn’t blame them. He didn’t think the situation anywhere near amusing enough to merit the kind of thigh-slapping that the Aiel were doing. He exchanged confused looks with Raine, before deciding to ignore the Aiel and just get on with what he’d came there for.

Raine had finished her meal by the time he’d detailed his task to her, and she left the mess hall with him when he departed. They soon went their separate ways, however, so Rand took himself back to his rooms. It should take her a while to find them all, so it would be late before she got to bed that night. Too late for her dreams to overlap with his, he hoped.

Zofia was already finishing up her paperwork, and would soon be seeking her own bed, so it was with Urien and the rest of the guards at his door that he left orders not to be disturbed. They couldn’t have helped him with this fight anyway.

He was grim-faced as he stripped for bed, riddled with uncertainty. The risks were great. The danger she posed could not be underestimated. And the act itself ... the immorality of it. He told himself that it was no different than what he’d done on the  _ Liberty _ , but that didn’t do anything to calm his stomach, or silence the disgusted rebukes his own mind kept throwing at him.

As worked up as he was, it was some time before Rand was able to make himself sleep that night. But sleep he did. Sleep, and dream.

He wandered the darkness for some time, stumbling blindly, fumbling his way through scattered trees and cold rocks towards an unknown destination, before he realised he was lost. It was longer still before he realised where he was, not just that he was back on Kinslayer’s Dagger, but that he was dreaming. Awareness came to him with that realisation, as was the way of  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , and he stopped dead in his tracks.

_ Wandering does no good here. Or anywhere _ .

There was something he had to do. But how best to do it still remained an open question. Thinking of her, and of their past, caused the world to shift around him. One moment he was lost in the dark woods, and the next he was standing on a rocky precipice overlooking a mountain pass. He shivered, and not just from the chill of the night air. They’d met here before, in what had seemed like simpler times, when he’d stolen the Horn of Valere back from Padan Fain. He could not have found this place again in the real world, not even if his life had depended on it, but simply thinking of her was enough to bring him back here in the World of Dreams.

_ I can’t let her control me. And I can’t risk angering her either _ . He’d never done anything like this before. It was such a thin line to try to tread. A misstep, on either side, could mean disaster.

Rand was still planning when a melodious voice from behind sent a shiver down his back.

“Feeling sentimental, Lews Therin?”

He took a slow, deep breath, and schooled his face as carefully as possible before he turned to look at Lanfear. As ever, she was clad in a white dress, the colouring a match for her skin and a beautiful contrast against her midnight tresses and her huge, black eyes. The moonlight that bathed the rocky escarpment atop which he balanced suited her well. The moon was on her silver belt as well, and the stars were her earrings. Looking at her, a stanza of  _ The Karaethon Cycle _ ran through his mind.

_ The end is the beginning, and the beginning brings the end. _

_ The second cycle of the moon stills all breath. _

_ The seas will tower as the mountains crumble, the beasts will howl as man grows still. _

_ Among the stars lies our doom, his loss and his love _ .

He had no idea what it meant. But looking at her now, and recalling it, he feared he was about to make a terrible mistake.

He had stared in silence for too long. She was growing annoyed. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “The moon loves you. You are beautiful in its light.”

Lanfear smiled, well pleased by his flattery. Or his truth, more accurately. Whatever else she was, she was very nice to look at. “It is not the moon’s love that I want ...”

He looked away, mind racing. “I can’t give you that. You are my enemy ...”

She made a vexed sound. “Do not make simple what is complex. We are bound together by eternity, you and I. Friends and enemies? What childish notions. Untold centuries have passed since we first met, Lews Therin, yet here we stand. Together. On the cusp of our glory. The breadth of an Age is still not enough to encompass our love. You know this. You must!”

Her insistence brought his eyes back to hers. What was it that made them shine so? Madness? Desperation? Love, hate, lust, cunning? He did not know. “There is ... something there. I know,” he sighed. He didn’t have to pretend his reluctance to admit that. Or the annoyance that made him toss his head. “I shouldn’t have said that. You are Forsaken, like all the rest. Do you know that Moridin is dead? I killed him.”

“We are not all the same,” Lanfear insisted. “Do you liken me to that fanatic, or expect me to lament his passing? You did well to kill him. I look forward to reporting his fate to the others.”

Rand bit his lower lip, and marked the way she watched him do it. “You aren’t ... the same as them,” he admitted. It was what she wanted to hear, but it was also—as much as he hated to admit it—a bit true. She was a monster, and quite probably mad, but she was ... different. That couldn’t be denied. “I can’t imagine that any of the other Forsaken are anything like you.”

“They are not,” she said immediately. “Many of them wish to be, but none can match my power, my skill ... or my beauty.”

“I can believe it,” he said. Though he kept his eyes downcast, he saw how pleased she was to hear him say that.

“None can match me, but that is not to say that they are all as unreasonable as Moridin,” she said, drawing closer. “I do not like to risk exposure, but there is a way I might help you. Perhaps.”

“I need all the help I can get,” Rand admitted.

Lanfear was close enough now to put her hand on his face, and turn it towards her. “Even mine?”

He swallowed. Her fingers were, if anything, colder than the night air. “Especially yours ...” he made himself say breathily.

The Forsaken put her hand behind his head, her grip tight. She pulled him down towards her insistently, and Rand ... Rand let her. It took an effort of pure will to make himself relax enough to let Lanfear guide his lips to hers, and an even greater effort to make himself return her kiss. Despite her beauty, he felt little to no pleasure at that caress. His mind was too busy, his heart too full of the fear that she might influence him somehow. All his will was focused on controlling himself, and ensuring that he remained always as he—and only he!—wanted himself to be.

He wasn’t sure if her growing insistence came of her realising his reluctance, or if she was enjoying it more than him, but he responded as he knew he must. Firming his lips, and focusing on his performance, Rand put his arms around Lanfear, and pulled her close. The large, firm globes of her chest were squashed against his chest in a way that, even knowing who she was and focusing so hard on remaining in control, he couldn’t help but respond to. He felt her smile against his lips when her hip, pressed against his crotch as it was, detected his reaction.

There was no way to tell, but he still somehow knew it when it happened. Her will pressed against his, demanding. What she demanded, he could not say. No more than he could be sure he would have noticed it at all if he hadn’t been concentrating so hard. She might have been trying to undress him, or she might have been trying to do something far more profoundly damaging. Whatever the truth, Rand decided to take matters into his own hands. Maybe he was giving her what she wanted, or maybe he was just trying to distract her. Either way, it was the best option available to him.

His own will, the sliver of it he allowed to tendril out of the hard defensive ball in which he was imagining himself, stripped him to his skin there in that dark, moonlit place, while standing in the arms of the Forsaken. Naked, chilled, and more frightened than he would ever have admitted, he tangled his hands in Lanfear’s silky hair. There was another thing he would never have admitted, had anyone who knew him thought to ask. He was a lot harder than he ever thought she could have made him.

Lanfear broke their kiss when her roving hands touched flesh where they had expected to find cloth. Whatever she had been trying to do, she stopped, the invisible press of her will against his ending abruptly. Her smile was triumphant.

“You could not resist me, not matter how hard you tried. I knew it. Even when that straw-haired chit stole you from me, I knew you still loved me.”

Concerned, he searched her wild, black eyes, wondering if she meant Elayne, or Lews Therin Telamon’s long dead wife. She was dangerous to him, but perhaps even more dangerous to any woman she fought he might be in love with. She wasn’t stupid either. Mad perhaps, but not stupid. He saw the concern in his eyes become reflected in hers, and swiftly moved to distract her.

“Who couldn’t? Just look at you,” he whispered, as his fingers combed softly through the little hairs at the nape of her neck. “Or what little of you I can see ...”

Lanfear smiled. “Desperate to see more, are you? Could your heart handle the strain? I will make you mine, but I would prefer not to break you.”

“Try me,” Rand said softly.

Her smile widened, and she spread her arms, palms outwards as though in revelation. And what a revelation it was. She did not strip. Her clothes simply evaporated into nothingness. Lanfear stood before him in the moonlight, as utterly naked as she was utterly confident. Posed and poised, she had one foot behind the other, and her knee slightly bent. Her shoulders were pushed back, her bountiful chest pushed forward. Down beneath those spectacular globes was a waist so tiny that it beggared belief, one that made her flaring hips look even rounder than they were. He was surprised to see that her sex she was smoothly hairless. He’d never seen a grown woman of whom that could be said, and wondered briefly if it was natural, or if she shaved herself the way he did his face. Only moonshadow hid her dimpled pussy from his view, shrouding it in darkness.

That was a darkness into which he knew he would have to venture this night, if he was to have any hope of victory. “I have to have you,” he grated.

She misunderstood his meaning, as he’d thought she would. “Yes. Yes you do.” Her cool hand closed around his hot shaft, and made it twitch. “You’ve gotten bigger than I remember.”

“I’m sure you have that effect on a lot of men,” he said. He took her in his arms again, and kissed her, his hands sliding down her back to squeeze her fleshy ass. Part of him was surprised at how normal she felt. Just a flesh and blood woman. Touching a Forsaken like this should feel different. His tongue should burn from caressing hers. His stomach should be roiling. His hands should be cut by the touch of her skin. Something. But all he felt was a growing desire for the beautiful, twisted woman in his arms, a desire that warred with the disgust he felt for her and for himself for being willing to do what he’d come here to do.

Now that he had her where he wanted her, Rand’s hands closed around Lanfear’s tiny waist. He picked her up easily, and she let him, laughing softly. Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she looked deep into his eyes. The arms she had already folded behind his neck were soon matched in kind by the legs she folded around his waist. Her hairless sex hovered above his straining cock, while Rand stamped down the last decent part of him, the one that screamed that this was wrong.  _ I do what I have to _ , he told it.  _ She’s just another client. I need her to cooperate, and this is the price of her cooperation _ .

That price came with a fiery heat, a healthy amount of hidden shame, and no small amount to pleasure, when he lowered Lanfear upon himself, and slid deep into her Forsaken pussy.

“Yeesss,” she breathed, smiling beatifically. “At last, you return to me, my love. Now it can all be as it was. Can’t it?”

He saw something strange in her eyes just then. A brittle desperation that cautioned him against saying anything but yes. So that was what he said. The way she smiled at him in response was a bit frightening. She bucked her hips against him, already more than wet enough to go hard. It felt nice, but not as much as he had expected. Part of that was no doubt how desperately he clung to the control Seana had cautioned. But part of it was her, too. Lanfear was not a young woman, despite her youthful appearance. She was centuries old. Millennia old, arguably. And not very tight. Rand made a mental note to never, ever tell her that.

“Let us make this as memorable as we can,” she purred as she writhed against him.

“It already is,” he flattered.

She chuckled richly. “My sweet young Dragon. You have not seen anything yet.”

Before he could ask what she meant, the ground sped away from them. The dark, stabbing trees and rocks that comprised Kinslayer’s Dagger—named for the man he’d been, and the crime he’d committed against this woman’s hated rival—receded into the gloom of memory, while the shining monster in his arms claimed what should not have been hers.

They flew, Rand and Lanfear. They flew through the night sky beneath a crescent moon that looked far too close for comfort. The wind streamed her midnight locks behind her, but the cold they should have felt was banished by her will. With that reminder of where they were, and the danger he was in, Rand stopped gaping at the rush of stars overhead, and focused on what he was doing. And with whom. As they flew, they spun slowly in place, so that it would have been hard to concentrate on anything but her even if Rand had wanted to. His hips moved, thrusting in and out of her at a steady pace, alive to any sign of what she enjoyed. Her pale breasts, made paler by the moonlight, flew freely before him in a spectacular display the sight of which woke a pleasure in him that he did not want to feel.

The situation was enough to take his breath, and the woman who’d arranged it was far from normal, but the rub of that Forsaken pussy on his cock was still stunning in his normalcy. What had he been imagining? Snakes in place of nipples? Teeth behind her lower lips as well? He didn’t know really. It was just that, in the vague worries that had beset him when he conceived this mad plan, he’d been sure that the Forsaken would do something a lot stranger than what she was currently doing. As it was, the wild rutting of Lanfear’s hips, which sped up with her mounting pleasure, was all so ... surprisingly human.

He matched his pace to hers, and squeezed her ass and breast for good measure, not sure which she would prefer but knowing he needed to please her. She sounded pleased, and looked it, too, as they fucked in midair. Was she taking them anywhere in particular? He decided it didn’t matter, not in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ .

For all that he’d been paying such close attention to her, it still happened suddenly, to Rand’s eyes. Lanfear’s slender neck corded, and her nails dug into his shoulders painfully. Her pussy clamped around his cock, and she screamed, “At last!” into the night sky. The Daughter of the Night, the Forsaken known as Lanfear, came hard upon Rand, and he let her, hating himself and trying not to let it show. Partially to hide his expression, and partially because it was what he suspected she’d want, he pulled Lanfear towards him, and lowered his face to take her nipple in his mouth. While the shudders of her orgasm ran through her, and soft moans escaped her lips, he suckled on that dark nipple. She took him by the head, and combed her fingers through his hair almost gently.

Even after she’d calmed, Lanfear still clung to him, enjoying the way he was nuzzling her. “You have always been mine,” he heard her whisper. “You will always be mine. No matter how many Ages stand between us.”

He considered agreeing with her. Not because it was remotely true, but because it was what she wanted to hear. Or might be. She’d said she liked how stubborn he was. Worry over what she did or did not want to hear was not what decided his words, though. What he needed from her did. “Maybe. There’s so much that’s still uncertain ...”

Lanfear jerked back, her post-orgasm lassitude forgotten. “Maybe? You still doubt!? I will teach you better!” Her legs uncoiled from around him, and Rand fell away from her, his still hard cock abruptly yanked from her warm sheath by the call of the earth far below. Down he plummeted, while a naked, irate Lanfear hovered above, glaring down at him, her breasts dangling below her and her inky hair blotting out the stars above. Down he went, and he knew he had to wake before he hit the ground, or he would never wake again.

He sat up abruptly, back in his bed in Tear, with a raging hardon tenting the sheets. Rand shuddered, though not from the temperature. Even with the sun long since set, Tear still felt warm to him. He’d done what he had to. He’d planted the seeds that needed planting. Now he had to hope they would sprout. The shame of it all still needled him. To let a Forsaken seduce him like that. Or to let her think she was seducing him, even. It wasn’t right. But what about being the Dragon Reborn could ever have been right. He’d broken the world once. And he was fated to do it again.

Rand was still stewing in his own misery when a bright line appeared in the dark just beyond his bed, and quickly expanded into a bright rectangle. Light that came from no lamp softly illuminated the palace on the other side of that by now familiar gateway, but he had eyes only for the woman who stood framed by it.

Lanfear stepped out of her room and into his as if she owned the place. Her hair was tousled, and her nipples strained visibly against the sheer silk of the white nightdress she was wearing. The light that spilled from her room into his was obviously enough to satisfy her, for the lamps sprung back to life of a sudden, their harsher glare showing plainly the heat that suffused her pale cheeks.

Rand suddenly found himself alone in his room with a very horny Forsaken. One who was devouring him with her eyes.

“I was hoping you’d come,” he said. And Light help him, he half meant it, too. Doing the kinds of things they’d just done in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ never satisfied the body, they just teased it. He was painfully hard, under those sheets.

Lanfear’s dark gaze fell on the evidence of that. “So I see,” she husked. Wasting no more time, she strode to his bed and whipped the sheets out of the way. The gateway disappeared behind her, leaving Rand to lament once more the fact that he hadn’t studied the gateway Be’lal had escaped through more carefully. If he could learn how to spin that weave, it would give him such an advantage ... But no matter how hard he tried, he could only recall part of the weave. He had been too drunk on  _ Callandor _ ’s power to pay proper attention to the rest.

And he was too drunk on lust to worry about it for too long just then. His bed shifted when Lanfear clambered onto it, the tricks of  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ no longer granting the wind’s grace to her movement. Her clothes, too, needed a more old-fashioned touch, one that Rand’s traitorous hands proved all too happy to help with. Together, they freed her stunning curves, which she hadn’t needed to exaggerate at all in the dream. Her pussy, however, had a light dusting of stubble upon it here in the real world. Beyond noting the oddity, he didn’t care about that. And if she did, it certainly didn’t show in the way she grabbed hold of his cock, threw her leg over his waist, and swiftly mounted him.

A long, loud moan of satisfaction shuddered out of Lanfear as she at last felt his cock inside her for real. There was little artistry in what she did now. Her mind was too clouded by pent up lust for that. Up and down she bounced, her eyes squeezed shut, and her hands kneading her own breasts. That didn’t prove enough to satisfy her, for she was soon pawing at Rand’s head, urging him to sit up, offering her nipple to his mouth. So she’d liked that, then. Good. He needed to know how to satisfy her, if he was to get her to work for him. He took the nipple she offered, and coiled his tongue around it, licking and sucking it as he caressed the large breast it tipped.

Lanfear came for the first time within minutes of entering his room. Whether it was a measure of his performance, a sign of how long she’d been alone, or just the result of having her obsession finally fulfilled, he did not know. It was flattering, though, that he could not deny.

Once wasn’t enough for her. Even while shaking her way through the orgasm, she never quite stopped bouncing. Flushed with wild lust, and what he did not for a moment think was love, she looked him in the eye as she rode him. “Come in me, my Dragon,” she whispered. “Come in me.”

Despite everything, Rand felt nowhere near ready to do that. Not with her. He wondered, briefly, if he might be able to fake it, before deciding not. A woman might manage that, but the evidence, or lack thereof, of a man’s climax was too noticeable. He had to do as she’d asked, though, otherwise it would raise too many questions in her mind. She needed to think she had him wrapped around her finger, or at least that there was a chance that her creepy obsession with his past incarnation had moved him to desire her rather than inspired him to want to run far, far away.

He rolled over, and put her on her back, her long legs spread before him. But while riding the Forsaken like that, his lips were too close to hers. She kept wanting to kiss him, which he was obliged to do or ruin his work. And kissing her was, he found, harder on his nerves that fucking her was. She enjoyed it, though. She came for the second time while clinging to him, her scream muffled by the way she bit into the muscle of his shoulder.

_ That’s going to leave a mark _ , Rand thought, his own teeth gritted in pain. He didn’t rebuke her, of course. But he did spin her over onto her belly, and yank her hips up until she was kneeling on her hands and knees before him. Those spectacular curves of hers were very pleasing on the eye, especially from his position. With his lust running high, he thought nothing of pushing her chest down or arching her back for her. Only when her ass was high in the air did he slam back home, her soaking wet pussy accepting him noisily.

“You dare treat me so? Me?” Lanfear moaned. The way she said it, and the way she was looking back at him, told him that she wasn’t anywhere near as appalled by his daring as she’d expected.

“You’re bloody right I dare,” he heard himself say. “You can’t flash an ass like that at a man and expect him not to want to fuck you hard.”

Lanfear hissed in a breath, but not in outrage. “Then do it, Lews Therin. Fuck me! Make me yours again!” He did. Light help him, but he did. The Forsaken’s ass shuddered each time his hips slammed up against it. And they slammed often. He ravaged that wicked, Darkfriend bitch with a wildness he hadn’t known was in him. An anger. A hate? He was so consumed by that angry lust that he barely heard her final whisper. “Make me whole.”

He rode Lanfear long and hard, no longer trying to please her. If she came again, he didn’t notice. He was only vaguely conscious of how little elegance remained in her as she knelt there, flushed and sweaty, letting him ravage her pussy so roughly. The self-control he’d needed in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ was unnecessary here, and Rand found himself cutting lose in a way he hadn’t expected. He fucked the Forsaken hard. And, when he felt himself tensing, ready to come, he hilted inside her and shot rope after rope of come into her evil womb.

When he was done, he pulled his soiled sex out of hers and collapsed on the giant bed. It was a struggle to catch his breath, and to gather his wits.

Lanfear, too, was far from at her best. She fell to her side, and moved, half a stretch and half a squirm. “That ... It’s never been like that before ...” she said between gasps. “You ... have changed ...”

_ Burn me. I have _ , he admitted, if only to himself. He could easily recall a time when doing something like this would have been unthinkable. And that enjoying it—actually enjoying it!—would have been impossible. What had he become?


	43. Assignments

CHAPTER 40: Assignments

Lanfear had not stayed the night, to his relief. Her leaving did not free Rand of the memories of what he’d done, of course, and those memories haunted him all throughout the next morning.

Raine was waiting for him by Zofia’s desk when he emerged, neatly dressed and freshly shaved, from his room. Zofia was wearing brown, in the style of a Tairen commoner, neat and clean but unadorned, while Raine had brought out the pretty green riding dress she’d bought herself with his money. There was an assumption behind that. An accurate assumption. The two women were chatting amiably, and Rand was glad to see that Raine was having an easier time socialising these days. When he’d met her she’d been a woman of few words, and those few often full of self-loathing. This was a marked improvement.

She didn’t wait for his greeting, but burst out with her report. “I told everyone you wanted me to tell. They say they’ll be there ... Or almost all of them will, anyway. Mat won’t come. And he tried to flirt with me, by the way. He is not loyal to the pack leader. The Ogier said he couldn’t come either. Wants to get everything about Moridin written while it’s still fresh in his memory.”

Rand smiled wryly. “That sounds just like them.” Mat was probably a lost cause by now. He was very intent on distancing himself from Rand, and who was to say he was wrong to do so? Raine and the others would probably be smart to take his example, in fact. It hurt to lose him, given how long—and how well—they’d known each other, but Rand refused to be so selfish as to try to make him change his mind. He was better off this way. Loial, though ... “I’ll go talk to Loial before heading down to the hall. I’ll meet you both there.”

Zofia’s brows rose. “Both of us? Do you mean me?”

“I do. Your service has been exemplary, and I’ve come to rely on you. Unless you’d like to end your employment—which you are perfectly free to do—I want you there for the meeting, so you can hear what I’ll want from you in the future.”

A smile was trying to break out on her stern face. “I hope that I can continue to impress you, my Lord Dragon, and that you will be even more satisfied with my future services. I will finish up here, and accompany Raine to the meeting.”

He left them there, and went to do as he’d said, trailed by Urien’s Aiel and a contingent of Defenders led by an unknown captain. That was of no account. He’d speak to Doncari later.

The door to Loial’s room was six feet across and more than twice that high, with an overlarge door handle in the shape of entwined vines level with Rand’s head. The Stone had a number of rarely used Ogier guest rooms; the Stone of Tear predated even the age of great Ogier stoneworks, but it was a point of prestige to use Ogier stonemasons, at least from time to time. Rand knocked and at the call of “Come in,” in a voice like a slow avalanche, lifted the handle and complied, leaving his guards outside.

The room was on a scale with the door in every dimension, yet Loial, standing in the middle of the leaf-patterned carpet in his shirtsleeves, a long pipe in his teeth, reduced it all to seemingly normal size. When he grinned around his pipestem at the sight of Rand, it split his face in half.

“Good morning, Rand,” he rumbled, removing the pipe. “You slept well? Not easy, after all that’s happened lately. Myself, I have been up half the night, writing it all down.” He had a pen in his other hand, and ink stains on his sausage-thick fingers.

Books lay everywhere, on Ogier-sized chairs and the huge bed and the table that stood as high as Rand’s chest. That was no surprise, but what was a little startling was the flowers. Flowers of every sort, in every colour. Vases of flowers, baskets of them, posies tied with ribbon or even string, great woven banks of flowers standing about like lengths of garden wall. Rand had certainly never seen the like inside a room. Their scent filled the air. Yet what really caught his eye was the swollen knot on Loial’s head, the size of a man’s fist, and the heavy limp in Loial’s walk.

“You were injured, Loial? Moiraine could Heal you. I’m sure she will.”

“Oh, I can get around with no trouble. And there were so many who truly needed her help. I would not want to bother her. It certainly is not enough to hamper me in my work.” Loial glanced at the table where a large cloth-bound book—large for Rand, but it would fit in one of the Ogier’s coat pockets—lay open beside an uncorked ink bottle. “I hope I wrote it all down correctly. I did not see very much last night until it was done. Now that you’re here, though, we can do a little interview.”

Rand tried to hide his wince. “I’d love to but I can’t. There’s a meeting I need to get to.”

Loial’s ears wilted. “Ah, yes. Little Raine said something about that last night.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to come, but there’s still a question I need to ask you. So here I am.” He waited for Loial to respond, but the Ogier spent so long thinking it over, in that ponderous way he had, that Rand rushed ahead. There was much to do this morning. “I’m leaving the Stone. Today.” Loial’s eyes went wide, but Rand spoke over any question he might have asked. “I need to get everyone organised before I do, so I wanted to know your plans. Are you going to be staying here?”

“Here! Certainly not. Stedding Shangtai is far too close. My mother could arrive at any moment, to drag me home. How would I write my book, then?” He looked about him as if he expected an Ogier matron to suddenly appear from behind one of those banks of flowers, perhaps with a large wooden spoon slapping menacingly against her palm.

Rand shook his head. “Have you heard from your mother, Loial?” he asked.

“No.” Loial managed to sound relieved and worried at the same time. “But I saw Laefar in the city two days ago. He was as surprised to see me as I to see him; we are not a common sight in Tear. He came from Stedding Shangtai to negotiate repairs on some Ogier stonework in one of the palaces. I have no doubt the first words out of his mouth when he returns to the  _ stedding _ will be ‘Loial is in Tear’.”

“That is worrying,” Rand said, and Loial nodded dejectedly.

“Laefar says the Elders have named me a runaway and my mother has promised to have me married and settled. She even has someone chosen. Laefar did not know who. At least, he said he did not. He thinks such things are funny. She could be here in a month’s time.”

“Well, you’re welcome to accompany me. If you want. I can’t recommend it, given how dangerous my company is. You’d be better off going somewhere else. If not the  _ stedding _ —and I can’t blame you for that, being dragged off and made to marry a woman you don’t even know—but if not there, then surely there has to be somewhere safe in the world.”

Loial’s sigh sounded like a bellows in such close quarters. “I don’t think there is anywhere that could rightly be described as safe, not while the Shadow touches the Pattern. No, I thank you for your concern, my friend, but I will continue to accompany you, and help as I can.” He smiled suddenly. “Besides, even if there were no help I could offer, the chance to write a firsthand account of the life of the Dragon Reborn is something no writer worth the name could pass up.”

Rand was torn. On the one hand, he was glad of a friend’s company. On the other, he was stricken by the fact that his company could very well get that friend killed. But he’d already detailed the dangers to Loial, and there was no point harping on about them again. So what he said was, “We’ll be leaving after my meeting with the nobles in the Heart of the Stone. You’ll need to be packed by then.”

“So soon?” Loial gasped, his eyes darting from one scattered possession to another. “Why must you humans always be so hasty?”

“It’s one of our many failings,” Rand said glumly. “I’d best leave you to it.”

Loial was already packing up when Rand let himself out.

He’d arranged for the meeting to take place in one of the Stone’s dining halls, thinking his own rooms would be too cramped with everyone gathered inside. They were all there by the time he arrived, sitting or standing around the long table. All of his servants, and his Shienarans guards were there, along with Zofia and Doncari. Berelain and Avaleen sat together, as did Raine and Merile, Elayne and Nynaeve. Tam was there, too, of course, along with the young Tairen lady Nalia, who might or might not prove helpful. Every eye in the room turned to him when he entered, and not a one of them did not look expectant of something momentous. He hated to disappoint them, but what he needed to organise here was a bit on the mundane side.

“Thank you all for coming,” he began. “I’m going to be leaving Tear today, so there are some assignments I need to dish out.”

Uno scowled. Like the rest of the gathered Shienarans, he was wearing his armour. Rand didn’t think any of them had put off that armour since Moridin’s attack. “Today, my Lord Dragon. That’s pretty short notice!”

“I’ll say! What’s an assignment?” Imoen asked.

While she was all in pink, Elayne, who answered her question, was back in the red and white of Andor. “It means a job, or a task.”

On hearing her explanation, Saeri sat up straight, and looked at Rand. “Give thy commands.”

“Naturally, but there is something I would speak of first, Rand,” Elayne said before he could begin. “The timing is quite fortuitous actually, for I need to make a similar announcement myself.” She nodded to the Wisdom, sat nearby, before continuing. “As you know, Nynaeve and I are planning to leave today as well. We have talked it over, and decided that half of our companions will remain here, to see to your safety in the event of another attack by the Shadow. Specifically, Dani, Ilyena, Theodrin, Pedra and Mayam will stay with you, while the rest of us attend to our business in Tanchico.”

It was Rand’s turn to scowl, for the suddenness of this announcement as much as for the presumption behind it. “I already have Moiraine dogging my heels. I don’t need or want any Accepted,” he said. Berelain, clad in a dark blue dress that displayed quite a bit of tan cleavage, raised her brows at that description. The gaze she fastened on Elayne was as sharp as it was studious. None of the women Elayne had mentioned were here with her. They hadn’t been invited. Why would he invite them when he hardly knew them, either to this meeting or along on his mission? Besides, they were the White Tower’s lackeys, and he didn’t trust the White Tower as far as he could throw it.

“Don’t be silly, Rand. They are trained channelers. You will need them to guard you,” Elayne said patiently.

Merile, wearing her fancy green dress and looking almost paired with Raine, who sat at her side, sighed sadly. “They  _ are _ trained, Rand.”

“Always useful to have such around,” Geko put in.

Rand ground his teeth, hating how sulky it felt to stand before their united front. He still didn’t like it, and it would make part of his own announcement seem a bit empty, but ... “Fine. More Aes Sedai, or Aes Sedai in the making, to complicate things. Just what I always wanted.”

“That description can be applied to Nynaeve and I as well, need I remind you,” Elayne said snippily. “Is our company so odious?”

Rand sighed. “Of course not. The opposite, in fact. But you can’t expect me to like the Aes Sedai, not after all they’ve done.”

She looked stricken. “Not all Aes Sedai are like that, Rand. I certainly am not.”

“I know, I know. It’s just ...” He tossed his head angrily, words failing him, and rushed to change the topic. “I was actually worried you’d need  _ more _ protection, even with all your friends about, not less.”

“We can take care of ourselves,” Nynaeve said grumpily.

He grunted. “Well, I’m sending Ragan with you anyway, with a squad of Shienarans to back him up.”

Nynaeve bristled, of course, and Elayne raised her chin coolly, but the Daughter-Heir’s lips twitched towards a smile, despite her pretence of disapproval. Ragan looked back and forth between them all, sighed softly, and then straightened his shoulders. “As you command, my Lord Dragon. We will keep them safe.”

Nynaeve opened her mouth angrily, but fell silent when Elayne’s hand came to rest on her forearm. “Later,” he heard her whisper.

Rand forged on. He’d given a good bit of thought to who should go with them. Sending Uno, and obliging him to try to guard his tongue around Nynaeve, felt almost cruel, and the loss of Geko’s arm would limit how effective he could be as a guard, so Ragan—the unofficial third in command—got the unofficial promotion. Mendao was an excellent swordsman, but hotheaded. He was well suited to guarding the women, but poorly suited to interacting with the Aiel. There was too much bad blood between them and the Shienarans to risk his getting involved in a fight, one that might sabotage Rand’s efforts there. Areku could go with the women, too, since having a female soldier might be useful, there being places and situations that men simply shouldn’t be accompanying them to. Katsui could provide the muscle, while Rikimaru brought the skill. Like Mendao, Heita was a bit too undisciplined to risk putting beside the Aiel and—

As he’d listed off each name, the guard in question had nodded acceptance, but when he reached Heita he was surprised to hear an objection.

“My Lord ... My Lord Dragon, even. Peace favour you, but ... Could I not stay with you and—” He darted a look at Luci, whose head was bowed and who refused to meet anyone’s eye, even that of her boyfriend.

“I won’t be bringing the maids with me. The place I’m going isn’t suited to them,” Rand said slowly.

Saeri, sat at Luci’s other side, gasped. “Rand! Surely, thou dost not mean it? Wherefore wouldst thou cast me aside and sunder me from my heart?”

Many of those gathered exchanged arch looks at her flowery words, and the implications behind them. Rand did his best to ignore that, and ploughed on. “It’s just for a little while, Saeri. I need you here, to take care of things while I’m gone. And ...” He hadn’t intended it, but ... “Heita will be staying with you, to watch over you ... And Nangu will stay as well.” He added that last only because he didn’t want to shame Heita. Shienarans could be very sensitive when it came to their honour, and being the only one to be left in Tear could easily have been taken as a mark of shame. He didn’t want that. It might even be for the best that they stayed. He planned to have Doncari, the Defender who was currently propping up a wall near the door, select some trusted men from among his fellow soldiers, all of whom would be assigned to watch over those that Rand left behind, under Doncari’s own command, but having a few Shienarans around as well couldn’t hurt.

Rand’s effort at sensitivity was not enough to prevent Heita’s face from colouring. “Thank you,” he said quietly, his gaze fixed straight ahead. Rand spared them both the embarrassment of commenting further.

“What about the rest of us?” Izana asked.

“You’ll be coming with me,” Rand said, to which the young Shienaran sighed in relief.

“I take it you aren’t going to tell us where,” Tam said.

Rand shook his head. “Soon enough.”

“What are we supposed to do while you’re gone?” Imoen asked, frowning in annoyance. “And why can’t we go with you?”

“There will be people looking out for my interests here in Tear,” he told her. “Avaleen might need some help, and Berelain, too, before she goes back to Mayene. And maybe you can think of someone else.” He kept his face still, like Moiraine would have, but Imoen’s smile, and the twinkle in her eyes, would have alerted anyone watching that there was a secret between them. It was just as well they were among friends. She still had much to learn.

“Moiraine won’t like you putting your trust in someone other than her,” said Tam. “She’ll try to remove them, so they can’t offer a dissenting viewpoint to her own.”

Rand frowned. “Do you think she would?”

Tam nodded. “I’ll have a quiet word with them myself, once we’re done here.” They weren’t talking about Avaleen or Berelain, of course, but Rand wondered if what Tam suspected could be applied to them as well. More Aes Sedai were supposed to be arriving today, to collect the now dead Black Ajah prisoners. That was part of why Rand had decided to move now. If those Aes Sedai decided to interfere while he was gone, what could he, or anyone, do about it?

“I’ll help,” Imoen said, “but I’m not washing any floors. No more aprons and bonnets for Imoen the Magnificent. Well, unless someone offers me a treasure horde to wear one.”

“But thou wouldst look so cute in the uniform I designed,” Saeri sulked.

“Do I have to stay as well?” Merile asked sadly.

He hated to disappoint her, but he nodded anyway. “It would be dangerous for you to come.”

She looked so pitiful with her mouth downturned like that, and those big eyes fastened on him. “But how am I supposed to learn how to help you if I stay here? There will be no-one to teach me.”

There would be no-one to teach her where he was going either, or at least no-one who was willing to do so. It was possible one of them might change her mind, he supposed. Possible, but unlikely.

“Merile’s quest would falter here,” Saeri said. “Do not leave her behind, I entreat thee!”

“Saeri ...”

“She is stronger than she looks,” Raine put in. “The pack would be weaker without her.”

Merile gave his conscious a battering with those eyes of hers. “Please?”

Rand looked away with a heavy sigh. “Oh, burn me. Fine. You can come.”

Elayne sniffed. “Gareth Bryne would never have let Mother manoeuvre him so easily,” he heard her tell Nynaeve. His cheeks felt hot.

“Maybe I should have pouted more,” Imoen muttered. “You really need to get a backbone if you expect to get a wife one day, Rand, at least if you don’t want her to keep you under her thumb!”

“I did not realise how pushy she could be,” Saeri sulked, a bit unfairly. “I hope thou art not to follow her example, Imoen.”

“Heh, don’t worry, I’m pushy enough as it is.”

In order to escape their accusing gazes, Rand went to give Doncari his orders. The others talked among themselves as he outlined what he wanted, Imoen inquiring after Nynaeve’s bad mood and getting an answer that involved cramps, Raine congratulating Merile, and Avaleen and Berelain discussing Mayene’s economy. That last drew his attention, so, when he’d said his piece and received Doncari’s salute, he went and joined them.

“How did things go with the bank?” he asked.

“They didn’t,” Avaleen answered. “At least not yet. I’m going to wait for the wind to change there, and put out some oars instead, as you said. The weapon making industry has proven much easier to get a grip on.”

“Are you going after their economy, too, Rand? I thought it would all be top down with you. Demands and mastery. I like your mastery, as I think you know, but I like this side of you as well,” Berelain purred. “You are cleverer than they realise.”

“And you flatter me too much,” he muttered. It was true as well, especially in this case. He wouldn’t have spared a thought for Tear’s finances if Tam and Avaleen hadn’t prodded him along.

He noticed the way Avaleen was studying Berelain, and wondered at her thoughts. What passed between him and the First was no secret. Berelain didn’t even want it to be one. But his relationship with Avaleen was a bit more discreet. She knew about Merile, of course, since the three of them had shared a bed, but what did she think about Berelain? She noticed him watching, and her dark eyes met his, but he could read nothing of her thoughts in them.

“I’ve been thinking of expanding beyond Tear while you are away,” she said. “Assuming everything goes well with our other investments. Mayene offers some interesting possibilities, ones that the Lady First and I have been discussing.”

He looked back and forth between them. “Don’t try to fleece each other too thoroughly. I’m sure there must be an arrangement we can come to that benefits everyone.” The women chuckled, but Rand remained serious. “And no matter what, don’t do anything that might hinder my war effort. Nothing else can come before that.” The laughter ended, and the smiles grew dim. Their assurances were given in low, subdued voices, but they were given. That was what mattered most.

“You’ve met Zofia, haven’t you?” He didn’t wait for Avaleen’s nod before gesturing for his secretary to join them. “She’ll be keeping a record of everything that happens while I’m gone, but I don’t expect that to take up too much of her time. I’m sure she’d be happy to help you as well.”

“My Lord Dragon is too kind,” Zofia said in a strangled voice.

Deciding she must have swallowed something dry—there were plates of snacks on the table, along with tall glasses and several pitchers of wine—he called Saeri and Imoen over as well. “You won’t be able to rule Tear, of course—the High Nobles will be doing that—but I hope that all of you, working together, will be able to keep an eye on things, and maybe prevent them from getting up to their old antics.”

Nalia had been hovering nearby and listening in, while playing with her fingers in a way that spoke of her unfamiliarity with the people gathered. She spoke up now. “I could help with that. Or ... Should I travel with you? I’ve spent a few weeks slumming, and I am quite capable of opening the odd lock. I have to pick three just to get out of our mansion in Godan. Aunty doesn’t like me leaving at night, but how else can I donate to the poor and not be noticed? They have pride, too, and ... I really shouldn’t be seen with them.”

“You won’t be coming with me,” Rand hastened to say. “I just wanted to introduce you to the others. I thought perhaps you could be their go-between with the nobles.”

Nalia looked crestfallen. “Oh. Very well, but if you reconsider, I’ve always wanted to travel. There is little hope for my future here. I will be pampered until I become what I have hated. Unless I can escape my parent’s shadow, I will waste away here. But go one without me if you wish.”

The other women exchanged looks, with only Berelain—somewhat to his surprise—remaining composed. Zofia rolled her eyes openly, while Avaleen gave Rand a searching look, one that knew too much of his predilections, and pleaded for reassurance. He met her gaze, and shook his head, briefly and tightly. He had no intentions whatsoever regarding this girl. Her sigh of relief was quiet, but very heartfelt.

“What I mentioned. About being the go-between here. Can you do that? And watch out for anyone trying to get around my new laws, too.”

“Absolutely. Few people are willing to take the plight of the common folk as serious as I,” Nalia said earnestly. “So few are even qualified to give them the help they need, to say nothing of whether or not they actually feel responsible enough to act. I will dedicate myself to finding ways to rescue the downtrodden in your absence, my Lord Dragon.

Rand would believe that when he saw it. For now, though, at least he could know there would be someone here who’d at least try not to undo the changes he’d made.

“Thou hast chosen the right path, Lady Nalia,” said Saeri. She was the only one there who looked on the Tairen lady with kindness, for good or ill.

Nalia brushed the girl’s dark hair back over her ear. “I know, child. Have no fear, I will protect you while your master is away.”

“I ... thank you?”

Nalia nodded her acceptance of Saeri’s half-hearted thanks. “Tear will be a new nation when you return, my Lord Dragon, one where even the lowest born have been uplifted,” she vowed grandly.

“We’ll see,” Rand muttered. He studied the group he’d be leaving behind. He wasn’t sure how much they could do, even with Thom’s secret help, but it had to be better than trusting everything to the High Nobles. That lot he would have to cow. And he had a fairly good idea of how to do that. “I’ll leave the rest in your hands. Good luck.”

Zofia was studying the group to which she’d been assigned as carefully as Rand, and something about it painted a wry smile on her lips. She caught his eye as he was leaving, her dark gaze warm in that sternly beautiful face. “Take care, my Lord Dragon,” she said. “You have many reasons to return safely, no?”

That was the truest thing he’d heard all day.


	44. A Taste of Things to Come

CHAPTER 41: A Taste of Things to Come

Everyone was filing out, now that Rand had called the meeting to a close, but Elayne lingered. There was something she wanted to give him, which required a little privacy. A grumbling Nynaeve went on without her, which was perfectly understandable, of course, while she sat with her legs crossed, occasionally touching the pouch at her belt in which her carefully composed letter rested. She wondered what he would think when he read it. Part of her wanted to be far away when he did. The other part wanted the exact opposite ...

She had been avoiding looking at any of those who walked past, not wanting to see any knowing looks on their faces, lest she have to slap said looks right off them. As such, it was some time before she realised that she wasn’t the only one who was lingering in the room with Rand. The Sea Folk woman, Avaleen, was one of those who hadn’t left. She was whispering something to Imoen, while gesturing to the door, but the Theren girl shook her head. She would tell him later, Elayne heard her say. Another of the maids, Saeri, hadn’t left yet either, but the main source of annoyance for Elayne was the continued presence of a certain Mayener hussy.

Elayne and Berelain locked eyes across the table, dark brown and bright blue. Each woman had her chin raised and her face composed, and neither was willing to be first to look away.  _ I will be leaving soon, and I have goodbyes to say. I will not let this Light-blasted hoyden get in the way! _

_ Be gone! _ Elayne tried to tell her with a glare alone, but Berelain either did not get the message or refused to heed it.

Rand wasn’t paying attention to them, or to anyone. He was just standing there, frowning at nothing, perhaps rehearsing what he would say to the Tairen nobles at his next meeting. He might not even have noticed if she’d used the One Power to bald Berelain where she sat. That was not at all the sort of use the Tower would approve of putting the Power to, of course. She couldn’t do that. Wouldn’t do it. Probably.

Annoyance grew on the darker woman’s face, until she was driven to wet her lips and speak up. “I’m curious. How does one address an Accepted? Certainly not the same way one addresses an Aes Sedai. A great many people would be rather annoyed to find they have been misled as to you and your friends’ status.”

“No-one whose annoyance is of any relevance, thankfully,” Elayne said archly, looking right at her. “If you wish to know the inner workings of the White Tower, I suggest you go there for instruction. One does not need to be a channeler to be admitted, as any past Daughter-Heir of Andor could tell you. I am sure they would love to have you there. I certainly would.” She’d love to see Berelain down on her knees, scrubbing the floors, at least. That much was certain.

A smile curved those full lips. “Less of a pampering than you were expecting, I take it. Alas, I cannot say I’m surprised.”

She kept herself composed, but annoyance flared inside. Berelain was an unscrupulous lightskirt, but she was not as stupid as she wanted to think her. That made the way she’d dug her claws into Rand all the worse.

The man in question had been pulled out of his reverie by their exchange, and was now looking back and forth between the five lingerers uncertainly. “Is there something ... Um. If there’s anything you need while I’m gone, that I can arrange for, just say. I’ll ...” He cleared his throat, nakedly uncomfortable to have them all in the room at the same time. “I’ll miss you.”

“Who?” Saeri asked innocently.

Rand blushed, as well he should. “All of you,” he choked.

_ Burn me. It’s true. All the rumours are probably true. He’s sleeping with all of us _ . What did it mean for their future? Her mother would have demanded she end their relationship right away, but Elayne had no intention of doing that. She didn’t know what she intended, but that certainly wasn’t it. At least he hadn’t lied to her. That was something. She’d known other women were sharing his bed when she’d jumped into it. And what she’d found there was something she had no intention of giving up.

The problem was that she was not the only girl who felt so, as Saeri demonstrated when she looked at Rand so sadly and said, “How long wilt thou be gone from me? I will see thee again, will I not?”

“Of course you will. And if all goes according to plan, we’ll meet again sooner than you think,” he said kindly.

She ducked her head demurely, her hand going to the silver necklace she wore. “I thank thee, my Lord Dragon. Thou hast given me hope.”

“Oh, I suspect he’s going to give you more than that,” Avaleen said dryly. “This will be the last time we see each other for a while, Rand. Were you really going to leave without properly saying goodbye?”

Rand tongue darted out to wet his lips. “There was so little time before the Aes Sedai arrive. Nowhere near enough to visit you all, and give you the attention you deserve.”

The Sea Folk woman smiled. “So thoughtful. But I serve you now, remember? It’s for me to see that you get what you deserve ...”

Without further preamble, she pulled her green silk blouse up over her head, unabashedly revealing her dark breasts and their even darker nipples. Her coiled braids fell back down when she tossed the blouse aside, and her smile turned provocative.

Elayne swallowed. She didn’t know Avaleen that well, but even she found the sight of her topless and smiling like that to be tempting. Rand, who had obviously been involved with her for some time, took several steps towards her before remembering that they weren’t alone. He looked back and forth between them all uncertainly, willing neither to ask them to leave nor to ask them to stay.

The choice was theirs, she realised. As it would be if this  _ harem _ marriage Aviendha had spoke of, which she very much suspected she would hear of again in the future, was ever proposed to her. Some made that choice easier than others. Loyal little Saeri nodded the moment Rand’s eyes met hers, while Imoen was too busy staring at Avaleen’s bust to even notice his questioning look. She looked like she wanted to rush right over and begin sucking on those teats. That was another thing she hadn’t fully considered. It wouldn’t just be Rand she’d be marrying, in this hypothetical  _ harem _ , it would be Rand and all the other women who loved him. And that, Light help her, might even mean ...

Berelain was already looking Elayne’s way when she turned her head towards her. Beautiful, voluptuous, depraved, presumptuous, untrustworthy, and so very slappable; there was little doubt that she would get involved in the scene that was brewing here. The urge to rush to the door with her dignity intact certainly wouldn’t make her foot shake, as it was Elayne’s. As soon as she stepped out the door, if she were to step out it, that hateful woman’s dress would fly from her as swiftly as if they were in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ , and she’d be down on her knees, sucking Rand in front of everyone. Pleasuring him, capturing him with her mouth, while they all watched. She probably wouldn’t even blush ...

But she could only do that if Elayne let her get there first.

She thought she might have been able to make herself look as enticing as Avaleen if she’d had time to compose herself, but the sudden decision didn’t only make her heart race and heat rush to her loins, it also lent speed to her feet. Elayne was out of her chair and in Rand’s arms before she fully realised what she was doing.

He tried to question it, the fool, but her kisses silenced him.

After a dizzying moment, Saeri spoke instead, her voice coming from behind, “Let me help you, my lady. You wouldn’t want your pretty dress to get dirty, would you?” Though passion clouded her mind, Elayne still noticed that she’d abandoned her silly like of High Chant. She sounded as she had when they’d saved her back at Nethara. “I always thought you were one of the few women who’d be worthy of him. You are both such heroes. I’d do anything for you.” As she spoke, her voice devoid of the rancour that might have been expected at seeing Elayne kiss Rand right in front of her, Saeri’s nimble fingers were undoing the buttons of Elayne’s dress, exposing her back, and then her shoulders, arms and hips to the watching women. Her dress pooled around her feet, but Saeri wasn’t done. Slowly and gently, Rand’s maid removed Elayne’s underwear, preparing her to receive him. She did it so slowly that neither she nor Elayne, or anyone watching, could help but notice how her smallclothes stuck to her sopping wet sex.

The sound of a chair being dragged across the soft carpet made her open her eyes. It was Avaleen who brought it. She placed it behind Rand, put her hand on his shoulder and pushed gently down. “You’ll want to be sitting for whatever this stunner plans to do to you,” she said with a smile. “By the Light, we wouldn’t want you fainting and cracking your skull. All the prophecies would go unfulfilled, and we’d be left to explain to the world why. That would be ... awkward.”

Despite everything, Elayne burst out in a fit of giggles.

“I wouldn’t faint,” Rand boasted boyishly.

“We’ll just see about that,” she said, her confidence rising. She fell to her knees before him, and quickly unbuckled his belt. When she reached into the tight confines of his breeches, she found his sweet manhood straining for freedom. She gave in to its wishes, and let it spring out, hot and heavy in her hand. Very conscious of those watching, Rand and the other girls, Elayne lowered her head, opened her mouth, and took him inside.

The way his breath shuddered out of him was endearingly flattering, but it was Berelain’s voice which rang most loudly in her ears. “I didn’t think she’d have the nerve.”

_ I’ll show you how much nerve I have _ , she thought fiercely. She began bobbing her head up and down Rand’s shaft, her jaw stretched wide to accommodate him, her lips and tongue brushing along his tender flesh, and the not unpleasant taste of him filling her mouth.

“Never thought I’d see a future queen doing something like that,” Imoen whispered. “And loving it, too. Burn me.”

Her words were the only thing that stopped Elayne’s hand from creeping up her thigh to touch her own now-desperate sex. The thought of all those women watching her do this was embarrassing enough. The thought of them all watching her finger herself at the same time was too much to bear.

“Would you like me to help you, my lady?” Saeri asked.

She would do it, too, Elayne knew. The maid’s gentle fingers could be in her, stirring her passions while she sucked Rand in front of them. All she had to do was say words that she couldn’t bring herself to say.

She heard Berelain’s infuriating laughter. “That’s more like I’d expected. As stiff of neck as of hip. You do realise that you are dripping all over the carpet, don’t you ... “Lady” Elayne?”

Holding Rand’s manhood steady in her hand, Elayne took him out of her mouth and opened her eyes, the better to scowl at Berelain. She was surprised to find that the First, still fully dressed in her low-cut white gown, in marked contrast to Elayne’s nudity, had come to kneel nearby. The better to watch her service Rand, she realised.

“You are far too fond of the sound of your own voice,” she snapped. “Here, I have something that will silence you.” Then she took the First of Mayene by the hair, aimed Rand’s cock at her mouth, and pushed her head down upon it. Despite her hiss of outrage, Berelain’s lips parted willingly. Elayne was so close that she could see every detail as her man’s cock stretched Berelain’s mouth. She saw her dark eyes bulge, and heard the sounds she made as she struggled to adjust to the huge intruder. Berelain swallowed half of his length before bracing herself against his knees. Despite how annoying she found the other woman, Elayne had not the heart to try pushing her down further. She stared as her rival’s head began bogging on her man’s cock, and even from without she could tell how skilfully she was working her tongue along him.

Rand’s moan of pleasure brought her gaze up to his face, which was bracketed by the breasts of Avaleen, who had draped herself over him from behind and was playing with his fiery hair while she enjoyed the show.

“You really like that,” Elayne said wonderingly. Though her words could have applied to Avaleen as much as Rand, it was to him that she spoke. Keeping her grip on Berelain’s hair, she rose up to perch on his knee. “She might suck well, but just remember who really cares about you.”

“I do,” he said, and kissed her lips. “I do.” Again. “I do.” And again. He took her hand, their fingers interlacing, the hair of the half-forgotten woman whose face was pressed against Rand’s crotch tangling between their digits.

She liked kissing him, but it wasn’t long before she pulled away and rose dripping from his lap. Berelain was moving of her own accord by then, her mouth stretched as her head bobbed upon his member. It was obscenely fascinating to watch, the moreso to realise that she had been looking just like that mere minutes ago, while Berelain and the others watched her.

Elayne was too excited to spend much time wondering over that, however. She pulled at Berelain’s hair roughly, though not roughly enough to hurt her. She didn’t want to do that, not really. Not when it might hurt him too. “Stop getting in the way. I need him,” she said nakedly. Red-faced, the First freed Rand’s cock from her mouth. She stared upwards as Elayne stretched one slender leg over his lap, and mounted him smoothly, his cock sliding easily into her sopping wet sex. She took him all the way in on the first attempt, until her cheeks came to rest upon his thighs, mere inches from Berelain’s face. Elayne’s groan of pleasure was half-echoed by the shuddering breath Berelain let out.

Lost to lust, she immediately began riding Rand as hard as she could. The hips that Berelain had claimed were so stiff, rolled and shook with wild abandon. The others watching had to see how wrong Berelain had been about her, if not from the way she was moving, then definitely from the way Rand reacted to what she was doing to him. He clutched at her cheeks, groaning through gritted teeth as he beseeched her with his eyes. All those watching could see it plainly, and Rand could certainly feel it. Elayne smiled, and sped up even more.

“I won’t be just your plaything, though,” she told him between her heavy breaths. “I want ... more. You understand that, don’t you? You aren’t just ... just ...”

Elayne didn’t need to finish her thought. He understood. He seized her head, cupping her face between his branded palms, the better to look her in the eyes. “I would never deceive you, or use you like that. I love you,” he told her passionately.

She smiled brightly, and felt the heat rising to her cheeks. For a moment, it felt as though they were alone. Then Berelain’s voice brought them back to reality.

“I think you take me too seriously, Lady Elayne. I understand the political reality. A woman of your high birth, and standing with the White Tower, is the perfect match for him. I never doubted that. You will be his queen. A little fun in the meantime doesn’t change that. And a little teasing doesn’t mean we have to be enemies. Here, let me show you.”

Whatever Rand saw, as he looked down over Elayne’s shoulder, made his jaw drop. Elayne felt someone touch the soft cheeks of her bottom, and gently parted them. Then something warm and wet touched the tight little hole just above her stuffed pussy, and made her gasp loudly. A tongue, she realised. Berelain’s tongue. She began to run it all around her sensitive flesh, and Elayne’s eyes rolled back in her head.

Her breath came in hitching gasps due to the unfamiliar feeling. She was so stunned that the rocking of her hips ceased. She was only barely aware of the way her fingernails were digging into Rand’s poor shoulders. He didn’t seem to care. He was too engrossed in watching the play of expressions upon her face. His hips were moving mindlessly, as much as they could in that position, bringing her closer and closer to breaking point.

Elayne’s climax wasn’t long in coming, not with Rand fucking her while her rival reamed her ass and a crowd of beautiful women watched it all. She screamed louder than she’d ever screamed before, as every nerve in her body jolted awake all at once. Avaleen had teased him about fainting, but in that moment Elayne feared it was her that would make a fool of herself, not him.

As she quivered in place, she was only half aware of Saeri drifting past, touching first Rand’s shoulder and then Berelain’s. She heard her words clearly, though, spoken with solemn approval, “No task is beneath one pledged to serve. And she is a hero worthy of thy servicing.” She sank down behind Berelain, hugging her from behind, and her hand busied itself between the First’s thighs.

“Oh. That is a fine maid you have,” Berelain breathed, her eyes glazing over. “My own are not half so sweet ... or so skilled ...”

She freed and squeezed her own breasts as Saeri pleasured her. Rand and Elayne watched it all, holding each other close as they did. When the kneeling Berelain finally came, while biting her lip hard, Elayne turned her face away and kissed Rand deeply.

When they came up for air, they found Imoen standing nearby. “That looked like a lot of fun. Did you enjoy it?” she asked. Elayne lowered her eyes, feeling suddenly shy now that the lust had faded. Her reaction made Rand grin.

“Well, I absolutely loved it,” he said, unwittingly answering for her as well.

Imoen fists came to rest on her slender hips. “That’s hardly a surprise. An Andoran beauty, her hair like spun gold, and her eyes bluer than sapphires. The sort all you boys drool after.”

Rand reached out and touched her arm. “You’re beautiful, too, Imoen. You all are. It’s not a competition.”

“Oh, are you going to prove that before you go off on your mysterious adventure?” she said with a smirk.

It wasn’t the most subtle of propositions, but Elayne couldn’t fault its effectiveness. She didn’t even grumble that much when Rand took her by the waist and lifted her off that gloriously filling shaft of his. He left her the chair, as he went to embrace the other girl. Elayne searched her heart for the jealousy that should have been there, but she searched in vain. It wasn’t just Imoen he embraced either, he soon pulled Avaleen to him as well, and alternated kisses between the two. It took only the barest of glances before Saeri was up off her knees, and moving to join them, pulling up her own dress as she did so.

By unspoken agreement, the three of them had lined up by the table and bent over it, with trousers lowered and dresses raised, their bottoms outthrust. Avaleen was in the middle, and the two younger girls held her hands as they all waited impatiently for him. They didn’t have to wait long. As she watched, Rand went down the line, dipping his wick into all of them, and making them cry out sweetly.

It was ... wickedly exciting. Even so soon after coming, her heart raced and she felt herself heating up again.

“You’ll take care of them when I’m gone, won’t you?” Rand husked in Avaleen’s pierced ear as he rode her.

“Like they were part of my own crew,” the former Sailmistress vowed.

“Thank you,” he said. Elayne measured the depth of his gratitude by how long he stayed inside her, stroking the fires of her pleasure, before his innate sense of fairness drove him to give Saeri and Imoen a taste as well. She regretted that he was still fully dressed, with his breeches simply having been loosened at the front. It denied her a proper look at his bottom as he rode the three girls. The dark breeches bunched and moved, occasionally giving her a tantalising hint of what was underneath, but she wished she could have seen it all.

She didn’t think he could last long against such an onslaught of sights and feelings, no more than she had been able to. Indeed, it wasn’t long before attempts to share his touch with them all fairly came to a crashing end. He was back in Avaleen by then, moving jerkily. In lieu of his cock, he slid his hands over the girls’ pretty bottoms to seek out their centres, whose wet heats he began fingering desperately. Elayne liked to think she knew him well by then. He wanted everyone to be happy, and would feel guilty if he left anyone out. But he was only human, and could only do so much. If he finished, and the girls did not ...

She found herself biting her lip, as yet another wicked image flashed through her mind. “What have you done to me, Rand al’Thor,” she said under her breath.

“I would say he just showed you what you were missing out on, in prissy Andor,” Berelain drawled. The scowl Elayne shot at the First just made her smile widen. “What about it, my perverse Queen? Are you just going to lounge there and let them suffer? How cruel.”

She got up and smoothed her dress, looking far more composed than any woman who’d just licked her rival’s butthole had any business looking. “I lay claim to the pretty little maid. She amuses me.” With a daring smile, she sauntered past Elayne’s chair, her wide hips rolling with every step. Elayne could only stare. The woman took shamelessness to a level than was almost impressive.

And yet, her idea mirrored Elayne’s own. And what did that say of Elayne? Shaking her head in an effort to dispel that disturbing idea, she levered herself up off the chair, and went to stand behind Imoen. Berelain’s face was already level with Saeri’s crotch, and she was pushing Rand’s hand out of the way. His aborted questions ended when he saw the First smiling up at him. The shock brought the rocking of his hips to an end as well, but only briefly. When he saw Berelain begin to lick the moaning Saeri’s tender lips, his hips instinctively began moving again, harder and faster than before.

Elayne liked that. Enough so that she held onto his hand for a while after she’d moved it away from Imoen’s sex. She held it and waited for him to look at her, just the way Imoen already was. Then she smiled at them both, and slowly lowered her mouth to kiss the girl’s pussy.

“Ah ... a q-queen,” Imoen gasped.

“Much more than that,” Rand breathed, staring down at her in awe.

She liked that look, too, and dimpled a smile at him briefly, before going to work on Imoen in earnest. The girl had no hope of resisting her, even had she wanted to. Elayne deployed her fingers and tongue in unison, using everything she’d learned in the months that she and Min had spent together. Berelain was more experienced with men, that could hardly be denied, but Elayne was confident she could bring her girl to climax before the First did. She imagined herself smiling across at her while leaning upon the hips of a thoroughly sated Imoen, waiting smugly for Berelain to finally manage to satisfy Saeri. It was a sweet imagining.

With the need to attend to the girls removed from him, Rand was free to turn his full attention on Avaleen. The Sea Folk woman, already excited from all that had happened, was putty in his hands. While he fucked her energetically from behind, he reached around to fondle her breasts and her pussy with the skilled fingers than Elayne had come to know so well. Avaleen was helpless in his embrace, and the sounds she was making made it plain that she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Her face was full of Imoen’s very wet pussy, but her gaze roved over all the beautiful sights on display. She watched Rand’s pale length thrust in and out of Avaleen’s dark depths, and marvelled at the way her bottom quivered under the impacts of his hips. She watched the way his expression changed, as his self-control was slowly eroded by all that he was seeing and feeling. She saw Berelain part Saeri’s cheeks so she could thrust her tongue inside more forcefully, and smiled to herself at her rival’s display of unskilled earnestness. And she savoured the way Imoen reached blindly back, seeking Rand’s hand, when Elayne’s own ministrations brought the girl to a screaming climax.

Rand took that hand, and held it tight, as the girl came in Elayne’s face. He was still holding it long after Imoen had collapsed across the table, staring at nothing through glazed eyes.

Well pleased with herself, Elayne rested her arm across Imoen’s hips and posed, waiting.

“You’re so cute sometimes,” Rand said. She didn’t know who he was talking to. He might have been looking her way, but he glanced away again before she could be sure.

He didn’t look back, intent instead on giving Avaleen a good hard fucking. She could tell he was close to his limit, but he held on heroically, waiting until Avaleen began bucking beneath him before he visibly allowed himself to relax. With the way she was writhing, Rand hardly had to move again in order to get the last bit of stimulation he needed. He hugged her tight, the arms he wrapped about her bountiful chest holding her relatively still as he pumped his seed into her eager womb.

Watching, Elayne was given to wonder if the other women in Rand’s life were using heartleaf tea, as she was. It would complicate matters even more if any of them became pregnant.

To her unspoken, but unhidden satisfaction, Saeri was the last of the girls to come that morning. Berelain gave the girl’s pale bottom a fond pat once she’d finally brought her to climax, and her eyes only narrowed slightly when she saw Elayne watching. It wasn’t quite the abject defeat she’d hoped for, but it would do for now.

Rand and Avaleen had quietened somewhat by then. He was standing over her, catching his breath, when he said, “I need to get out of this fortress right now, or I’ll still be here, cavorting with you all, by the time Tarmon Gai’don arrives.”

“It is hardly our fault that you cannot resist temptation,” Elayne said, shooting a look at Berelain.

“No. The fault is all mine.”

“If this is your fault, I’m not sure I could survive your virtue,” Avaleen purred. She pushed herself up, and Rand stepped back from the table, his softening cock coming free of her sex only to be swiftly stowed away in his breeches again.

Imoen huffed a laugh. “I could! I can take anything you can give, and then some, Rand. And don’t you ever think otherwise!” She sat up on the table, but her bold grin did not last. Within moments of her boast being made, she was wiggling shyly and saying, “I’ll miss you and all that stuff. Don’t take too long, okay?”

“I hope not to,” Rand said. His eyes went from one woman to the next, and his face grew solemn. “I truly hope not to.”

Elayne would have liked to have cuddled, now that they were done. So perhaps it was for the best that they were in a dining hall instead of Rand’s comfortable chambers with that huge bed. Otherwise this might have turned into an all day affair. They couldn’t afford that. Duty was calling, the tedious hoyden, and Elayne for one would not ignore her. To his credit, Rand didn’t either.

“I have to go deal with the High Nobles, burn them,” he said with a sigh. “I really wish I could stay longer, but ... well, that’s the story of my life, isn’t it?”

Her lips thinned. She knew enough of the prophecies to know what he was thinking of. “Don’t talk like that,” she said sharply as she was pulling her dress back on. “This is far from over. There is a lot more I want to say to you, and do with you, and you will not leave this world until I have. I command it!”

Rand gave her a level look. “Were it that easy ...”

Her hand touched on the pouch in which her almost forgotten letter rested, and a smile touched her lips. This had been a surprisingly pleasurable, if scandalously improper farewell, but she still had time to give him the farewell she’d planned before. Between that and all of this, he would no doubt beg her to stay. Smile widening in anticipation, Elayne decided to make sure she and Rand were the last to leave the room that morning.


	45. Complications

CHAPTER 42: Complications

“Pretty heartless of him, especially after the nearly inhuman tolerance you’ve shown,” Dani said.

“At least he did not try to stop you,” Nynaeve added.

Seated on Nynaeve’s bed, they were finishing the division of the gold Moiraine had provided. Four fat purses apiece to be carried in pockets sewn under Elayne’s and Nynaeve’s skirts, and another each, not so large as to attract unwanted attention, to carry at the belt. Dani, who’d been given command of the second team, had taken a lesser amount, there being less use for gold in Rand’s company.

Elayne frowned at the two neatly tied bundles and the leather scrip lying beside the door. They held all of her clothes and other things. Cased knife and fork, hairbrush and comb, needles, pins, thread, thimble, scissors. A tinder box and a second knife, smaller than the one at her belt. Soap and bath powder and ... It was ridiculous to go over the list again. Her stone ring was snug in her pouch, while the iron disk had been claimed by Nynaeve. Dani would keep the amber plaque  _ ter’angreal _ . With those, the three of them would be able to use  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ to keep in touch, as they’d arranged. She was ready to go. There was nothing to hold her back.

“No, he did not.” Elayne was proud of how calm and collected she sounded.  _ He seemed almost relieved! Relieved! And I had to give him that letter, laying my heart open like a stone-blind fool. At least he won’t open it until I am gone _ . She jumped at the touch of Nynaeve’s hand on her shoulder.

“Did you want him to ask you to stay? You know what your answer would have been. You do, don’t you?”

Elayne compressed her lips. “Of course I do. But he did not have to look happy about it.” She had not meant to say that.

Nynaeve gave her an understanding look. “Men are difficult at the best.”

“Are you sure you want me to go keep an eye on him? It’s not too late to leave him to fix his own problems,” Dani said.

“Of course you must go,” Elayne told her. “I will miss you, but no-one promised us we could stay together until this was done.”

“Your staying will do us far more good in the long run than your company to Tanchico,” Nynaeve said briskly. “It isn’t even as if we know any of them are in Tanchico. If they are, the rest of us will do very well together, but we could arrive and find that this evil is no more than an echo of all the wars the world is going through these days. The Light knows, war should be evil enough for anyone. We may be back in the Tower before you are. You must be careful,” she added in a practical tone. “It is dangerous in Rand’s company. He has many enemies.”

Dani had seen those enemies in action now, from the Black Ajah to the Forsaken. She’d suffered for it, and had those close to her suffer. But she didn’t back down. “Losing, I can live with. But not giving up before we start. No matter how tough they are, we’ll find a way to beat them.”

Nynaeve gave the Domani a solemn nod of respect. She turned to the fourth woman in the room. “Aviendha, you will look after her?”

Aviendha loomed near the bed with a grim look on her face and her spears in hand. Elayne still half-expected her to insist on coming with them to Tanchico, no matter what the Wise Ones had said, but so far Aviendha had held her tongue on the matter. She held it now as well, hesitating in a way Elayne had never seen her do before, and a long moment passed before she answered. When she did, it was with the voice of a woman announcing a family bereavement. “I will. Her  _ toh _ is mine.”

“Don’t let Ilyena hear you say that,” Dani drawled.

Aviendha opened her mouth, but they never learned what she meant to say, for at that moment the door crashed open so hard that it bounced off the wall.

Elayne embraced  _ saidar _ before she had stopped flinching, then felt a moment of embarrassment when the rebounding door slapped hard against Lan’s outstretched hand. A moment more, and she decided to hold on to the Source a while longer. The Warder filled the doorway with his broad shoulders, his face a thunderhead; if his blue eyes could really have given off the thunderbolts they threatened, they would have blasted Nynaeve. The glow of  _ saidar _ surrounded Dani, too, and did not fade.

Theodrin, who’d been supposed to be guarding their door, hovered behind the Warder, dry-washing her hands. She looked to Nynaeve for some sign of whether she was supposed to be stopping him or not.

Lan did not appear to see anyone but Nynaeve. “You let me believe you were returning to Tar Valon,” he rasped at her.

“You may have believed it,” she said calmly, “but I never said it.”

“Never said it? Never said it! You spoke of leaving today, and always linked your leaving with those Darkfriends being sent to Tar Valon. Always! What did you mean me to think?”

“But I never said—”

“Light, woman!” he roared. “Do not bandy words with me!”

Elayne exchanged worried looks with Dani. This man had an iron self-control, but he was at breaking point now. Nynaeve was one who often let her emotions rage, yet she faced him coolly, head high and eyes serene, hands still on her green silk skirts.

Lan took hold of himself with an obvious effort. He appeared as stone-faced as ever, as much in control of himself—and Elayne was sure it was all on the surface. “I’d not have known where you were off to if I had not heard that you had ordered a carriage. To take you to a ship bound for Tanchico. I do not know why the Amyrlin allowed you to leave the Tower in the first place, or why Moiraine involved you in questioning Black sisters, but you are Accepted. Accepted, not Aes Sedai. Tanchico is no place for anyone except a full Aes Sedai with a Warder to watch her back. I’ll not let you go into that!”

“So,” Nynaeve said lightly. “You question Moiraine’s decisions, and those of the Amyrlin Seat as well. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood Warders all along. I thought you swore to accept and obey, among other things. Lan, I do understand your concern, and I am grateful—more than grateful—but we all have tasks to perform. We are going; you must resign yourself to the fact.”

“Why? For the love of the Light, at least tell me why! Tanchico!”

“If Moiraine has not told you,” Nynaeve said gently, “perhaps she has her reasons. We must do our tasks, as you must do yours.”

Lan trembled—actually trembled!—and clamped his jaw shut angrily. When he spoke, he was strangely hesitant. “You will need someone to help you in Tanchico. Someone to keep a Taraboner street thief from slipping a knife into your back for your purse. I could ... I could protect you, Nynaeve.”

Elayne’s eyebrows shot up. He could not be suggesting ... He just could not be.

Nynaeve gave no sign that he had said anything out of the ordinary. “Your place is with Moiraine.”

“Moiraine.” Sweat beaded on the Warder’s hard face, and he struggled with the words. “I can ... I must ... Nynaeve, I ... I ...”

“You will remain with Moiraine,” Nynaeve said sharply, “until she releases you from your bond. You will do as I say.” Pulling a carefully folded paper from her pouch, she thrust it into his hands. He frowned, read, then blinked and read again.

Elayne knew what it said.

_ What the bearer does is done at my order and by my authority. Obey, and keep silent, at my command. _

__

_ Siuan Sanche _

_ Watcher of the Seals _

_ Flame of Tar Valon _

_ The Amyrlin Seat _

“But this allows you to do anything you please,” Lan protested. “You can speak in the Amyrlin’s name. Why would she give this to an Accepted?”

“Ask no questions I cannot answer,” Nynaeve said, then added with a hint of a grin, “Just count yourself lucky I do not tell you to dance for me.”

“Do you not? You dispose of me very neatly. My bond, and my oaths. This letter.” Lan had a dangerous gleam in his eye, which Nynaeve seemed not to notice as she took back the letter and replaced it in the pouch on her belt.

“You are very full of yourself, al’Lan Mandragoran. We do as we must, as you will.”

“Full of myself, Nynaeve al’Meara?  _ I _ am full of myself?” Lan moved so quickly toward Nynaeve that Elayne very nearly wrapped him in flows of Air before she could think. One moment Nynaeve was standing there, with just time to gape at the tall man sweeping toward her; the next her shoes were dangling a foot off the floor and she was being quite thoroughly kissed. At first she kicked his shins and hammered him with her fists and made sounds of frantic, furious protest, but her kicks slowed and stopped, and then she was holding on to his shoulders and not protesting at all.

Theodrin blushed, and Dani and Aviendha developed a sudden interest in the ceiling, but Elayne watched interestedly. Nynaeve wasn’t pushing Lan away. But she and Rand were ...  _ No! I will not think about him _ . She wondered if there was time to write him another letter, taking back everything she had said in the first, letting him know she was not to be trifled with. But did she want to?

After a while Lan set Nynaeve back on her feet. She swayed a bit as she straightened her dress and patted her hair furiously. “You have no right ...” she began in a breathless voice, then stopped to swallow. Wide-eyed, but not with anger, the glow of  _ saidar _ surrounded her, and thin threads of Air pushed Lan back.

It took Lan only a moment to understand. “Your block is gone,” he said delightedly.

“What!? How?” Theodrin asked, but Nynaeve ignored her.

“I will not be  _ manhandled _ in that fashion for the whole world to see, Lan Mandragoran. I will not!”

Elayne held her silence in the presence of so many others, but she very much wanted to ask Nynaeve about that time that she’d let herself be a lot more than manhandled, for  _ her _ to see, and what this development meant for all those who’d been there that night.

“Not the whole world,” Lan replied, blissfully unaware of what had happened. “But if they can see, they can hear as well. You have made a place in my heart where I thought there was no room for anything else. You have made flowers grow where I cultivated dust and stones. Remember this, on this journey you insist on making. If you die, I will not survive you long.” He gave Nynaeve one of his rare smiles. If it did not exactly soften his face, at least it made it less hard. “And remember also, I am not always so easily commanded, even with letters from the Amyrlin.” He made an elegant bow; for a moment Elayne thought he actually meant to kneel and kiss Nynaeve’s Great Serpent ring. “As you command,” he murmured, “so do I obey.” It was difficult to tell whether he meant to be mocking or not.

As soon as the door closed behind him, with Theodrin now on the inside, Nynaeve sank onto the edge of her bed as if letting her knees give way at last. She stared at the door with a pensive frown.

“ ‘Poke the meekest dog too often,’ ” Elayne quoted, “ ‘and he will bite.’ Not that Lan is very meek.” She got a sharp look and a sniff from Nynaeve.

“Why did you do that?” Dani asked Nynaeve. “He was about to offer to go with you, and ... Well, it’s not my business, but I’ve heard you speak of him. Why turn him down? I know you don’t like Moiraine very much.”

Nynaeve sniffed. “Moiraine plays her own game so often, I trust her this much more than I do Liandrin.” She held her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart. “She will use us—all of us—use us up, if it helps Rand. Or rather, if it helps whatever she has planned for Rand. She would leash him for a lapdog if she could.”

“Moiraine knows what has to be done, Nynaeve,” said Elayne. For once she was reluctant to admit that. What Moiraine knew had to be done might well speed Rand on his way toward Tarmon Gai’don that much faster. On his way toward death, perhaps. Rand balanced against the world. It was silly—foolish and childish—that those scales should tremble so evenly for her. Yet she did not dare make them swing, even in her mind, because she was not sure which way she would send them. “She knows it better than he does,” she said, making her voice firm. “Better than we.”

“Perhaps.” Nynaeve sighed. “But I do not have to like it.”

“Hearing that, I’m even more surprised you turned him down,” said Dani.

Nynaeve fussed with her dress, and smoothed the coverlet on the bed. “Not like that,” she said finally. “I mean him to be mine. All of him. I will not have him remembering a broken oath to Moiraine. I will not have that between us. For him, as well as myself.”

Theodrin’s reaction to that statement was rather warmer than Dani’s. “I see,” the latter woman said, frowning. “Then what do you intend to do?”

“I do not know.” Nynaeve rubbed at her forehead as though trying to ward off the beginning of a headache. From under her palm, she darted a pained look at Elayne. “It’s all so complicated.” As if hearing how stricken she sounded, she sat up straight and firmed her voice. “Yet what must be done, can be done. There is always a way. That is for another time. Work to be done, and we sit here fretting over men.”

“My work seems to have been done without me even realising it,” said a bewildered looking Theodrin. “When did you break your block? And how? And why didn’t you tell me?”

Nynaeve’s ears burned red, but she faced Theodrin without flinching. “Never you mind. It’s gone now. That’s all that matters.”

Elayne could hardly blame her for wanting to avoid that topic.  _ She _ certainly had no intention of letting anyone learn of what she’d let Rand do to her that night. Or how good it had felt.

“But I’d at least like to know how,” Theodrin persisted. “We tried so many things. What worked, in the end? Perhaps we could use it to help someone else in the future.”

“I doubt that!” Nynaeve snapped.

Seeing an argument on the brink of happening, Elayne stepped in. “I expect we will arrive in Tanchico in little more than a month, perhaps sooner if what they say about Sea Folk rakers is true. You will be careful, Dani? Even with Aviendha to watch your back, one must not ignore the dangers.”

Dani nodded. “I will. And I’ll make sure the others are as well. You lot be careful, too. Tanchico may be blessedly far from any wars, but that doesn’t mean it’s safe.”

Abruptly they were all hugging one another, repeating cautions to take care, making sure they all remembered the schedule for meeting in  _ Tel’aran’rhiod _ ’s Stone.

Elayne wiped tears from her cheeks. “As well Lan left.” She laughed tremulously. “He would think we were all being foolish.”

“No, he would not,” Nynaeve said, pulling up her skirts to settle a purse of gold into its pocket. “He may be a man, but he is not a complete dolt.”

There had to be time between here and the carriage to locate paper and pen, Elayne decided. She would find time. Nynaeve had the right of it. Men needed a firm hand. Rand would find he could not get away from her so easily. And he would not find it easy to worm his way back into her good graces.


	46. The Wavedancer

CHAPTER 43: The  _ Wavedancer _

With the golden sun high in the sky, the shiny black-lacquered carriage rocked to a halt at the foot of the wharf behind a team of four matched greys, and the lanky, dark-haired driver in his black-and-gold striped coat leaped down to open the door. No sigil adorned the door panel, of course; Tairen nobles gave aid to Aes Sedai only under duress, no matter how effusive the smiles, and none wanted their names or houses linked to the Tower.

Elayne got down gratefully without waiting for Nynaeve, straightening her blue linen summer travelling cloak; the streets of the Maule were rutted by carts and wagons, and the carriage’s leather springs had not been very good. A breeze slanting across the Arindrelle actually seemed cool after the heat of the Stone. She had intended to show no effects of the rough ride, but once upright she could not help knuckling the small of her back.  _ At least last night’s rain still holds the dust down _ , she thought. She suspected that they had been given carriages without curtains on purpose. The other carriages, in which travelled the other half of their Accepted hunting party and the guardsmen that Rand had loaned them, rumbled up behind.

Keestis climbed out after her and squinted about. North and south of them, more docks like wide stone fingers stretched into the river. The air smelled of tar and rope, fish and spices and olive oil, of nameless things rotting in the stagnant water between the piers and peculiar long yellow-green fruits in huge bunches heaped in front of the stone warehouse behind her. Men wearing leather vests on shirtless shoulders scurried about, toting large bundles on bent backs or pushing handcarts piled with barrels or crates. None spared her more than a passing sullen glance, dark eyes falling quickly, forelock touched grudgingly; most did not raise their heads at all. She was sad to see it.

These Tairen nobles had handled their people badly. Mishandled them was more like it. In Andor she could have expected cheerful smiles and a respectful word of greeting, freely given by straight-backed men who knew their worth as well as hers. It was almost enough to make her regret leaving. She had been raised to lead and one day govern a proud people, and she felt the urge to teach these folk dignity. But that was Rand’s job, not hers.  _ And if he doesn’t do it properly, I will give him a piece of my mind. A bigger piece _ . At least he had begun, by following her advice. And she had to admit he knew how to treat his people. It would be interesting to see what he had done by the time she returned.  _ If there’s a point to coming back _ .

A dozen ships were clearly visible from where she stood, and more beyond, but one, moored across the end of the dock she faced, sharp bow upriver, filled her eyes. The Sea Folk raker was easily three hundred feet long, half again as large as the next vessel in sight, with three great towering masts amidships, and one shorter on the raised deck at the stern. She had been on ships before, but never one so big, and never on one going to sea. Just the name of the ship’s owners spoke of distant lands and strange ports. The Atha’an Miere. The Sea Folk. Stories meant to be exotic always contained the Sea Folk, unless they were about the Aiel.

Nynaeve climbed out of the carriage behind her, tying a green travelling cloak at her neck and grumbling to herself and to the driver. “Tumbled about like a hen in a windstorm! Thumped like a dusty rug! How did you manage to find every last rut and hole between here and the Stone, goodman? That took true skill. A pity none of it goes into handling horses.” He tried to hand her down, his narrow face sullen, but she refused his aid.

Sighing, Elayne doubled the number of silver pennies she was taking from her purse. “Thank you for bringing us safely and swiftly.” She smiled as she pressed the coins into his hand. “We told you to go fast, and you did as we asked. The streets are not your fault, and you did an excellent job under poor conditions.”

Without looking at the coins, the fellow gave her a deep bow, a grateful look, and a murmured “Thank you, my lady,” as much for the words as the money, she was sure. She had found that a kind word and a little praise were usually received as well as silver was, if not better. Though the silver itself was seldom unappreciated, to be sure.

“The Light send you a safe journey, my lady,” he added. The merest flicker of his eyes toward Nynaeve said that wish was for Elayne alone. Nynaeve had to learn how to make allowances and give consideration; truly she did.

When the driver had handed their bundles and belongings out of the carriage, turned his team and started away, Nynaeve said grudgingly, “I shouldn’t have snapped at the man, I suppose. A bird could not make an easy way over those streets. Not in a carriage, at any rate. But after bouncing about all the way here, I feel as if I’d been on horseback a week.”

“It isn’t his fault you have a sore ... back,” Elayne said, with a smile to take away any sting, as she took up her things.

Nynaeve barked a wry laugh. “I said that, didn’t I? You will not expect me to go running after him to apologize, I hope. That handful of silver you gave him should soothe any wounds short of mortal. You really must learn to be more careful with money, Elayne. We do not have the Realm of Andor’s resources for our own use. A family could live comfortably for a month on what you hand out to everyone who does the work they’ve been paid to do for you.” Elayne gave her a quietly indignant look—Nynaeve always seemed to think they should live worse than servants unless there was reason not to, instead of the other way around, as made sense—but the older woman did not appear to notice the expression that always put Royal Guardsmen on their toes. Instead, Nynaeve hoisted her bundles and sturdy cloth bags and turned down the dock. “At least this ship will be a smoother ride than that. I do hope smooth. Shall we go aboard?”

“Has she forgotten our last trip?” Keestis asked quietly, once Nynaeve had pulled far enough ahead of them.

The noises. The smell. The constant need to clean up after their more tender-stomached friends ... Elayne shuddered. “Perhaps it will be different this time. Experience and training toughen soldiers, after all. Why not stomachs?” The look Keestis gave her was not optimistic.

Ronelle, Ragan and the others caught up to them, and they all in turn caught up to Nynaeve as they picked their way down the pier, weaving between working men and stacked barrels and carts full of goods. The Shienarans had left their horses behind, along with much of their armour. Instead of their usual plate, they wore leather and chainmail now. But each of them, from grizzled Katsui to the woman warrior Areku, still bristled with weapons.

“Nynaeve, the Sea Folk can be touchy until they know you, or so I was taught,” said Elayne, while privately rebuking herself for not asking Avaleen’s advice this morning. She’d been too distracted by ... other things at the time. “Do you think you might try to be a little ...?”

“A little what?”

“Tactful, Nynaeve.” Elayne skipped a step as someone spat on the dock in front of her. There was no telling which fellow had done it; when she looked around they all had their heads down and were hard at work. Mishandling by the High Nobles or no, she would have said a few quietly sharp words that the culprit would not have soon forgotten if she could have found him. “You might try to be a little tactful for once.”

“Of course.” Nynaeve started up the raker’s rope-railed gangway. “As long as they do not bounce me about.”

Elayne’s first thought on reaching the deck was that the raker appeared very narrow for its length; she did not know a great deal about ships, in truth, but to her it seemed a huge splinter.  _ Oh, Light, this thing will toss worse than the carriage, however big it is _ . Her second was for the crew.

The stories about the Atha’an Miere told little, really. A secretive people who kept to themselves, almost as mysterious as the Aiel. Only the lands beyond the Waste could possibly be more strange, and all anyone knew of them was that the Sea Folk brought ivory and silk from there.

These Atha’an Miere were dark, barefoot and bare-chested men, all cleanly shaven, with black hair and tattooed hands, moving with the sureness of those who knew their tasks well enough to do them with half a mind but were putting their whole minds to it. There was a rolling grace to their movements, as though, with the ship still, they yet felt the motions of the sea. Most wore gold or silver chains around their necks, and rings in their ears, sometimes two or three in each, and some with polished stones.

There were women among the crew, too, as many as the men, hauling ropes and coiling lines right with the men, with the same tattooed hands, in the same baggy breeches of some dark, oiled cloth, held by colourful narrow sashes and hanging open at the ankle. But the women wore loose colourful blouses, too, all brilliant reds and blues and greens, and they had at least as many chains and earrings as the men. Including, Elayne noticed, two or three women with rings in one side of their noses. She’d been shocked the first time she saw Avaleen’s piercings, but it looked like such things were a prevalent fashion among her people. Elayne had winced just thinking about that nose ring. And that chain! What if it got caught on something?

The grace of the women outshone even that of the men, and put Elayne in mind of some stories she had heard as a child by listening where she was not supposed to. Women of the Atha’an Miere were, in those tales, the epitome of alluring beauty and temptation, pursued by all men. The women on this ship were no more beautiful than any others, really, but watching them move, she could believe those tales.

Two of the women, on the raised deck at the stern, were obviously not ordinary crew. They were barefoot, too, and their garb of the same cut, but one was clothed entirely in brocaded blue silks, the other in green. The older of the pair, the one in green, wore four small gold rings in each ear and one in the left side of her nose, all worked so they sparkled in the morning sunlight. A fine chain ran from her tiny nose ring to one earring, supporting a row of tiny dangling gold medallions, and one of the chains around her neck held a pierced golden box, like ornate gold lace, that she lifted to sniff from time to time. The other woman, the taller, had only six earrings in total, and fewer medallions. The pierced box she sniffed at was just as finely wrought gold, though. Exotic, indeed.

Something odd about the sterndeck itself caught her eye, but at first she could not tell what. Then she saw. There was no tiller for the rudder. Some sort of spoked wheel stood behind the women, lashed down so it could not turn, but no tiller.  _ How do they steer? _ The smallest riverboat she had seen had had a tiller. There had been tillers on all the others ships lining the nearby docks. More and more mysterious, these Sea Folk.

“Remember what Moiraine told you,” she cautioned as they approached the sterndeck. That had not been much; even Aes Sedai knew little about the Atha’an Miere. Moiraine had imparted the proper phrasings, though; the things that had to be said for good manners. “And remember tact,” she added in a firm whisper.

“I will remember,” Nynaeve replied sharply. “I can be tactful.” Elayne truly hoped she would. The two Sea Folk women waited for them at the top of the stairs—ladder, Elayne remembered even when they were stairs. She did not understand why ships had to have different names for common things. A floor was a floor, in a barn or an inn or a palace. Why not on a ship? A cloud of perfume surrounded the two, a slightly musky scent, wafting from the lacy gold boxes. The tattoos on their hands were stars and seabirds surrounded by the curls and whirls of stylized waves.

Nynaeve inclined her head. “I am Nynaeve al’Meara, Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah. I seek the Sailmistress of this vessel, and passage, if it pleases the Light. This is my companion and friend Elayne Trakand, also Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah. The women with us are Aes Sedai as well. The Light illumine you and your vessel, and send the winds to speed you.” That was almost exactly the way Moiraine had instructed them to speak. Not about Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah—Moiraine had seemed resigned to that more than anything else and amused at their choice of ajah—but the rest.

The older woman, with grey touches in her black hair and fine wrinkles at the corners of her large brown eyes, inclined her head just as formally. Nevertheless, she seemed to be taking them in from head to foot, especially the Great Serpent ring each wore on her right hand. “I am Coine din Jubai Wild Winds, Sailmistress of  _ Wavedancer _ . This is Jorin din Jubai White Wing, my sister of the blood and Windfinder of  _ Wavedancer _ . There may be passage available, if it pleases the Light. The Light illumine you, and see you safe to your journey’s end.”

It was a surprise that the two were sisters. Elayne could see the resemblance, but Jorin looked much younger. She wished the Windfinder were the one they had to deal with; both women had the same reserve, but something about the Windfinder reminded her of Aviendha. It was absurd, of course. These women were no taller than she herself, their colouring could not have been more different from the Aiel woman’s, and the only weapon either had in sight was the stout knife tucked in her sash, looking very workmanlike despite carvings and gold-wire inlays on the handle. But Elayne could not help feeling some similarity, between Jorin and Aviendha, anyway.

“Let us talk, then, Sailmistress, if it pleases you,” Nynaeve said, following Moiraine’s formula, “of sailings and ports, and the gift of passage.” The Sea Folk did not charge for passage, according to Moiraine; it was a gift, which just coincidentally would be exchanged for a gift of equal value.

Coine glanced away then, astern toward the Stone and the white banner rippling over it. “We will talk in my cabin, Aes Sedai, if it pleases you.” She motioned toward an open hatch behind that strange wheel. “The welcome of my ship to you, and the grace of the Light be upon you until you leave his decks.”

Another narrow ladder—staircase—led down into a neat room, larger and taller than Elayne had expected from her experiences on smaller vessels, with windows across the stern and gimballed lamps on the walls. She and Nynaeve followed the two Sea Folk women inside. Almost everything seemed to have been built into the room except for a few lacquered chests of various sizes. The bed was large and low, right under the sternwindows, and a narrow table surrounded by armchairs stood across the middle of the room.

There was very little clutter. Rolled charts lay on the table, a few ivory carvings of strange animals stood on railed shelves, and half a dozen bare-bladed swords of different shapes, some that Elayne had never seen before, rested on hooks on the walls. An oddly worked square brass gong hung from a beam over the bed, while right before the sternwindows, as if in a place of honour, a helmet sat on a featureless wooden head carved for the purpose, a helmet like the head of some monstrous insect, lacquered in red and green, with a narrow white plume to either side, one broken.

The helmet Elayne recognized. “Seanchan,” she gasped before thinking. Nynaeve gave her a vexed look, and deservedly; they had agreed it would make more sense, and ring more true, if Nynaeve, as the older, took the lead and did most of the talking.

Coine and Jorin exchanged unreadable glances. “You know of them?” the Sailmistress said. “Of course. One must expect Aes Sedai to know these things. This far east we hear a score of stories, the truest less than half-true.”

Elayne knew she should leave it at that, but curiosity tickled her tongue. “How did you come by the helmet? If I may ask.”

“ _ Wavedancer _ encountered a Seanchan ship last year,” Coine replied. “They wished to take him, but I did not wish to give him up.” She shrugged slightly. “I have the helmet to remind me, and the sea took the Seanchan, the Light be merciful to all who sail. I will not go close to a vessel with ribbed sails again.”

“You were lucky,” Nynaeve said curtly. “The Seanchan hold captive women who can channel, and make them channel as a weapon. If they had had one on that ship, you would be regretting ever having seen it.”

Elayne grimaced at her, though it was too late. She could not tell whether the Sea Folk women were offended by Nynaeve’s tone. The pair kept the same neutral expressions, but Elayne was beginning to realize they did not show very much on their faces, not to strangers, anyway.

“Let us speak of passage,” Coine said. “If it pleases the Light, we may call where you wish to go. All things are possible, in the Light. Let us sit.”

The chairs around the table did not slide back; they and the table were fastened to the floor— deck. Instead the arms swung out like gates and latched in place once you had sat. The arrangement seemed to bear out Elayne’s dire predictions of heaving and pitching. She did very well with it herself, of course, but too much rolling on a riverboat set Nynaeve’s stomach jumping. It must be worse on the ocean than on a river, however fierce the wind, and the worse Nynaeve’s stomach, the worse her temper. Nynaeve sicking up and in a bad choler at the same time: there were few things more dreadful, in Elayne’s experience.

She and Nynaeve were placed together on one side of the table, with the Sailmistress and the Windfinder at the ends. At first it seemed strange, until she realized they would both look at whichever of the two was talking, allowing the other to watch them unobserved.  _ Do they always deal with passengers this way, or is it because we’re Aes Sedai? Well, because they think we are _ . It was a caution that everything might not be as simple as they hoped with these people. She hoped Nynaeve was taking notice.

Elayne had not seen any order passed, but a slender young woman with only one ring in each ear appeared, bearing a tray with a square white brass-handled teapot and large handleless cups, not of Sea Folk porcelain as might have been expected, but thick pottery. Less likely to be broken in heavy weather, she decided bleakly. It was the young woman who took her attention, though, and nearly brought a gasp. She was bare to the waist, just like the men above. Elayne hid her shock very well, she thought, but Nynaeve sniffed loudly.

The Sailmistress waited until the girl had poured tea brewed to blackness, then said, “Have we sailed, Dorele, when I did not see? Is there no land in sight?”

The slender woman froze in place. “There is land, Sailmistress.” It was a miserable whisper.

Coine nodded. “Until there is no land in sight, and has been none for one full day, you will work at cleaning the bilges, where garments are a hindrance. You may leave.”

“Yes, Sailmistress,” the girl said, even more woefully. She turned away, undoing her red sash dejectedly as she went through the door at the far end of the room.

“Share this tea, if it please you,” the Sailmistress said, “that we may talk in peace.” She sipped at her own and continued while Elayne and Nynaeve were tasting theirs. “I ask that you forgive any offense, Aes Sedai. This is Dorele’s first voyage except between the islands. The young often forget the ways of the shorebound. I will punish her further, if you are affronted.”

“There is no need,” Elayne said hastily, taking the excuse to set her cup down. The tea was even stronger than it looked, very hot, unsweetened and quite bitter. “Truly, we were not offended. There are different ways among different peoples.”  _ The Light send not too many more as different as that! Light, what if they don’t wear any clothes at all once they get out to sea? Light! _ “Only a fool takes offense at customs different from her own.”

Nynaeve gave her a level look, bland enough for the Aes Sedai they were pretending to be, and took a deep swallow from her cup. All she said was “Please think no more of it.” It was not possible to tell if she meant it for Elayne or the Sea Folk women.

“Then we will speak of passage, if it pleases you,” Coine said. “To what port do you wish to sail?”

“Tanchico,” Nynaeve said, a bit more briskly than she should have. “I know you may not mean to sail there, but we need to go quickly, as quickly as only a raker can, and without stopping, if that is possible. I offer this small gift, for the inconvenience.” She took a paper from her belt pouch and unfolded it, pushing it down the table to the Sailmistress.

Moiraine had given that to them, and another like it, letters-of-rights. Each allowed the bearer to draw up to three thousand gold crowns from bankers and moneylenders in various cities, though it was not likely any of those men and women knew it was White Tower money they held. Elayne had goggled at the amount—Nynaeve had gaped openly—but Moiraine said it might be needed to make the Sailmistress forsake her intended ports of call.

Coine touched the letter-of-rights with one finger, read. “A vast sum for the gift of passage,” she murmured, “even counting that you ask me to alter my sailing plans. I am more surprised now than before. You know that we very seldom carry Aes Sedai on our ships. Very seldom. Of all who ask passage, only Aes Sedai may be refused, and almost always are, as from the first day of the first sailing. Aes Sedai know this, and so almost never ask.” She was looking into her teacup, not at them, but Elayne glanced the other way and caught the Windfinder studying their hands lying on the table. No, their rings.

Moiraine had not said anything about this. She had pointed out the raker as the swiftest ship available and encouraged them to make use of it. Then again, she had given them these letters-of-rights, very likely sufficient to buy a fleet of ships like this one. Well, several ships, at the least.  _ Because she knew it would take that much to bribe them to carry us? But why had she kept secrets? _ A foolish question; Moiraine always kept secrets. But why waste their time?

“Do you mean to refuse us passage?” Nynaeve had abandoned tact for bluntness. “If you do not carry Aes Sedai, why did you bring us down here? Why not tell us up above and be done with it?”

The Sailmistress unlatched one arm of her chair, rose and went to peer out of the sternwindows at the Stone. Her earrings and the medallions across her left cheek glittered in the light of the sun. “He can wield the One Power, so I have heard, and he holds the Sword That Cannot Be Touched. The Aiel have come over the Dragonwall to his call; I have seen several in the streets, and it is said they fill the Stone. The Stone of Tear has fallen, and war breaks over the nations of the land. Those who once ruled have returned, and been driven back for the first time. Prophecy is being fulfilled.”

Nynaeve looked as confounded as Elayne felt at this change of subject. “The Prophecies of the Dragon?” Elayne said after a moment. “Yes, they are being fulfilled. He is the Dragon Reborn, Sailmistress.”  _ He’s a stubborn man who doesn’t appreciate what he has, that is what he is! _

Coine turned. “Not the Prophecies of the Dragon, Aes Sedai. The Jendai Prophecy, the prophecy of the  _ Coramoor _ . Not the one you wait for and dread; the one we seek, herald of a new Age. At the Breaking of the World our ancestors fled to the safety of the sea while the land heaved and broke as storm waves do. It is said they knew nothing of the ships they took to flee, but the Light was with them, and they survived. They did not see the land again until it was still once more, and by then, much had changed. All—everything—the world—drifted on the water and the wind. It was in the years after that the Jendai Prophecy was first spoken. We must wander the waters until the  _ Coramoor _ returns, and serve him at his coming.

“We are bound to the sea; the salt water courses in our veins. Most of us set no foot on the land except to await another ship, another sailing. Strong men weep when they must serve ashore. Women ashore go onto a ship to bear their children—into a rowboat if no more is at hand—for we must be born on the water, as we must die on it, and be given to it in death.

“The Prophecy is being fulfilled. He is the  _ Coramoor _ . Aes Sedai serve him. You are proof of that, that you are here in this city. That is in the Prophecy as well. ‘The White Tower shall be broken by his name, and Aes Sedai shall kneel to wash his feet and dry them with their hair’. ”

“You will have a long wait if you expect to see me wash any man’s feet,” Nynaeve said wryly. “What does this have to do with our passage? Will you take us, or not?”

Elayne cringed, but the Sailmistress came back just as directly. “Why do you wish to journey to Tanchico? It is far removed from the rest of Valgarda. That is why the founders of Tarabon wanted it so badly.” Though listening carefully, Elayne could detect no bitterness in Coine’s voice. That was surprising to her, since it had been from the Sea Folk that those founders had taken Tarabon—once the largest of their islands—in the first place.

“Do you always question your passengers so?” Nynaeve said. “I’ve offered you enough to buy a village. Two villages! If you want more, name your price.”

“Not a price,” Elayne hissed in her ear. “A gift!”

If Coine was offended, or even had heard, she gave no sign. “Why?”

Nynaeve took a tight grip on her braid, but Elayne laid a hand on her arm. They had planned to keep a few secrets themselves, but surely they had learned enough since sitting down to alter any plan. There was a time for secrecy and a time for truth. “We hunt the Black Ajah, Sailmistress. We believe some of them are in Tanchico.” She met Nynaeve’s angry stare calmly. “We must find them, else they may harm ... the Dragon Reborn. The  _ Coramoor _ .”

“The Light see us safe to docking,” the Windfinder breathed. It was the first time she had spoken and Elayne stared at her in surprise. Jorin was frowning, and not looking at anyone, but she spoke to the Sailmistress. “We can take them, my sister. We must.” Coine nodded.

Elayne exchanged looks with Nynaeve and saw her own questions mirrored in the other woman’s eyes. Why was it the Windfinder who decided? Why not the Sailmistress? She was the captain, whatever her title. At least they were going to get passage after all.  _ For how much? _ Elayne wondered.  _ How large a ‘gift’? _ She wished Nynaeve had not revealed that they had more than was in that one letter-of-rights.  _ And she accuses me of tossing gold about _ .

The door opened and a heavy-shouldered grey-haired man in loose green silk breeches and sash came in, ruffling through a sheaf of papers. Seven gold rings decorated his ears, and three heavy gold chains hung at his neck, including one with a perfume box. A long puckered scar down his cheek, and two curved knives tucked in his sash, gave him something of a dangerous air. He was fastening a peculiar wire framework over his ears to hold clear lenses in front of his eyes. The Sea Folk made the best looking glasses and burning lenses and the like, of course, somewhere on their islands, but Elayne had never seen anything like this device. He peered through the lenses at the papers and began talking without looking up.

“Coine, this fool is willing to trade me five hundred snowfox pelts from Kaltor for those three small barrels of Theren tabac I got in Ebou Dar. Five hundred! He can have them here by midday.” His eyes rose, and he gave a start. “Forgive me, my wife. I did not know you had guests. The Light be with you all.”

“By midday, my husband,” Coine said, “I will be falling downriver. By nightfall I will be at sea.”

He stiffened. “Am I still Cargomaster, wife, or has my place been taken while I did not see?”

“You are Cargomaster, husband, but the trading must stop now and preparations begin for getting under way. We sail for Tanchico.”

“Tanchico!” The papers crumpled in his fist, and he brought himself under control with an effort. “Wife—No! Sailmistress, you told me our next port was Mayene, and then eastward to Kigali. I have traded with that in mind. Kigali, Sailmistress, not Tarabon. What I have in my holds will bring little in Tanchico. Perhaps nothing! May I ask why my trade is to be ruined and  _ Wavedancer _ impoverished?”

Coine hesitated, but when she spoke her voice was still formal. “I am Sailmistress, my husband.  _ Wavedancer _ sails when and where I say. It must be enough, for now.”

“As you say, Sailmistress,” he rasped, “so it is.” He touched his heart—Elayne thought Coine flinched—and padded out with his back stiff as one of the ship’s masts.

“I must make this up to him,” Coine murmured softly, staring at the door. “Of course, it is pleasant making up with him. Usually. He saluted me like a deckboy, sister.”

“We regret being a cause of trouble, Sailmistress,” Elayne said carefully. “And we regret having witnessed this. If we have caused any embarrassment, to anyone, please accept our apologies.”

“Embarrassment?” Coine sounded startled. “Aes Sedai, I am Sailmistress. I doubt your presence embarrassed Toram, and I would not apologize to him for that if it did. Trade is his, but I am Sailmistress. I must make up to him—and it will not be easy, since I must keep the reason secret still—because he is right, and I could not think quickly enough to give him a reason beyond what I would give a raw hand. That scar on his face he earned clearing the Seanchan from  _ Wavedancer _ ’s decks. He has older scars earned defending my ship, and I have only to put out my hand to have gold placed in it because of his trading. It is the things I cannot tell him I must make up to him, because he deserves to know.”

“I do not understand,” Nynaeve said. “We would ask you to keep the Black Ajah secret ...”— she shot a hard look at Elayne, one that promised hard words once they were alone; Elayne intended a few words of her own, about the meaning of tact—“... but surely three thousand crowns is reason enough to take us to Tanchico.”

“I must keep your secret, Aes Sedai. What you are, and why you travel. Many among my crew consider Aes Sedai bad luck. If they knew they not only carried Aes Sedai, but toward a port where other Aes Sedai may serve the Father of Storms ... The grace of the Light shone on us that none was close enough to hear me call you so above. Will it offend if I ask you to keep below as much as possible, and not to wear your rings when on deck?”

For answer, Nynaeve plucked her Great Serpent ring off and dropped it into her pouch. Elayne did the same, a bit more reluctantly; she rather enjoyed having people see her ring. Not quite trusting Nynaeve’s remaining store of diplomacy at this point, she spoke up before the other woman could. “Sailmistress, we have offered you a gift of passage, if it pleases you. If it does not, may I ask what would?”

Coine came back to the table to look at the letter-of-rights again, then pushed it back to Nynaeve. “I do this for the  _ Coramoor _ . I will see you safe ashore where you wish, if it pleases the Light. It shall be done.” She touched the fingers of her right hand to her lips. “It is agreed, under the Light.”

Jorin made a strangled sound. “My sister, has a Cargomaster ever mutinied against his Sailmistress?”

Coine gave her a flat-eyed stare. “I will put in the gift of passage from my own chest. And if Toram ever hears of it, my sister, I will put you in the bilges with Dorele. For ballast, perhaps.”

That the two Sea Folk women had dropped formality was confirmed when the Windfinder laughed aloud. “And then your next port would be in Chachin, my sister, or Caemlyn, for you could not find the water without me.”

The Sailmistress addressed Elayne and Nynaeve regretfully. “Properly, Aes Sedai, since you serve the  _ Coramoor _ , I should honour you as I would Sailmistress and Windfinder of another ship. We should bathe together and drink honeyed wine and tell each other stories to make ourselves laugh and weep. But I must make ready to sail, and—”

_ Wavedancer _ rose like his name, leaping, pounding against the dock. Elayne whipped back and forth in her chair, wondering as it continued whether this was really better than being thrown to the deck.

Then, finally, it was over, the leaps slowing, growing smaller. Coine scrambled to her feet and raced for the ladder, Jorin at her heels, already shouting orders to look for damage to the hull.


	47. Winds Rising

CHAPTER 44: Winds Rising

Elayne struggled to open the latch on an arm of her chair and darted after them, almost colliding with Nynaeve at the ladder. The ship still rocked, if not as violently as before. Uncertain whether they were sinking, she pushed Nynaeve ahead of her, prodding her to climb faster.

On the deck the crew dashed about, checking the rigging or peering over the side to inspect the hull, shouting about earthquakes. The same shouts were rising from the dockmen, too, but Elayne knew better, despite the tumbled things on the piers and the ships yet pitching at their moorings.

She stared toward the Stone. The huge fortress was still except for masses of startled birds swirling about and that pale banner waving, almost lazily, in an isolated breeze. No sign that anything had ever touched the mountainous mass. That had been Rand, though. She was sure of it.

She turned to find Nynaeve looking at her, and for a long moment their eyes met. “A fine pickling, if he’s damaged the ship,” Elayne said finally. “How are we supposed to get to Tanchico if he goes tossing all the ships about?”  _ Light, he has to be all right. I can do nothing if he isn’t. He is all right. He is _ .

Nynaeve touched her arm reassuringly. “No doubt that second letter of yours touched a nerve. Men always overreact when they let their emotions go; it’s the price for holding them in the way they do. He may be the Dragon Reborn, but he must learn, man to woman, that—What is he doing here?”

“He” was a lean handsome Tairen in his middle years, a hard, dark man wearing a flat conical straw hat and one of those commoner’s coats that fit snugly to the waist, then flared like a short skirt. A notched sword-breaker hung at a belt worn over his coat, and he leaned on a pale staff of nobbly, jointed wood exactly his own height and no thicker than his thumb. A square-tied parcel dangled by a loop from his shoulder, as he stood amid the bustling Sea Folk on the deck. Elayne knew him: his name was Juilin Sandar, and he was a thief-catcher. He insisted on that, she remembered; what was a thief-taker elsewhere was a thief-catcher in Tear, and the distinction seemed important to him.

His attention was split between following the Sailmistress’ progress toward the stern-deck and peering at Elayne and Nynaeve, plainly uncertain and masking it behind a brisk show of confidence. It was plainly a show, however, as his visible discomfort each time he glanced at the cluster of Accepted they’d left on deck proved. Sandar made solemn, self-assured bows, every time one of them looked at him. Having noted the Accepted’s cool reception, the Shienarans had formed a loose ring around Sandar. Not grabbing him, or threatening exactly, but surrounding him quite thoroughly nonetheless.

“He is not damaged,” Coine said, climbing the ladder. “I can sail within the hour, if it pleases you. Well within, if a Tairen pilot can be found. I will sail without him, if not, though it means never returning to Tear.” She followed their gaze to the newcomer. “The thief-catcher asks passage to wherever you travel. I cannot refuse him, and yet ...” Her dark eyes came back to Elayne and Nynaeve. “I will do so, if you ask it.” Reluctance to break custom battled in her voice with ... Desire to help them? To serve the  _ Coramoor _ ? “The thief-catcher is a good man, even considering that he is shorebound. No offense to you, under the Light.”

“You know Master Sandar?” Nynaeve said.

“Twice he has found those who pilfered from us, and found them quickly. Another shoreman would have taken longer so he might ask more for the work. It is obvious that you know him, as well. Do you wish me to refuse passage?” Her reluctance was still there.

“Let us see why he is here first,” Nynaeve said in a flat voice that did not bode well for the man.

“Perhaps I should do the talking,” Elayne suggested, gently but firmly. “That way, you can watch to see if he is hiding anything.” She did not say that that way Nynaeve’s temper would not get the better of her, but the wry smile the other woman gave her said she had heard it anyway.

“Very well, Elayne. I will watch them. Perhaps you might study how I keep calm. You know how you are when you become overwrought.”

Elayne had to laugh.

Sandar straightened as she and Nynaeve approached. Around them the crew bustled, swarming into the rigging, hauling ropes, lashing some things down and unlashing others, to orders relayed from the Sailmistress. They moved around the shorepeople with barely a glance.

“He sauntered right onto the deck as if he owned the ship,” Ronelle said. She had her arms crossed under her formidable bosom, and wore the grim expression of an executioner. It was hardly surprising. Sandar had, in many ways, caused them to be captured by the Black Ajah, and Ronelle had suffered greatly as a result of that.

“Master Sandar,” Elayne said gravely. “You may not remember us. I am Elayne Trakand. I understand that you wish to travel to the same destination as we. Might I ask why? The last time we saw you, you had not served us very well.”

The man did not blink at the suggestion he might not remember them. His eyes flickered across her hands, noting the absence of a ring. Those dark eyes noted everything, and recorded it indelibly. “I do remember, Mistress Trakand, and well. But, if you will forgive me, the last time I served you was in the company of Mat Cauthon, when we pulled you and your friends out of the water before the silverpike could get you.”

Nynaeve harrumphed, but not loudly. It had been a cell, not the water, and the Black Ajah, not silverpike. Nynaeve in particular did not like being reminded that they had needed help that time. Of course, they would not have been in that cell without Juilin Sandar. No, that was not entirely fair. True, but not completely fair.

“That is all very well,” Elayne said briskly, “but you still haven’t said why you want to go to Tanchico.”

He drew a deep breath and eyed Nynaeve warily. Elayne was not sure that she liked him being more careful of the other woman than of her. “I was rousted out of my house no more than half an hour gone,” he said carefully, “by a man you know, I think. A tall, stone-faced man calling himself Lan.”

Nynaeve’s eyebrows rose slightly. “He came on behalf of another man you know. A ... shepherd, I was told. I was given a great quantity of gold and told to accompany you. I was told that if you do not return safely from this journey ... Shall we just say it would be better to drown myself than come back? Lan was emphatic, and the ... shepherd no less so in his message. The Sailmistress tells me I cannot have passage unless you agree. I am not without certain skills that can be useful.” The staff whirled in his hands, a whistling blur that made the Shienarans tense up, and was still. His fingers touched the sword-breaker on his hip, like a short sword but unsharpened, its slots meant to catch a blade.

“Men will find ways to get ’round what you tell them to do,” Nynaeve murmured, sounding not unpleased.

Elayne only frowned vexedly. Rand had sent him? He must not have read the second letter before he did.  _ Burn him! Why does he leap about so? No time to send another letter, and it would probably only confuse him more if I did. And make me look a bigger fool. Burn him! _

“Nynaeve?” she said.

The other woman understood the unspoken question, of course. She studied the man thoroughly, then nodded. “I suppose I can hardly blame him for not being able to resist Liandrin.” Though she ground her teeth, Ronelle nodded agreement. The other Accepted seemed to agree, with varying degrees of reluctance. “He may come,” Nynaeve continued. “As long as he agrees to do as he is told. I’ll not have some wool-brained man going his own way and endangering us.”

“As you command, Mistress al’Meara,” Sandar said immediately, with a bow.

But Nynaeve wasn’t done. She turned to Ragan and said, “That applies to you lot as well. If you want to tag along with me, you’ll need to follow my orders.”

Normally an easy-going man, Ragan scowled angrily. “We serve the Lord Dragon. He has ordered us to protect you. Peace! That should be enough.”

The rest of the Shienarans bristled just as badly, but Nynaeve trampled on as only she could. “As you are told,” she said pointedly. “Your word on it, or you will watch this ship sail from the dock.”

“Our oaths—” Areku began, but Nynaeve finished for her.

“Should make you do as I say.”

One of the cooler heads among them—rather fittingly, given his ashy locks—was Rikimaru. He rested his hand on his swordhilt and spoke calmly. “The Atha’an Miere do not refuse passage to anyone, I have heard.”

Nynaeve was notably less calm. “Do you think not? Was the thief-taker”—Sandar winced—“the only one told he needed our permission? As you are told, or you stay here.”

Ragan tossed his head like a fractious horse and breathed heavily, but finally he nodded. “My word on it.” On seeing him give in to Nynaeve’s demand, the others soon followed suit.

“Very well then,” Nynaeve said in a bracing voice. “It is settled. You lot find the Sailmistress now, and tell her I said to find you some cubbyholes somewhere if she can, out of our way. Off with you, now. Quickly.”

Sandar bowed again and left; Ragan quivered visibly before joining him, stiff-backed. The other Shienarans, trailing after him, looked at her and Nynaeve as though they’d been betrayed.

“Are you not being too hard on them?” Elayne said as soon as they were out of earshot. That was not far, with all the hurly-burly on deck. “We do have to travel together, after all. ‘Smooth words make smooth companions’.”

“Best to begin as we mean to go on. Elayne, Ragan knows very well we are not full Aes Sedai.” She lowered her voice and glanced around as she said it. None of the crew was even looking at them, except for the Sailmistress, back near the sterndeck where she was listening to the soldiers and the thief-catcher. “Men talk—they always do—so Sandar will know it soon enough, as well. They’d present no trouble to Aes Sedai, but to Accepted ...? Given half a chance, they would all be doing things they thought for the best no matter what we said. I do not mean to give them even that half-chance.”

“Perhaps you are right, but I still say there was no need to put your foot down quite that hard. You made it sound as if you don’t trust them, Nynaeve. And after all we went through together after Falme.” She would have said the other woman was behaving like Moiraine, but Nynaeve would not appreciate the comparison.

“Can we trust them? Are you sure of that? Juilin Sandar betrayed us once before. Yes, yes, I know no man could have avoided it, but there it is just the same. And Liandrin and the others know his face. We will have to put him in different clothes. Perhaps make him let his hair grow longer. Perhaps a moustache, like that thing infesting the gleeman’s face. It might do.”

“And the others?”

“We know they were sent by Rand,” Nynaeve said wearily, “and that they will do what  _ he _ wants, not what we want, if we leave them to their own devices. What did he tell them that they haven’t told us? What orders did he give? They’ll protect us from anyone who attacks; I don’t doubt that for a moment. But knowing Rand they might well have orders to try to bundle us up in wool and cart us off to Emond’s Field, to make sure we don’t bruise ourselves.”

Elayne opened her mouth, but then let it fall closed again with a soft sigh. Rand could, as Nynaeve intimated, be rather overprotective at times.

“It do make sense,” said Emara, and Elayne was forced to nod along.

In due time, ropes were cast off at the bow, where triangular sails suddenly broke out, and  _ Wavedancer _ heeled away from the dock. More sails appeared, great white squares and triangles, the sternlines were cast off, and the ship curled out into the river in a great arc through the anchored ships awaiting their turn at the docks, a smooth curve that ended heading south, downriver. The Sea Folk handled their ship as a master horseman would a fine steed. That peculiar spoked wheel worked the rudder, somehow, as one of the bare-chested crewmen turned it. A man, Elayne was relieved to see.

Sailmistress and Windfinder stood to one side of the wheel, Coine issuing occasional orders, sometimes after a murmured consultation with her sister. Toram watched for a time, with a face that might have been carved from a deck plank, then stalked below.

There was a Tairen on the sterndeck, a plump, dejected-looking man in a dull yellow coat with puffy grey sleeves, rubbing his hands nervously. He had been hustled aboard just as the gangway was being hauled up, a pilot who was supposed to guide  _ Wavedancer _ downriver; according to Tairen law, no ship could pass through the Fingers of the Dragon without a Tairen pilot aboard. His dejection certainly came from doing nothing, for if he gave any directions, the Sea Folk paid them no heed.

Muttering about seeing what their cabins were like, Nynaeve went downstairs—below—taking the other Accepted with her, but Elayne was enjoying the breeze across the deck and the feel of starting out. To travel, to see places she had not seen before, was a joy in itself. She had never expected to, not like this. The Daughter-Heir of Andor might make a few state visits, and she would make more once she succeeded to the throne, but they would be bounded about with ceremony and propriety. Not like this at all. Barefoot Sea Folk and a ship headed to sea.

The riverbank slid by quite quickly as the sun climbed, an occasional cluster of huddled stone farmhouses and barns, bleak and lonely, appearing and vanishing behind. No villages, though. Tear would not allow the smallest village on the river between the city and the sea, for even the tiniest might one day become competition for the capital. The High Nobles controlled the size of villages and towns throughout the country with a buildings tax that grew heavier the more buildings there were. Elayne was sure they would never have allowed Godan to thrive, on the Bay of Remara, if not for the supposed necessity of a strong presence overlooking Mayene. In a way it was a relief to be leaving such foolish people behind. If only she did not have to leave one foolish man behind as well.

Still, she did not for a moment regret her time in Tear. She had come here a girl, and she was leaving a woman. Very much a woman, with not a single virginity left to lose, in point of fact. She giggled to herself, alone by the railing, as the world sped by.

The number of fishing boats, most small and all surrounded by clouds of hopeful gulls and fisher-birds, increased the farther south  _ Wavedancer _ went, especially once the vessel entered the maze of waterways called the Fingers of the Dragon. Often the birds overhead and the long poles that held the nets were all that was visible besides plains of reeds and knifegrass rippling in the breezes, dotted with low islands where odd, twisted trees grew with spidery tangles of roots exposed to the air. Many boats worked right in the reeds, though not with nets. Once Elayne saw some of them close to clear water, men and women dropping hooked lines into the watery growth and pulling up wriggling, dark-striped fish as long as a man’s arm.

The Tairen pilot began to pace anxiously once they were in the delta, with the sun overhead, turning up his nose at an offered bowl of thick spicy fish stew and bread. Elayne ate hers hungrily, wiping her pottery bowl with the last scrap of bread, though she shared his unease. Passages broad and narrow ran in every direction. Some ended abruptly, in plain sight, against a wall of reeds. There was no way to tell which of the others might not vanish just as suddenly around the next bend. Coine did not slow  _ Wavedancer _ , regardless, or hesitate at choosing a way. Obviously she knew the channels to take, or the Windfinder did, but the pilot still muttered to himself as if he expected to run aground any moment.

It was late afternoon when the river mouth suddenly appeared ahead, and the endless stretch of the Sea of Storms beyond. The Sea Folk did something with the sails, and the ship shuddered softly to a dead halt. It was only then that Elayne noticed a large rowboat skittering like a many-legged waterbug out from an island where a few forlorn stone buildings stood around the base of a tall narrow tower where men stood small at the top beneath the banner of Tear, three white crescents on a field of red and gold. The pilot took the purse Coine proffered without a word and scrambled down a rope ladder to the boat. As soon as he was aboard, the sails were swung about again, and  _ Wavedancer _ breasted the first rollers of open sea, rising slightly, slicing through. Sea Folk scampered through the rigging, setting more sails, as the ship sped south and west, away from the land.

When the last thin strip of land dropped below the horizon, the Sea Folk women doffed their blouses. All of them, even the Sailmistress and the Windfinder. Elayne did not know where to look. All those women walking about half-dressed and completely unconcerned by the men all around them. Juilin Sandar seemed to be having as hard a time as she was, alternating between staring at the women wide-eyed and staring at his feet until he finally all but ran below. Elayne would not let herself be routed that way. She opted for staring over the side at the sea, instead.

_ Different customs _ , she reminded herself.  _ As long they don’t expect me to do the same _ . The very thought nearly made her laugh hysterically. Somehow, the Black Ajah was easier to contemplate than that.  _ Different customs. Light! _

The sky grew purple, with a dull golden sun on the horizon. Scores of dolphins escorted the vessel, rolling and arching alongside, and farther out some sort of sparkling silver-blue fish rose above the surface in schools, gliding on outstretched fins six feet across before plunging back into the swelling grey-green water. Elayne watched in amazement for a dozen flights before they did not appear again.

But the dolphins, great sleek shapes, were wondrous enough, a guard of honour taking  _ Wavedancer _ back where he belonged. Those she recognized from descriptions in books; it was said if they found you drowning, they would push you to shore. She was not sure she believed it, but it was a pretty story. She followed them along the side of the ship, to the bow, where they frolicked in the bow wave, rolling on their sides to look up at her without losing an inch.

She didn’t notice it at first, being so enraptured by the dolphins, but after a time that tickling awareness became too great to ignore. She straightened, frowning, then hastened toward the stern.  _ Wavedancer _ was pitching more rapidly now, moving faster through the great sea swells as the wind freshened, but Elayne kept her balance with the ease of an experience tightrope walker.

Two men stood at the wheel on the sterndeck, the muscle of both needed to hold the vessel on course. The Sailmistress was not on deck, but the Windfinder was, standing at the rail beyond the wheelmen, bare to the waist like the men, studying the sky where billowing clouds rolled more fiercely than the ocean. For once it was not Jorin’s state of dress—or undress—that bothered Elayne. The glow of a woman embracing  _ saidar _ surrounded her, clearly visible despite the lurid light. That was what she had felt, what had drawn her. A woman channelling.

Elayne stopped short of the sterndeck to study what she was doing. The flows of Air and Water the Windfinder handled were cable-thick, yet her weaving was intricate, almost delicate, and it reached as far as the eye could see across the waters, a web drawn across the sky. The wind rose higher, higher; the wheelmen strained, and  _ Wavedancer _ flew through the sea. The weaving stopped, the glow of  _ saidar _ vanished, and Jorin slumped at the rail, leaning on her hands.

Elayne climbed the ladder quietly, yet the Sea Folk woman spoke in a soft voice without turning her head as soon as she was near enough to hear. “In the middle as I worked, I thought that you were watching me. I could not stop then; there might have been a storm even  _ Wavedancer _ could not survive. The Sea of Storms is well named; it will throw up bad winds enough without my help. I meant not to do this at all, but Coine said we must go quickly. For you, and for the  _ Coramoor _ .” She raised her eyes to peer at the sky. “This wind will hold until morning, if it pleases the Light.”

“This is why the Sea Folk do not carry Aes Sedai?” Elayne said, taking a place beside her at the rail. It was hard not to look at Jorin’s dangling breasts, but she managed to limit herself to a brief peek. They were quite pretty. “So the Tower won’t learn Windfinders can channel. That is why it was your decision to let us aboard, not your sister’s. Jorin, the Tower will not try to stop you. There is no law in the Tower to stop any woman channelling, even if she is not Aes Sedai.”

“Your White Tower will interfere. It will try to reach onto our ships, where we are free of the land and landsmen. It will try to tie us to itself, binding us away from the sea.” She sighed heavily. “The wave that has passed cannot be called back.”

Elayne wished she could tell her it was not so, but the Tower did seek out women and girls who could learn to channel, both to bolster the numbers of Aes Sedai, dwindling now compared to what they once had been, and because of the danger of learning unguided. In truth, a woman who could be taught to touch the True Source usually found herself in the Tower whatever she wanted, at least until she was trained enough not to kill herself or others by accident.

After a moment Jorin went on. “It is not all of us. Only some. We send a few girls to Tar Valon so Aes Sedai will not come looking among us. No ship will carry Aes Sedai whose Windfinder can weave the winds. When you first named yourselves, I thought you must know me, but you did not speak, and you asked passage, and I hoped perhaps you were not Aes Sedai despite your rings. A foolish hope. I could feel the strength of you both. And now the White Tower will know.”

“I cannot promise to keep your secret, but I will do what I can.” The woman deserved more. “Jorin, I swear by the honour of House Trakand of Andor that I will do my best to keep your secret from any who would harm you or your people, and that if I must reveal it to anyone, I will do all in my ability to protect your people from interference. House Trakand is not without influence, even in the Tower.”  _ And I will make mother use it, if need be. Somehow _ .

“If it pleases the Light,” Jorin said fatalistically, “all will be well. All will be well, and all will be well, and all manner of thing will be well, if it pleases the Light.”

“There was a  _ damane _ on that Seanchan ship, wasn’t there?” The Windfinder gave her a quizzical look. “One of the captive women who can channel.”

“You see deeply for one so young. That is why I first thought you might not be Aes Sedai, because you are so young; I have daughters older than you, I think. I did not know she was a captive. That makes me wish we could have saved her.  _ Wavedancer _ outran the Seanchan vessel easily at first —we had heard of the Seanchan and their vessels with ribbed sails, that they demanded strange oaths and punished those who would not give them—but then the— _ damane _ ?—broke two of his masts, and they boarded him with swords. I managed to start fires on the Seanchan vessel—weaving Fire is difficult for me beyond lighting a lamp, but it pleased the Light to make it enough—and Toram led the crew to fight the Seanchan back to their own decks. We cut loose the boarding hooks, and their ship drifted away, burning. They were too occupied with trying to save him to bother us as we limped away. I regretted seeing him burn and sink, then; he was a fine ship, I think, for heavy seas. Now I regret it because we might have saved the woman, the  _ damane _ . Even if she damaged him, perhaps she would not have, free. The Light illumine her soul, and the waters take her peacefully.”

Telling the story had saddened her. She needed to be distracted. “Jorin, why do the Atha’an Miere call ships ‘he’? Everyone else I’ve ever met calls them ‘she’. I don’t suppose it makes any difference, but why?”

“The men will give you a different answer,” the Windfinder said, smiling, “speaking of strength and grandness and the like as men will, but this is the truth. A ship is alive, and he is like a man, with a true man’s heart.” She rubbed the rail fondly, as if stroking something alive, something that could feel her caress. “Treat him well and care for him properly, and he will fight for you against the worst sea. He will fight to keep you alive even after the sea has long since given him his own deathstroke. Neglect him, though, ignore the small warnings he gives of danger, and he will drown you in a flat sea beneath a cloudless sky.”

Elayne hoped Rand was not as fickle as that. _ Then why does he hop about, glad to see me go one minute and sending Juilin Sandar after me the next? _ She told herself to stop thinking about him. He was a long way away. There was nothing to be done about him now.

“Jorin, how long before we reach Tanchico? I have been told rakers are the fastest ships in the world, but how fast?”

“To Tanchico? To serve the  _ Coramoor _ , we will not stop at any port between. Perhaps ten days, if I can weave the winds well enough, if it pleases the Light that I find the proper currents. Perhaps as few as seven or eight, with the grace of the Light.”

“Ten days?” Elayne gasped. “It cannot be possible.” She had seen maps, after all.

The other woman’s smile was half pride, half indulgence. “As you yourself said, the fastest ships in the world. The next quickest take half again as long over any stretch, and most more than twice as long. Coasting craft that hug the shore and anchor in the shallows each night ...” She sniffed contemptuously. “... require ten times as much.”

“Jorin, would you teach me to do what you were just doing?”

The Windfinder stared, her dark eyes wide and shining in the fading light. “Teach you? But you are Aes Sedai.”

“Jorin, I have never woven a flow half as thick as those you were handling. And the scope of it! I am astounded, Jorin.”

The Windfinder stared a moment more, no longer in amazement, but as if trying to fix Elayne’s face in her mind. Finally she kissed the fingers of her right hand and pressed them to Elayne’s lips. An indirect kiss, to which Elayne blushed. “If it pleases the Light, we both shall learn.”


	48. Into the Heart

CHAPTER 45: Into the Heart

Tairen nobility filled the great vaulted chamber with its huge polished redstone columns, ten feet thick, rising into shadowed heights above golden lamps hanging on golden chains. The High Lords and Ladies were arrayed in a thick hollow circle under the great dome at the chamber’s heart with the lesser nobles ranked behind, row on row back into the forest of columns, all in their best velvets and silks and laces, wide sleeves and ruffed collars and peaked hats, all murmuring uneasily so the towering ceiling echoed the sounds of nervous geese. Only the High Nobles themselves had ever before been bidden to this place, called the Heart of the Stone, and they had come only four times a year, at the twin demands of law and custom. They came now, all who were not out in the countryside somewhere, at the summons of their new lord, the maker of law and breaker of custom.

The packed crowd gave way before Moiraine as soon as they saw who she was, so she, Dani and Pedra moved in a pocket of open space. Lan’s absence irritated Moiraine. It was not like the man to vanish when she might need him; his way usually was to watch over her as if she could not fend for herself without a guardian. Had she not been able to feel the bond linking them and known he could not be very far from the Stone, she might have worried.

He fought the strings Nynaeve was tying to him as hard as he had ever fought Trollocs in the Blight, but much as he might deny it, that young woman had bound him as tightly as she herself did, though in other ways. He might as well try tearing steel with his hands as those ties. She was not jealous, exactly—they had always kept things strictly professional between them—but Lan had been her sword arm, her shield and companion for too many years for her to give him up lightly.  _ I have done what had to be done, there. She will have him if I die, and not before. Where is the man? What is he doing? _

One red-gowned lace-ruffed woman, a horse-faced Lady of the Land called Leitha, drew her skirts away a bit too assiduously, and Moiraine looked at her. Merely looked, without slowing her step, but the woman shuddered and dropped her eyes. Moiraine nodded to herself. She could accept that these people hated Aes Sedai, but she would not endure open rudeness on top of veiled slights. Besides, the rest shied back another step after seeing Leitha faced down.

“Are you certain he said nothing of what he means to announce?” she asked quietly. In this gabble, no-one three paces away could have made out a word. The Tairens kept about that distance now. She did not like being overheard.

“Not according to Elayne or Nynaeve. And they would know, if any of us would,” Dani said just as softly. She sounded as irritated as Moiraine felt.

“While they are gone, you should bring him to confide in you. He needs an attentive ear. It will help him, to talk out his troubles with someone he can trust.” Dani gave her a sidelong glance. She was becoming too sophisticated for such simple methods. Still, Moiraine had spoken unadorned truth—the boy did need someone to listen and by listening lighten his burdens—and it might work.

“I don’t think he lacks for ears to whisper into, Moiraine Sedai,” Dani said dryly.

Moiraine sniffed at that very evident truth, but Pedra took it a stepped further. “It’s disgusting. How can so many women be so ... so shameless? Do you think he’s doing something to them, Aes Sedai? With the One Power?”

Moiraine shook her head. It would not advance her cause to mislead here, and she would have been loath to do so even if it had. “He would have to be more under the taint’s influence than I have seen evidence of for me to believe that. Forcing a woman in such a manner is simply not in his nature.”

“In that case, it is Elayne herself who deserves the blame. Letting a man touch her like that. I’m surprised you and Alanna Sedai have let her get away with it.”

Moiraine felt a momentary sympathy. The girl could not be expected to accept Elayne’s strolling about arm in arm with Rand, kissing in corners where they thought themselves unseen. Not when the White Tower maintained such a strict policy against its initiates having relations with the lesser sex. Not that Pedra had ever given any indication that she needed supervision to keep her chaste, but rules should be enforced fairly, and they obviously were not in this case. Commiseration did not last. There was too much of importance to deal with for either of them to be fretting over what they could not have.

She caught a glimpse of Thom Merrilin through the shifting crowd, off to the side, whispering something in Dena’s ear that made her laugh. So, he had made his decision. Disappointment was touched with a surprising flash of jealousy. It had been a long time since Moiraine had laughed so openly. Her mission was everything. And now that mission would be even harder, due to Thom’s continued interference. At least Alanna was not here. She’d been hiding in her rooms ever since her defeat at Moridin’s hands. Pride was one of her many faults, but at least it would keep her out of Moiraine’s way, if only for a time.

Elayne and Nynaeve should be aboard the raker by now, also safely out of the way. Their voyage might eventually tell her if her suspicions about the Windfinders were correct. That was a minor point, though. At worst the pair had enough gold to buy a ship and hire a crew, with enough left for the bribes so often necessary with Taraboner officials. The purported plan with Mazrim Taim was much the more likely of the two, but her messages to the Amyrlin should have taken care of that. The two young women could handle the much less likely eventuality of a mysterious danger hidden in Tanchico, and they were out of her hair and away from Rand. She only regretted that they had not taken all of the Accepted with them. Tar Valon would have been best for them all, but Tanchico would do. _ What was Siuan thinking of, sending untrained girls to hunt the Black Ajah? She will probably give me one of those sayings about boats and fish, when I can ask her. _

The last line of Tairens gave way, making a little hollow, and she and Egwene faced the open area under the vast dome. The nobles’ ill ease was most evident here; many studied their feet like sulky children, and others stared at nothing, looking at anything but where they were. Here was where  _ Callandor _ had been kept before Rand took it. Here beneath this dome, untouched by any hand for more than three thousand years, untouchable by any hand but that of the Dragon Reborn. Tairens did not like admitting that the Heart of the Stone existed.

“Poor woman,” Dani murmured.

Moiraine followed the girl’s gaze. The High Lady Alteima, already gowned and ruffed and capped in shimmering white as Tairen widows were though her husband still lingered, was perhaps the most composed of all the nobles. She was a slender, lovely woman, made more so by her small sad smile, with large brown eyes and long black hair hanging halfway to her waist. A tall woman, though Moiraine admitted she did tend to judge such things by her own height, and rather too full-bosomed. Cairhienin were not a tall people, and she had been considered short even among them.

“Yes, a poor woman,” she said, but she did not mean it for sympathy. It was good to see Dani had not yet grown sophisticated enough to see beneath the surface all the time. The girl was already far less malleable than she should be. She knew that Dani blamed her slow advancement on her unremarkable strength in the Power, but that was only part of the reason. She needed to be shaped before she was hardened, and in that regard, Dani was too stubborn for her own good.

Thom had missed, with Alteima. Or perhaps he had not wanted to see; he seemed to have a strange reluctance to move against women. The High Lady Alteima was far more dangerous than her husband or her lover, both of whom she had manipulated without either knowing it. Perhaps more dangerous than anyone else in Tear, man or woman. She would find others to use soon enough. It was Alteima’s style to remain in the background and pull strings. Something would have to be done about her.

Moiraine shifted her gaze along the rows of High Lords and Ladies, until she found Estanda, in brocaded yellow silks with a large ivory lace ruff and a tiny matching cap. A certain sternness marred the beauty of her face, and the occasional glances she gave Alteima were iron hard. Feelings between the two went beyond mere rivalry; had they been men, one would have shed the other’s blood in a duel years since. If that antagonism could be sharpened, Alteima would be too busy to make trouble for Rand.

For a moment, she wondered if it might not be for the best that Thom had resisted her efforts to send him away. She did not like having to waste her time with these petty affairs. But he had too much influence with Rand; the boy had to depend on her counsel. Hers, and hers alone. The Light knew he was difficult enough without interference. Thom was settling the boy down to rule Tear when he needed to be moving on to greater things. But the problem of bringing Thom Merrilin to heel could be managed later. Rand was the dilemma now. What did he mean to announce?

“Where is he? He has learned the first art of kings, it seems. Making people wait.”

She did not realize she had spoken aloud until the Accepted gave her startled looks. She smoothed the irritation from her face immediately. Rand would appear eventually, and she would learn what he meant to do. Learn along with everyone else. She nearly ground her teeth. That blind fool of a boy, running headlong through the night with never a care for cliffs, never thinking he could carry the world over as well as himself.

Frowning, Moiraine scanned the crowd, not that she could make out much beyond the front row. Lan could have been back among the columns. She would not strain, though, or jump up on her toes like an anxious child. Lan was due a talking-to he would not soon forget when she laid hands on him. With Nynaeve tugging at him one way and  _ ta’veren _ —Rand, at least—seemingly pulling another, she sometimes wondered how well their bond still held. At least his time with Rand was useful; it gave her another string to the young man.

Mat stood across from them, uncombed and slouching with his hands in the pockets of his high-collared green coat. It was half-unbuttoned, as usual, and his boots were scuffed, in sharp contrast to the precise elegance around him. He shifted nervously as he saw her looking at him, then gave one of his rudely defiant grins. At least he was here, under her eye. Mat Cauthon was an exhausting young man to keep track of, avoiding her spies with ease; he never gave any sign that he knew they were there, but her eyes-and-ears reported that he seemed to slide out of sight whenever they got too close.

“I think he sleeps in his coats,” Pedra said disapprovingly. “On purpose. I can’t believe the Pattern has such poor taste in  _ ta’veren _ .”

Moiraine had not believed it herself, at first, had not seen it. Three  _ ta’veren _ , all the same age, coming out of one village; she must have been blind not to realize they had to be connected. Everything had become much more complicated with that knowledge. Like trying to juggle three of Thom’s coloured balls one-handed and blindfolded; she had seen Thom do that, but she would not want to try. There was no guide to how they were connected, or what they were supposed to do; the Prophecies never mentioned companions.

Had it been wise to leave Perrin back in the Theren? Not that prying him away would have been easy now that he had been named their Lord. It would have been better by far if Tam al’Thor had taken Perrin’s place there, and the young blacksmith had come with her to Tear. She had passed Rand’s foster father near the entrance to the Heart. He had not taken a place among the waiting crowd, preferring to linger by the wall in an unassuming brown coat, his new sword buckled at his waist. Tam assiduously avoided talking to any nobles, especially concerning Rand, giving only the barest courtesies required before excusing himself from those who sought him out. But his influence with Rand was greater than any political power he might have thought to gain from his stepson’s rise. Moiraine could see no way, short of the most extreme, to remove that one from Rand’s side. Yet so long as he was there, Rand had a ready supply of counsel—experienced counsel, but lacking vision regarding the greater Pattern. Rand would not see it so, unfortunately. He would turn to Tam long before he turned to her and who knew what disasters might result. However well-intentioned, Tam was a farmer and a common soldier. He had been Second-Captain of the Illianer Companions once, a noteworthy rank, but hardly someone on whose decisions to gamble the fate of the world. Moiraine herself struggled to bear that burden and she had years of experience and training in the White Tower to call on, not to mention a mind unhampered by the burden of masculinity.

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” she said softly. She just wished it would weave more sensibly.

Tam was far from her only worry. Far too many people were rushing to secure a place at Rand’s side now. Moiraine felt herself being pushed further and further away. Though she would never have admitted it aloud, that frightened her. They could not afford to fail, and the bumbling farmboy she’d found in Emond’s Field had no chance of winning Tarmon Gai’don alone. He needed her, but was too stubborn and too mired in distrust to see it. She was certain she would not be having so difficult a time with him if Alanna had not done as she did.

Moiraine’s frown threatened to turn into a scowl, and it cost her more effort than it should have to smooth her features. Even setting aside any moral concerns about Alanna’s actions, the sheer stupidity of it was enough to infuriate her. Rand had been wary and stubborn enough already, now he turned a suspicious glare on everything that was remotely connected to the Aes Sedai. She would give much to be there when Siuan got her hands on that fool. At least Alanna was unlikely to gain any great influence with him. No amount of beauty or ability would ever win Rand’s forgiveness for the way she had bonded him. Had it been otherwise ...

Berelain would be here somewhere, she expected. That one was of no great concern, unless Rand was fool enough to think their dalliance more than it was. Moiraine doubted he would, but it was hardly unheard of for a young man to be swayed by a beautiful woman. Berelain was too obvious, however. He would bore of her quickly. Slipping into his bed had won her his attention, but she could not keep it. Not the way—

The startled, even fearful, gasps that rose from among the Tairens were a welcome distraction from her thoughts. The crowd gave way hurriedly, more than eagerly, those in front ruthlessly forcing those behind farther back, opening a wide passage to the space beneath the dome. Rand strode down that corridor, looking straight ahead, imperious in a red coat embroidered with golden scrolls up his sleeves, cradling  _ Callandor _ in his right arm like a sceptre. It was not only he that made the Tairens give way, though. Behind him came perhaps a hundred Aiel, spears and arrow-nocked bows in hand,  _ shoufa _ wrapped around their heads, black veils hiding everything but their eyes. Moiraine thought she recognized Rhuarc at the front, just behind Rand, but only by the way he moved. They were anonymous. Ready for killing. Plainly, whatever he meant to say, Rand intended to quell any resistance before it had a chance to coalesce.

The seven Shienarans who remained with Rand had armed and armoured themselves. Uno led them, his one good eye scowling almost as fiercely as the red one painted on his black eyepatch, and near a dozen different tools of killing hanging from the harness he wore over his scratched and unadorned platemail. His men were similarly adorned; they marched beside the Aiel column, yet seemed to watch their veiled allies as closely as they did the Tairens. There was no love lost between the Aiel and the people of Shienar; raids from across the Spine of the World were all too common. Rand might have been wiser to send all of his Shienaran armsmen to escort Elayne and Nynaeve, rather than merely half of them.

Whatever their differences, the Shienarans and the Aiel halted at a gesture from Rand. The boy himself kept on until he stood centred under the dome, then ran his eye around the gathering. He gave Moiraine an infuriating smile, and Mat one that made the pair of them look like boys when Mat returned it. The Tairens were white-faced, not knowing whether to stare at Rand and  _ Callandor _ or the veiled Aiel; either could be death in their midst.

“The High Lord Sunamon,” Rand said suddenly, and loudly, making that plump fellow jump, “has guaranteed me a treaty with Mayene, strictly following lines I gave him. He has guaranteed this with his life.” He laughed as if he had made a joke, and most of the nobles laughed with him. Not Sunamon, who looked distinctly ill. “If he fails,” Rand announced, “he has agreed to be hanged, and he will be obliged.” The laughter stopped. Sunamon’s face took on a sickly tinge of green.

“I would not have thought him so easily influenced,” Dani murmured, “given the way people complain of his stubbornness. Perhaps Berelain is more talented than she seems.”

“Nothing is worth that price,” Pedra muttered.

Dani raised her eyebrow in Moiraine’s direction as though inviting her input on the topic, but Moiraine gave her only a brief, cool glance. Rand would have given Mayene that treaty even if Berelain had simply asked him nicely; her ministrations, however energetic, had been as pointless as they were undignified. The boy would have deemed it merely the right thing to do, and never mind the political realities. He was still foolish in that way.

But not so foolish that he would bring every noble within ten miles together to tell them of a treaty or threaten a fat fool. She made her hands let go of her skirts. It was infuriating being kept in the dark like this.

Rand turned in a circle, weighing the faces he saw. “Because of this treaty, ships will soon be available to carry Tairen grain west, to find new markets.” There were a few appreciative murmurs at that, quickly stifled. “But there is more. The armies of Tear are to march.”

A cheer rose, tumultuous shouts ringing from the ceilings. Men capered, even the High Lords, and shook their fists over their heads, and tossed up peaked velvet hats. Women, smiling as rapturously as the men, bestowed kisses on the cheeks of those who would go to war, and delicately sniffed the tiny porcelain bottles of smelling salts no Tairen noblewoman would be without, pretending to be made faint by the news. “Illian shall fall!” someone cried, and hundreds of voices seized it like thunder. “Illian shall fall! Illian shall fall! Illian shall fall!”

On the far side of Rand, Mat was frowning in silence. Unlike the Tairens, he knew who ruled in Illian. Indeed, it was only because of him, and her old trick, that Moiraine knew at all. It was hard to tell what he made of it all. Did he want Rand to go to war or not?

Rand was not celebrating either, as only a blind fool could have failed to see. Oh, he smiled, but his smile was twisted contemptuously and never touched his eyes. There was fresh sweat on his face. She met his sardonic stare and waited. There would be more, and not, she suspected, to her liking.

Rand raised his left hand. Slowly quiet fell, those in front anxiously shushing those behind. He waited for absolute silence. “The armies will move north, into Cairhien. The High Lord Meilan will command, and under him, the High Lords Gueyam, Aracome, Hearne, Maraconn and Simaan. The armies will be generously financed by the High Lord Torean, the wealthiest of you, who will accompany the armies to see that his money is spent wisely.”

Dead silence greeted this pronouncement. No-one moved, though plain-faced Torean seemed to be having trouble standing.

Moiraine had to give Rand a mental bow for his choices. Sending those seven out of Tear neatly eviscerated the seven most dangerous plots against him, and none of those men trusted each other enough to scheme among themselves. Thom Merrilin had given him good advice; obviously her spies had missed some of the notes he had had slipped into Rand’s pockets. But the rest? It was madness. He could not have had this for an answer on the other side of that  _ ter’angreal _ . It was not possible, surely.

Meilan obviously agreed with her, if not for the same reasons. He stepped forward hesitantly, a lean hard man but so frightened that the whites of his eyes showed all the way around. “My Lord Dragon ...” He stopped, swallowed, and began again in a marginally stronger voice. “My Lord Dragon, intervening in a civil war is stepping into a bog. A dozen factions contend for the Sun Throne, with as many shifting alliances, each one betrayed every day. Besides that, bandits infest Cairhien as fleas on a wild boar. Starving peasants have stripped the land bare. I am reliably informed that they eat bark and leaves. My Lord Dragon, ‘a quagmire’ barely begins to describe—”

Rand cut him off. “You do not want to extend Tear’s sway all the way to Kinslayer’s Dagger, Meilan? That is alright. I know who I mean to sit on the Sun Throne. You do not go to conquer, Meilan, but to restore order, and peace. And to feed the hungry. There is more grain in the granaries now than Tear could sell, and the farmers will harvest as much more this year, unless you disobey me. Barges will carry it north behind the armies, and those peasants ... those peasants will not have to eat bark any longer, my Lord Meilan.” The tall High Lord opened his mouth again, and Rand swung  _ Callandor _ down, grounding its crystal point in front of him. “You have a question, Meilan?”

Shaking his head, Meilan backed into the crowd as though trying to hide.

“At least he isn’t starting a war,” said Dani.

“You think there will be less killing in this?” Moiraine muttered. What was the boy up to? “The corpses will be piled as high, girl. You will not know the difference between this and a war.”

Attacking Illian and Sammael would have gained him time even if it grew into a stalemate. Time to learn his power, and perhaps to bring down one of his strongest enemies, to cow the rest. What did he gain by this? Peace for the land of her birth, starving Cairhienin fed; she would have applauded another time. It was laudably humane—and utterly senseless, now. Useless bloodshed, rather than confronting an enemy who would destroy him given the slightest opening. Why? Lanfear. What had Lanfear said to him? What had she done? The possibilities chilled Moiraine’s heart. Rand would take closer watching than ever now. She would not allow him to turn to the Shadow.

“Ah, yes,” Rand said as if just remembering something. “Soldiers don’t know much about feeding hungry people, do they? For that, I think a kind, woman’s heart is needed. My Lady Alteima, I regret intruding on your grief, but will you undertake to oversee distributing the food? You will have a nation to feed.”

_ And power to gain _ , Moiraine thought. This was his first slip. Aside from deciding on Cairhien over Illian, of course. Alteima would certainly return to Tear on an equal footing with Meilan or Gueyam, ready for more plotting. She would have Rand assassinated before that, if he was not careful. Perhaps an accident could be arranged in Cairhien.

Alteima swept a graceful curtsy, spreading her full white skirts, only a touch of her surprise showing. “As my Lord Dragon commands, so do I obey. It will please me greatly to serve the Lord Dragon.”

“I was sure it would,” Rand said wryly. “As much as you love your husband, you’ll not want him with you in Cairhien. Conditions will be hard, for a sick man. I took the liberty of having him moved to the High Lady Estanda’s apartments. She will care for him while you are away, and send him to meet you in Cairhien when he is well.”

Estanda smiled, a tight smile of triumph. Alteima’s eyes rolled back in her head, and she crumpled in a heap.

Moiraine shook her head slightly. He truly was harder than he had been. More dangerous. Dani started toward the fallen woman, but Moiraine put a hand on her arm. “I think she was only overcome by emotion. The ladies are tending her.” Several of them had clustered around, patting Alteima’s wrists and passing smelling salts under her nose. She coughed and opened her eyes, and looked ready to faint again when she saw Estanda standing over her.

Watching along with the rest, Rand looked rather ashamed of himself. Perhaps he was not as hard as he was trying to be.

“Let us hope he is finished with being clever for today,” Moiraine murmured.

Very few in the great chamber understood exactly what had happened, only that Alteima’s fainting had upset the Lord Dragon. A few in the back raised shouts of “Cairhien shall fall!” but the cry did not take hold.

“With you to lead us, my Lord Dragon, we shall conquer the world!” a lumpy-faced young man shouted, half-supporting Torean. Estean, Torean’s eldest son; the lumpy-faced resemblance was clear, though the father was still mumbling to himself.

Jerking his head up, Rand appeared startled. Or perhaps angry. “I will not be with you. I am ... going away for a time.” That certainly brought silence again. Every eye was on him, but his attentions were all on  _ Callandor _ . The crowd flinched as he lifted the crystal blade before his face. Sweat rolled down his face, much more sweat than before. “The Stone held  _ Callandor _ before I came. The Stone should hold it again, until I return.”

Suddenly the transparent sword blazed in his hands. Whirling it hilt uppermost, he drove it down. Into the stone floor. Bluish lightning arced wildly toward the dome above. The stone rumbled loudly, and the Stone shook, dancing, heaving screaming people from their feet.

Moiraine pushed Pedra off of her while tremors still reverberated through the chamber, and scrambled erect. What had he done? And why? Going away? It was the worst of all her nightmares.

The Aiel had already regained their feet. Everyone else lay stunned or huddled on hands and knees. Except for Rand. He was on one knee, both hands holding  _ Callandor _ ’s hilt, with the blade driven halfway into the floorstones. The sword was clear crystal again. Sweat glistened on his face. He pried his hands away one finger at a time, held them cupped around the hilt yet not touching it. For a moment Moiraine thought he was going to take hold of it again, but instead he forced himself to his feet. He did have to force himself; she was certain of it.

“Look at this while I am gone.” His voice was lighter, more the way it had been when she first found him in his village, but no less sure or firm than it had been moments before. “Look at it, and remember me. Remember I will come back for it. If anyone wants to take my place, all they have to do is pull it out.” He waggled a finger at them, grinning almost mischievously. “But beware the price of failure. Now, as then, it is meant for my hand alone.”

Turning on his heel, he marched out of the chamber, the Shienarans hastening ahead of him, and the Aiel falling in behind him. With so many down, she caught sight of Berelain at last. The First bounced to her feet quickly; in a white satin gown with a scandalously low neckline, that had somehow defied the odds and not fallen off her completely during the shaking, she trotted after Rand and entwined her arm with his once she had caught up. Staring at the sword rising out of the floor of the Heart, the Tairens got to their feet more slowly. Most looked ready to run, but too frightened to.

“Foolish man!” Pedra grumbled, dusting off her white linen dress. “Is he mad?” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Is he?”

“The Light send he is not,” Moiraine muttered. She could not take her eyes from the sword any more than the Tairens could. The Light take the boy. Why could he not have remained the amenable youngling she had found in Emond’s Field? She made herself start after Rand. “But I will find out.”

Half-running, they caught up quickly in a broad, tapestry-lined hallway. The Aiel, veils hanging loose now but easily raised if needed, moved aside without slowing. They glanced at her, and at the two Accepted, hard faces unchanging but eyes touched by the wariness Aiel always had around Aes Sedai. Or those they thought were Aes Sedai. How they could be uneasy at her while calmly following Rand, she did not understand. Learning more than fragments about them was difficult. They answered questions freely—about anything that was of no interest to her. Her informants and her own eavesdropping overheard nothing, and her network of eyes-and-ears would no longer try. Not since one woman had been left bound and gagged, hanging by her ankles from battlements and staring wild-eyed at the four-hundred-foot drop beneath her, and not since the man who had simply disappeared. The man was just gone; the woman, refusing to go higher than the ground floor, had been a constant reminder until Moiraine sent her into the country.

Rand didn’t walk alone. His father had joined him when he left the Heart, and Merile and Raine had appeared from somewhere as well. And then there was Berelain.

“But surely there is  _ something _ I can do, my Lord Dragon. I wouldn’t want you to think me a churlish ingrate,” the latter woman was purring when they caught up. She had her soft bosom pressed up against Rand’s arm, and was staring at him with artfully widened eyes.

“I don’t,” Rand said patiently. He had been upset before but seemed composed now. Too much so, a boiling teakettle with the lid strapped down and the spout plugged. “But you don’t owe me anything, Berelain. I would have done it regardless. Mayene doesn’t belong to Tear. It’s as simple as that.”

Rand did not so much as look her way when she fell in beside him.  _ Fool _ , Moiraine thought.  _ And doubly a fool for telling her that, when you all-but had her in your pocket _ .

Berelain sighed loudly. “If only all men were so virtuous as you, my champion.”

Rand rolled his eyes extravagantly, making no effort to hide the gesture from his lover. He fixed the First of Mayene with a flat stare, and she responded by grinning at him mischievously.

Moiraine had the sudden, disturbing feeling that she had underestimated Berelain. She had known the woman’s reputation—beautiful, intelligent and determined, had been the Tower’s assessment of her when she first put on the diadem of the First—but the unseemly haste with which Berelain had jumped into Rand’s bed had put the lie to all but the first of those. Or so she had thought. Rand was suspicious by nature, now—a stranger trying to seduce him, and one with an obvious agenda? He would see through that immediately and either dismiss her or, worse, enjoy her favours and then dismiss her. Yet, watching them now, there was a playfulness about Berelain’s flirtations, as though she knew that he saw through her seduction and was glad of it; and Rand seemed amused rather than offended by her all-too transparent flattery. It was as if they were playing a friendly game. An intimate and friendly game.  _ And he has connected her with Thom in some way. Worse and worse _ .

“If you want to help,” Rand said, “you can keep an ear out for any choice rumours here in the Stone while I’m gone. We could discuss them at length when I get back.”

Berelain put on her most dazzling smile. “I should be glad to, my Lord Dragon. I do so enjoy your lengthy … discussions.”

The nearby Aiel laughed at that, though the Shienarans ahead had a stiff set to their shoulders. Tam al’Thor eyed his son askance from beyond Berelain’s bare shoulder. Moiraine wondered what he thought of the suddenly all-too real possibility that he might have this she-cat for a daughter-in-law someday. If she could not remove the man, perhaps she could influence Rand through him. By whatever means necessary. That or go straight to the source of her problems.

“I don’t like those bits. Too many big words,” Merile said unabashedly. “I don’t think I like those noble people either. I don’t think they like you, Rand. Nobody seems to like you ... Do you get used to that?”

While their shared lover laughed softly to himself, Raine looked at the girl at her side and said, “But I like him. I’m somebody.”

Merile frowned thoughtfully. “Oh, yes. That ... that was ... Um, never mind.”

Moiraine had to squeeze her eyes shut for a moment. This ... this pair of  _ nitwits _ had his ear, while she was forced to hover on the outskirts, desperately trying to steer him onto the right path. It was almost enough to make her consider ...

“Why did you do it?” Moiraine demanded before her thoughts could get any more frantic.

He gave her a sidelong look, and a smile mocking enough to belong to Mat. “Could I really have hung her, for trying to kill a man who was plotting to kill me? Would there be more justice in that than in what I did?” The grin slid from his face. “Is there justice in anything I do? Sunamon will hang if he fails. Because I said so. He’ll deserve it after the way he’s tried to take advantage, with never a care if his own people starved, but he’ll not go to the gallows for that. He will hang because I said he would. Because I said it.”

“They were trying to kill you?” Dani said, her brows knotted in genuine surprise. Again, Moiraine lamented Siuan’s decision to send Accepted out of the Tower. That the girl’s surprise was genuine was bad enough. That she showed it openly was dangerous.

Moiraine silenced the Accepted with a raised finger. She would not allow him to sidestep. “You know that is not what I mean, Rand.”

He nodded; this time his smile had a frightening, rictus quality. “ _ Callandor _ . With that in my hands, I can do anything. Anything. I know I can do anything, even when I can’t. But now, it’s a weight off my shoulders. You don’t understand, do you?” She did not, though it nettled her that he saw it. She kept silent, and he went on. “Perhaps it will help if you know it comes from the Prophecies. ‘Into the heart he thrusts his sword, into the heart, to hold their hearts. Who draws it out shall follow after. What hand can grasp that fearful blade?’ You see? Straight from the Prophecies.”

“You forget one thing,” she told him tightly. “You drew  _ Callandor _ in fulfilment of prophecy. The safeguards that held it awaiting you for three thousand years and more are gone. It is the Sword That Cannot Be Touched no longer. I could channel it free myself. Worse, any of the Forsaken could. What if Lanfear returns? She could use  _ Callandor _ no more than I, but she could take it.” He did not react to the name. Because he did not fear her—in which case he was a fool—or for another reason? “If Sammael or Rahvin or any male Forsaken puts his hand on  _ Callandor _ , he can wield it as well as you. Think of facing the power you give up so casually. Think of that power in the hands of the Shadow.”

“I almost hope they’ll try.” A threatening light shone in his eyes; they seemed grey storm clouds. “There is a surprise awaiting anyone who tries to remove  _ Callandor _ from the Stone, Moiraine. Do not think of taking it to the Tower for ... safekeeping; I could not make the trap pick and choose, not the one I just placed on  _ Callandor _ , or the one I placed around the Great Holding just before coming here. The slightest touch, of a hand or of the One Power, is all it needs to spring and reset, ready to trap again. You might want to warn your Aes Sedai friends, when they arrive. I am not giving  _ Callandor _ up forever, you see. Just until I ...” He took a deep breath. “ _ Callandor _ will stay there until I come back for it. By being there, reminding them of who I am and what I am, it makes sure I can come back without an army. A haven of sorts, with the likes of Alteima and Sunamon to welcome me home. If Alteima survives the justice her husband and Estanda will mete out, and Sunamon survives mine. Light, what a wretched tangle.”

He could not make it selective, or would not? She was determined not to underrate what he might be capable of.  _ Callandor _ belonged in the Tower, if he would not wield it as he should, in the Tower till he would wield it. “Just until” what? He had been intending to say something other than “until I come back”. But what?

“And where are you going? Or do you mean to keep it a mystery?” She was quietly vowing not to let him escape again, when he surprised her.

“Not a mystery, Moiraine. Not from you. Not today, anyway,” He laughed softly. “I’m going to Rhuidean. We leave within the hour.”

There was a murmur among the Aiel, but when she glanced back they were striding along with no expression whatsoever. She wished she could make them leave, but they would not go at her command, and she would not ask Rand to send them away. It would not help her with him to ask favours, especially when he might well refuse.

“You are not an Aiel clan chief, Rand,” she said firmly, “and have no need to be one. Your struggle is on this side of the Dragonwall. Unless ... Does this come from your answers in the  _ ter’angreal _ ? Cairhien, and  _ Callandor _ , and Rhuidean? I told you those answers can be cryptic. You could be misunderstanding them, and that could prove fatal. To more than you.”

She was conscious of the confused, thoughtful looks on the faces of those nearby, but matters were becoming too pressing for the proper discretion. She was conscious, too, of that most astounding letter she had received from the Aiel Wise Ones. She had not thought she could afford to heed most of it, but if Rand was truly set on this path ...

He did not answer her question, and his face might as well have belonged to an Aiel for all she could read in it. “You must trust me, Moiraine. As I have so often had to trust you,” was all he said.

“I will trust you for now. Just do not wait to seek my guidance until it is too late.”  _ I will not let you go to the Shadow. I have worked too long to allow that. Whatever it takes _ .


	49. Out of the Stone

CHAPTER 46: Out of the Stone

It was a strange procession Rand led out of the Stone and eastward, with white clouds shading the midday sun and a breath of air stirring across the city. By his order there had been no announcement, no proclamation, but slowly word spread of  _ something _ : citizens stopped whatever they were doing and ran for vantage points. The Aiel were marching through the city, marching out of the city. People who had not seen them come in the night, who had only half-believed they were in the Stone at all, increasingly lined the streets along the route, filled the windows, even climbed onto slate rooftops, straddling roof peaks and upturned corners. Murmurs ran as they counted the Aiel. These few hundred could never have taken the Stone. The Dragon banner still flew above the fortress. There must yet be thousands of Aiel in there. And the Lord Dragon.

Rand rode easily in his shirtsleeves, flanked by Merile and Raine with Tam just behind. He was sure none of the onlookers could take him for anyone out of the ordinary. An outlander, rich enough to ride—and on a superb dappled stallion, best of the Tairen bloodstock—a rich man travelling in the oddest of odd company, but surely just another man for that. Not even the leader of this strange company; that title was surely assigned to Lan or Moiraine despite the fact that they rode some little distance behind him with the Accepted that had stayed behind, directly ahead of the Aiel. The soft awed susurration that accompanied his passing certainly rose for the Aiel, not him. These Tairen folk might even take him for a groom, riding his master’s horse. Well, no, not that; not out in front as he was. It was a fine day, anyway. Not sweltering, merely warm. No-one expected him to mete out justice, or rule a nation. He could simply enjoy riding in anonymity, enjoy the rare breeze. For a time he could forget the feel of his heron-branded palms on the reins.  _ For a little longer anyway _ , he thought.  _ A little longer _ .

He was not overly concerned for his safety. While most of the Aiel followed behind, some walked along on either side, between his horse and the crowds. They were just strolling casually, it would seem, if you were a fool. And up ahead, Uno’s Shienarans formed a steel vanguard ahead of him. If the heat in the Waste was as bad as people said, the Shienarans would likely have to shed their armour once they arrived. The warhorses they rode should be more than strong enough to carry it for them. Izana, Geko, Inukai and Ayame remained with him, in addition to Uno. He regretted sending Ragan and Areku away. If he had been anything other than what he was he would have presumed to consider those two his friends, but that was all the more reason to send them with Elayne. She should get along well with them. Elayne seemed to get along with most people. Nynaeve would have been another story. He tried to imagine Nynaeve and Uno travelling in close quarters for months. The thought was at once horrifying and amusing.

He laughed softly. His stallion danced a few steps, catching his mood. He patted the dapple’s arched neck. A good day.

“That’s a fine horse,” Tam said. “What have you named him?”

“Jeade’en,” Rand said cautiously, losing some of his good spirits. He was a little ashamed of the name, of his reasons for choosing it. One of his favourite books had always been  _ The Travels of Jain Farstrider _ , and that great traveller had named his horse Jeade’en—True Finder, in the Old Tongue—because the animal had always been able to find the way home. He did not want anyone, even Tam, suspecting the cause for the name. Boyish fancies had no place in his life now.

“A fine name,” Tam said absently. Rand knew his father had read the book, too, and half-expected him to recognize the name, but he seemed to be mulling over something else.

Behind Moiraine and Lan, behind Rhuarc at their head, the Aiel walked in long lines to either side of loaded pack mules, rank on rank four abreast. When Aiel took one of the holds of an enemy clan in the Waste, by custom—or maybe law; Rand did not understand it exactly—they carried away one-fifth of all it contained, excepting only food. They had seen no reason not to treat the Stone the same. Not that the mules held more than the barest fraction of a fraction of a fifth of the Stone’s treasures. Rhuarc said greed had killed more men than steel. The wickerwork pack hampers, topped with rolled carpets and wall hangings, were lightly laden. Ahead lay an eventual hard crossing of the Spine of the World, and then a far harder trek across the Waste.

Or so they thought.  _ When do I tell them? _ he wondered.  _ Soon, now; it has to be soon _ . Moiraine would doubtless think it daring, a bold stroke; she might even approve. Maybe. She thought she knew his whole plan, now, and made no bones of disapproving that; no doubt she wanted it over and done as soon as possible. But the Aiel …  _ What if they refuse? Well, if they refuse, they refuse. I have to do it. As for the fifth … _ He did not think it would have been possible to stop the Aiel from taking it even had he wanted to, and he had not; they had earned their rewards, and he had no care to help Tairen nobles keep what they had wrung from their people over generations.

He turned back to Tam. “Did the Aiel take the fifth during the war as well?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been trying to recall. They looted and burned their way across Cairhien and Tear and all the way to Tar Valon, we were told. I don’t think anyone thought to count up how much they were taking, or how much they left behind.” Tam sighed. “Terrible things can happen over the slightest of misunderstandings, lad.”

Tam had gotten quieter and more melancholy since finding out what Rand was. And even more so now. “You don’t have to come with me,” Rand said hesitantly. “To the Waste, I mean. I’m a grown man now; I can take care of myself. And considering your history …”

Tam gave him a sad smile. “Oh, I’m sure you could get rid of me if you wanted, lad, but until then I think I’ll stick around. Don’t worry; I won’t cause any trouble with the Aiel. It was never a personal thing, that war, not for me. I think that was why I retired. One of the reasons anyway. I couldn’t help but feel it should have been personal, rather than just a job.” He looked back at the Stone of Tear, towering over the city that shared its name. “I’ll say this for the Aiel, though. If the positions were reversed, the High Lords and Ladies of Tear would not have stopped at a fifth of the loot. Not even close.”

Rand could only nod his agreement to that. The Tairen nobles would likely have taken anything that wasn’t nailed down. Most of them anyway. There were a few he was cautiously optimistic about. Storin Sanada for example, and that Nalia girl. Time would tell there. For now, he was done with Tairens.

Mat had joined his party, slumped in his saddle and looking resigned, trying to keep clear of the Warder and the Aes Sedai. He had chosen a nondescript brown gelding, an animal he called Pips; it took a good eye to notice the deep chest and strong withers that promised blunt-nosed Pips could likely match Rand’s stallion or Lan’s for speed and endurance. Mat’s decision to come had been a surprise; Rand still did not know why. Friendship, maybe, and then again, maybe not. Mat could be odd in what he did and why.

Imoen had been surprised by his decision, too, when he showed up in the stables as they were preparing to depart. She’d asked to come along again as soon as she learned Mat was going—or “being allowed to go”, as she’d put it. Rand had been tempted by the thought of her continued company, but had ended up talking her out of it nonetheless. She could do more good here, helping Thom and learning from him. To her credit, Imoen had seen the truth of that. He would have preferred if she hadn’t kissed him goodbye right in front of Mat, though. Things were difficult enough between them as it was.

Loial was riding beside Rand’s estranged friend now, on a sturdy ploughhorse that he made look like a child’s pony; the Ogier’s feet dangled just above the ground and Rand fancied he saw a look of alarm in the horse’s eyes. But that was probably just his imagination. Rand hadn’t been surprised that the Ogier would want to accompany him; he wouldn’t be surprised to find Loial standing in Thakan’dar someday, scribbling notes. Loial’s saddlebags were packed with notebooks, some blank and others already full of his accounts of the past year. Rand shook his head. Scarcely more than a year since Trollocs had attacked the farm he grew up on; it seemed like so much longer. Loial was chatting amiably with Mat, but the latter wasn’t responding with more than a few words; plainly in a bad mood. Rand wondered if the past year had felt as long for Mat as it had for him.

Rand was content to ride in silence, but others felt like chatting, even some of the Aiel.

“I am surprised you have chosen to march with us, Matrim Cauthon,” he heard an Aiel man say. He knew the speaker only in passing. Acavi, he thought the name might be.

“Who could pass up the chance to see bloody Rhuidean?” Mat grumbled. “Why? Planning to make a pincushion of me if I go into your precious Waste? You’ll not find me easy prey.”

“I did not say the surprise was an unpleasant one,” the man responded. “Not then, at least. I may change my mind.”

Mat snickered. “That’s fair.”

Nici, meanwhile, was less interested in the people who were coming with them, or who had come to see them off, than she was in the city itself. She babbled about it constantly, with Renay being the only one of her fellow Maidens not to drift apart from her during the course of their walk through town. “These houses are amazing, Renay,” she said as they were passing through the richer part of town, far enough from the Stone not to be overshadowed too much, but well within the city walls. “They are so beautiful. That one is my favourite. Wetlander houses are like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“There are a dozen possible entrances that I can see. And that is just from this angle,” Renay said with what Rand had come to think of as Aiel practicality.

Nici bobbed her head irritably. “Yes, it is not remotely defensible. But look at how pretty it is! I wonder what it is like inside. You know what the really sad thing is? I bet the people who live there do not think it is half as pretty as I do. Know what I mean?”

“Not really,” Renay said slowly. When Nici drew a deep breath, in preparation for what he imagined was going to be a long tirade, Rand endeavoured not to hear the rest of their talk.

It was easy enough to do, with all the sights around to distract him. It proved harder in other cases, though, as he found some time later. They were nearing the edge of town when he heard raised voices coming from back behind Mat.

“How can you be so cold? Do you not remember the Stone’s dungeons? Of course they’re scared!”

“That does not excuse how pathetic these people are.”

When he looked back he saw two of the Accepted scowling at each other, one dark and one fair. The darker one was Dani, he knew. Nynaeve had put her in charge of those she’d left behind, and urged Rand to trust her. He didn’t, not really, but Nynaeve’s recommendation counted for something. The pale one he knew only by name—and what a name it was! Ilyena. Just hearing someone say it made him flinch. It was her that was running a contemptuous eye over the slope-shoulder Tairen commoners they passed.

“It’s easy to call them pathetic when no-one’s asking you to go fight armed and armoured soldiers with nothing but a pitchfork!” Dani said angrily.

Ilyena’s jaw firmed. “The ruler is the servant of the people. In Volsung, we know this. Our nobles embrace it as a point of pride. And any who did not would be reminded of it by the people. The armed and armoured people. How many nobles did you see dressed as Defenders of the Stone? None, is the answer. Yet somehow their slippered feet rest squarely on the throats of the Tairen people.” She sniffed. “I say now as I said before. They are pathetic.”

Dani tossed her head. “I can’t talk to you when you get like this.”

“That is because your head tells you I am right, but your heart doesn’t like hearing it.”

Whether that was true or not, he never learned, for Dani thumped her horse’s jet-black flanks and surged ahead, putting distance between her and the other women. Her flight brought her up to the front of the column. Once the anger faded from her face, she looked at bit surprised at where she found herself. Surprised and discomforted. Rand said nothing.

Merile did the opposite. “Hi there. You’re Dani, right? I’m Merile. I’m one of the People, but don’t worry, you’re a person, too. I’m not saying you aren’t. Are you looking forward to seeing the Waste? I’ve never been there, though the People are allowed to go. And now lots of people are allowed to go. That’s interesting, isn’t it? It’s like we’re explorers. Do you think they’ll write books about us?  _ The Travels of Merile Farskipper _ maybe. Or  _ The Travels of Dani _ ... Um ... I can’t think of anything. I don’t know you well enough. Do you like to skip? Or strut? You look like more of a marchy girl to me. Is that rude? Uh oh.”

Dani’s lips writhed, torn between the anger she’d been awash in a moment ago, and the desire to smile. “It’s fine. No offense taken. I am a bit of a ‘marchy girl’, as it happens, and I’m fine with that.”

“Me too,” said Raine.

Dani looked at her, and quite some time passed before she looked away again. Her coppery cheeks darkened a shade more. “Sorry. I’d heard the rumours, but haven’t seen you about the Stone at all. Seeing your eyes up close ... Sorry. I shouldn’t have stared.”

Raine, who sat the pony Rand had given her even more awkwardly than Merile did hers, hunched her shoulders. “Avoided. Elyas told me about the Aes Sedai. Don’t want any trouble.”

“Why would—?” Dani began, but then she sighed. “Never mind. It’s Min all over again. And you’re probably right. Well, I won’t do you any harm. I can promise that much.”

“You know Min?” Rand blurted.

She turned her dark eyes his way, only looking at him out of the corners at first, but then visibly forcing herself to face him squarely. “She’s a friend of mine. We met in the Tower. Nice girl. Had some interesting things to say about you.”

Rand had been on the verge of warming to her, since Nynaeve and Min both liked her and she liked them, but that last reinforced his reserve. “What were you all saying about me?”

She smiled a very female smile. “It’s a secret.”

“What isn’t?” he muttered, and looked away.

“This is nice. Everybody’s friends now,” Merile said happily. “Since we can both channel, would you—”

“No. Sorry,” Dani interrupted. “They gave us orders not to help you. If it were up to me ...” Her hair—very long, very black, very straight—bounced behind her when she tossed her head. “But it’s never up to us, is it? A decade later, and still a student.” He couldn’t miss the bitterness in her voice, but the source of it was outside his understanding. Even Elayne and Nynaeve were reluctant to talk about what went on inside the White Tower. He thought he understood some of it, though.

“Try having three thousand years worth of prophecies to back you up, but still apparently needing to be walked around by the hand,” he said.

This time, Dani wasn’t able to meet his eyes. “Not all those prophecies are good ones.”

With that uncomfortable truth out in the open, conversation dried up fast.

The last dregs of the city gave way to country and pitiful scattered farms. Not even a Congar or a Coplin, Theren folk notorious for laziness among other things would keep a place as run-down and ramshackle as these rough stone houses, walls slanting as if about to topple over on the chickens scratching in the dirt. Sagging barns leaned against laurels or spicewoods. Roofs of cracked and broken slates all looked as if they leaked. Goats bleated disconsolately in stone pens that might have been thrown together hastily that morning. Barefoot men and women hoed stoop-shouldered in unfenced fields, not looking up even when the large party was passing. Redbeaks and thrushes warbling in the small thickets were not enough to lighten the feel of oppressive gloom.

_ I have to do something about this. I ... No, not now. First things first. I’ve done what I could for them in a few weeks. I can’t do anything more now _ . He tried not to look at the tumbledown farms. Were the olive groves in the south as bad? The people who worked those did not even own the land; it all belonged to High Nobles.  _ No. The breeze. Nice, the way it cuts the heat. I can enjoy it a bit longer. I have to tell them, soon now _ .

Moiraine spoke, right behind him. “Are you ready to tell me the next secret? It has been clear you were keeping something from me. At the least I might be able to tell you if you are leading us over a cliff.”

“He’s got a good eye for danger, Moiraine Sedai,” Tam said politely. His face was polite, too, but Rand knew him well enough to know that his thoughts would not be.

Rand sighed. He had not heard Moiraine and Lan closing up on him. And Mat as well, although still holding a distance between himself and the Aes Sedai. Mat’s face was a study, doubt and reluctance and grim determination all running across it by turns, especially when he glanced at Moiraine. He never looked at her directly, only from the edge of his eye.

“Are you sure you want to come, Mat?” Rand asked.

Mat shrugged and affected a grin, not a very confident one. “Who could pass up a chance to see bloody Rhuidean?”

“Be glad Mat  _ is _ here,” Moiraine said to Rand, her voice cool, and not pleased. “The world rests on your shoulders, but the other  _ ta’veren _ must both support you or you will fall, and the world with you.” Mat flinched, and Rand thought he very nearly turned his gelding and rode away on the spot.

“I know my duty,” he told her.  _ And I know my fate _ , he thought, but he did not say that aloud; he was not asking for sympathy. “You’re willing to let anything go to save the world. I ... I do what I have to.” The Warder nodded, though he said nothing; Lan would not disagree with Moiraine in front of others.

“And the next secret?” Moiraine said insistently.

She would not give up until she had ferreted it out, and he had no reason to keep it secret any longer. Not this part of it. But he did it anyway, just to let her know he would not be bullied.

“Is a secret,” he said, with a grin, and a conspiratorial wink.

Moiraine glared with such vexation that if looks could kill, Rand’s journey would have ended then and there. He grinned even wider.

“One of many, it seems!” called a woman’s outraged voice.

Rand’s grin died immediately. He whipped his head around at the sound of a horse’s pounding hooves. Alanna Mosvani galloped by, dark hair streaming behind her. She reined in between Rand and his Shienaran vanguard, her fine black gelding rearing and pawing the air. She was wearing a rich dress of green silk with a wide red border and golden embroidery; one arm and shoulder was left bare and the missing fabric had seemingly been shifted to the other side, that she might carry it draped over her arm. Her dark eyes regarding Rand heatedly. A year ago he would have thought she cut a splendid figure. Might even have stared and blushed. A year ago he had been a foolish boy.

He scowled at her, his brows and nose crinkling in distaste, and his good mood evaporating like morning mist before the sun’s heat. How had she hidden her presence from him? He had not known the Warder bond could be used so. There wasn’t much he knew of the Warder bond, in fact. The bond she had forced on him. “You’re here,” he said hatefully.

Alanna’s Warder Ihvon—her only Warder, whatever she said—trotted up beside them. He said nothing. Rand hadn’t spoken to the man much, but what he had said had been enough to make his feelings plain. Would that Alanna had listened as well as he had, when Rand had spelled things out to her.

“Quite obviously,” snapped the Aes Sedai. “And not a moment too soon. You should have told me what you were thinking of doing today, so I could instruct you on whether it was a viable plan or not. And you most certainly should not have left the Stone without me! Where do you think you are going?”

In the Theren it was considered a man’s duty to protect a woman. The Mayor and the Wisdom were always female, of course, and their authority was to be respected by all decent folk. In almost all of the nations Rand had visited or read about that custom was mirrored. Even if the Mayor and the Wisdom were called different things, such as Queen and Aes Sedai. It was just the proper way of things, Rand had always been taught. It was with no little mental discordance then that he regarded Alanna Mosvani—for he had never before wanted to slap a woman quite so badly as he wanted to slap her. “Where I go and what I do are my business, Alanna, and none of yours,” he growled. “You are not welcome in my company. Go back to Tar Valon. Or the Pit of Doom, I don’t care which.”

Of those gathered around him, only Mat and Dani were ignorant of what had passed between Rand and Alanna. Neither did a very good job of hiding their surprise at the exchange, though whether it was Rand’s hostility or Alanna’s demands that surprised them most was an even guess.

“Everything you do is my business,” Alanna insisted, with hardly a trace of the cool serenity the rest of her sisters seem to prize. “You are my Warder. Now do as I say and tell me where you are going!”

Mat jerked a startled look between Rand and Alanna. He had not been present when the Aes Sedai had bonded Rand, and Rand had not exactly trumpeted the situation from a rooftop, as Alanna seemed intent on doing. Dani’s brows were reaching for her hairline, while Moiraine shook her head slowly, a hint of contempt in the look she gave the Green sister.

Rand’s hands trembled as he gripped Jeade’en’s reins. But before he could say, or do, anything, Tam guided his grey mare between his son and the Aes Sedai.

“Daylight’s wasting, lad. Whatever you’re planning, there’s no sense waiting around here,” he said calmly. The flat look he gave Alanna held nothing of friendliness.

Letting out a long breath, Rand allowed Tam to steer him around the Aes Sedai. Merile and Raine scowled at her openly as they followed. Mat eyed her dubiously, while Loial avoided looking at her at all, his long ears twitching nervously. One by one they flowed past Alanna, wetlanders and Aiel, leaving her on her own little island of outrage.

“You’re a Warder?” Mat said incredulously, once they’d put some distance between her and them. “Now I know you’re mad.”

“He’s not mad,” Raine growled.

“I am no Warder,” Rand growled right over her. “But you might take my situation as a warning. Alanna offered to heal me during our fight against the Trollocs who attacked the Theren. I agreed, but instead of healing she stuck this damned bond in my head. Watch yourself around the Aes Sedai, Mat. I don’t doubt they’ll try the same with you someday.”

Mat scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking sick. His mouth opened and closed a few times, before he shook his head angrily. “You don’t need to warn me, man. Nothing wrong with a few scars, I’ve always said. Better that than letting an Aes Sedai get too close. Unless you absolutely have to.” He glanced at Moiraine, who was trying to direct a quelling look at both men at once.

“She didn’t ask?” said Dani. Rand didn’t bother responding. He didn’t like to talk about it, and Alanna having blurted it out like that had thoroughly spoiled his good mood. Whatever it was she saw on his face, Dani fell into a troubled, broody silence.

They continued down the increasingly rough road. After a time they found themselves south of a series of treeless hills speckled with moving shapes that must be horses. Some of Tear’s prized herds, grazing across the site of the old Ogier grove. Loial let out a heavy sigh as he took in the sight. They were getting close. It was time.

“We will be travelling to Rhuidean by Portal Stone,” Rand announced. “If we are lucky.”

There was a collective wince among the Shienarans ahead. Rand could hear Uno’s muttered curses, and Izana was rubbing his shaven forehead as though beset by a sudden headache.

Loial let out a loud groan. “Portal Stones? Not again. Wasn’t once enough, Rand? We almost died, remember? No, worse than died.”

Mat stood in his stirrups as if ready to ride for the hills. “What’s a Portal Stone? And what’s so bloody dangerous about it? It’s something to do with the Power, isn’t it?” At Rand’s nod he let out a curse than had even Merile looking at him disapprovingly. “I would rather ride back to one of those farms and ask for a job slopping pigs the rest of my life.”

“You can go your own way if you want, Mat,” Rand told him. Moiraine’s calm face was a mask over fury, but he ignored the icy stare that tried to still his tongue. Even Lan looked disapproving, for all his hard face did not change very much; the Warder believed in duty before anything else. Rand would do his duty, but his friends ...

Mat snorted. “You think it’s that easy? Burn me. You do don’t you? Ah, burn me.”

“You’ve no reason to come to the Waste,” he said.

“Oh, yes I do. At least ... Oh, burn me! I’ve one life to give away, don’t I? Why not like this? Mat laughed nervously, and a bit wildly. “Bloody Portal Stones! Light!”

Rand frowned; he was the one they all said was supposed to go mad, but Mat was the one who seemed on the edge of it now.

Tam had all the composure Mat lacked, but even he wasn’t pleased with what he’d heard. “Rand, given what you told me about the other times you’ve used these Stones ... Are you sure you want to risk them again?”

“It’s what I have to do, Father.” He had to move quickly, and there was no quicker way than Portal Stones. Provided he didn’t have another accident with them. Remnants of an Age older than the Age of Legends; even Aes Sedai of the Age of Legends had not understood them, it seemed. But there was no quicker way. If it worked the way he hoped.

Moiraine had listened to the exchange patiently. Especially to Mat’s part of it, though Rand could not see why. Now she said, “Verin also told me of your journey using Portal Stones. That was only a few people and horses, not hundreds, and if you did not almost kill everyone as Loial says, it yet sounded an experience no-one would wish to repeat. Nor did it turn out as you expected. It also required a great deal of the Power; almost enough to kill you at least, Verin said. Even if you leave most of the Aiel behind, do you dare risk the attempt?”

“I have to,” he said, feeling at his belt pouch, at the small hard shape behind the letters, but she went right on as if he had not spoken.

“Are you even certain there is a Portal Stone in the Waste? Verin certainly knows more of them than I, but I have never heard of one. If there is, will it place us any closer to Rhuidean than we are right now?”

“Some six hundred or so years ago,” he told her, “a peddler tried to get a look at Rhuidean.” Another time it would have been a pleasure to be able to lecture her for a change. Not today. There was too much he did not know. “This fellow apparently didn’t see anything of it; he claimed to have seen a golden city up in the clouds, drifting over the mountains.”

“There are no cities in the Waste,” Lan said, “in the clouds or on the ground. I’ve fought the Aiel. They have no cities.”

Dani nodded. “Aviendha told me she had never seen a city until she left the Waste.”

“Maybe so,” Rand said. And given the way Nici had been behaving, it was probably true. He pressed on anyway. “But the peddler also saw something sticking out of the side of one of those mountains. A Portal Stone. He described it perfectly. There isn’t anything else like a Portal Stone. When I described one to the chief librarian in the Stone ...” Without naming what he was after, he did not add. “... he recognized it, even if he didn’t know what it was, enough to show me four on an old map of Tear—”

“Four?” Moiraine sounded startled. “All in Tear? Portal Stones are not so common as that.”

“Four,” Rand said definitely. The bony old librarian had been certain, even digging out a tattered yellowed manuscript telling of efforts to move the “unknown artefacts of an earlier Age” to the Great Holding. Every attempt had failed, and the Tairens had finally given up. That was confirmation to Rand; Portal Stones resisted being moved. “One lies not an hour’s ride from where we are,” he continued. “The Aiel allowed the peddler to leave, since he was a peddler. With one of his mules and as much water as he could carry on his back. Somehow he made it as far as a  _ stedding _ in the Spine of the World, where he met a man named Soran Milo, who was writing a book called  _ The Killers of the Black Veil _ . The librarian brought me a battered copy when I asked for books on the Aiel. Milo apparently based it all on Aiel who came to trade at the  _ stedding _ , and he got almost everything wrong anyway, according to Rhuarc, but a Portal Stone can’t be anything but a Portal Stone.” He had examined other maps and manuscripts, dozens of them, supposedly studying Tear and its history, learning the land; no-one could have had a clue what he intended before a few minutes ago.

Moiraine sniffed, and her white mare, Aldieb, frisked a few steps, picking up her irritation. “A supposed story told by a supposed peddler who claimed to have seen a golden city floating in the clouds. Has Rhuarc seen this Portal Stone? He has actually been to Rhuidean. Even if this peddler did go into the Waste, and did see a Portal Stone, it could have been anywhere. A man telling a story usually tries to better what really happened. A city floating in the clouds?”

“How do you know it doesn’t?” he said. Rhuarc had been willing to laugh at all the wrong things Milo had written about Aiel, but he had not been very forthcoming about Rhuidean. No, more than that; or less, rather. The Aielman had refused even to comment on the parts of the book supposedly about Rhuidean. Rhuidean, in the lands of the Jenn Aiel, the clan which is not; that was almost the extent of what Rhuarc would say about it. Rhuidean was not to be spoken of.

The Aes Sedai was not best pleased with his flippant remark, but he did not care. She had kept too many secrets herself, made him follow her on blind trust too often. Let it be her turn. She had to learn that he was not a puppet. _ I’ll take her advice when I think it’s right, but I won’t dance on Tar Valon’s strings again _ . He would die on his own terms.

Dani waited for someone else to speak, but when no-one did she chirped up. “Rhuarc did not tell you anything, did he? When I ask Aviendha about Rhuidean, she shuts up tight as a hickory nut.” Mat looked sick. “Do you really mean to risk our lives on a ... a chance?”

Rand kept his face still, not letting his flash of shame show. He had not meant to frighten his friend. “There is a Portal Stone there,” he maintained. He rubbed the hard shape in his pouch again. This had to work.

The librarian’s maps had been old, but in a way that was a help. The grasslands they rode now had been forest when those maps were drawn, but few trees remained, far-scattered scraggly copses of white oak and pine and maidenhair, tall solitary trees he did not recognize, with gnarled spindly trunks. He could make out the shape of the land easily, hills shrouded mainly in high grass now.

Alanna had been following along, of course, ignoring Rand’s insistence that she was not invited, and listening to every word. “This is an unacceptable risk,” she declared angrily. “I forbid you to endanger yourself so stupidly.”

Rand ignored her. On the maps two tall bent ridges, one close behind the other, had pointed to the cluster of round hills where the Portal Stone was. If the maps had been well made. If the librarian really had recognized his description, and the green diamond mark actually meant ancient ruins as he claimed.

_ Why would he lie? I’m getting too suspicious. No, I have to be suspicious. As trusting as a viper and as cold _ . He did not like it, though.

Alanna hissed out a breath. “Did you hear me? Recall your place, Rand!” He nodded slowly to himself. She was a good reminded of what came of trusting.

To the north he could just make out hills with no trees at all, speckled with moving shapes that must be horses. The High Nobles’ herds, grazing across the site of the old Ogier grove. The Ogier grove meant the folded ridges must be close, and soon he spotted them a little to the south, like two arrows one inside the other, a few trees along the top making a thin line against the sky. Beyond, low round hills like grass-covered bubbles ran into one another. More hills than on the old map. Too many, for all the patch encompassed less than a square mile. If they did not correspond to the map, which one held the Portal Stone on its side?

“The Aiel have numbers,” Lan said quietly, “and sharp eyes.”

With a nod of gratitude, Rand reined Jeade’en in, falling back to put the problem before Rhuarc. He felt a chill as he moved wordlessly past Alanna and Ihvon, and knew she was holding the One Power.  _ Saidin _ ’s surging, liquefied fury filled him; Rand’s mouth twisted in disgust as he felt the Dark One’s taint seep into him along with it, and if Alanna took that expression for a comment on her proximity, well so be it.

Rhuarc was easily found, marching at the head of the Aiel column. Rand only described the Portal Stone, not saying what it was; there would be time enough for that when it was found. He was good at keeping secrets now. Rhuarc probably had no idea what a Portal Stone was, anyway. Few did except for Aes Sedai. He had not known until someone told him.

Striding along beside the dapple stallion, the Aielman frowned slightly—as much as a worried grimace from most other men—then nodded. “We can find this thing.” He raised his voice. “ _ Aethan Dor _ !  _ Far Aldazar Din _ !  _ Duadhe Mahdi’in _ !  _ Far Dareis Mai _ !  _ Seia Doon _ !  _ Sha’mad Conde _ !”

As he called out, members of the named warrior societies trotted forward, until a good quarter of the Aiel clustered around him and Rand. Red Shields. Brothers of the Eagle. Water Seekers. Maidens of the Spear. Black Eyes. Thunder Walkers.

Rand picked out Elayne’s friend, Aviendha, a tall, pretty woman with a haughty, unsmiling stare. He hadn’t spoken to her much while staying in the Stone. She looked back at him, proud as a green-eyed hawk, then tossed her head and turned her attention to the clan chief.

_ Well, I wanted to be ordinary again _ , he thought, a touch ruefully. The Aiel certainly gave him that. They offered even the clan chief only a respectful hearing, without any of the elaborate deference a lord would exact, and obedience that seemed between equals. He could hardly expect more for himself.

Rhuarc gave instructions in few words, and the listening Aiel fanned out ahead into the patch of hills, running easily, some veiling themselves just in case. The rest waited, standing or squatting beside the loaded pack mules.

They represented almost every clan—except the Jenn Aiel, of course; Rand could not get it straight whether the Jenn really existed or not, since the way the Aiel mentioned them, which they seldom did, it could be either way—including some clans that had blood feuds, and others that often fought each other. He had learned that much about them. Not for the first time, he wondered what had held them together so far. Was it just their prophecies of the Stone falling, and the search for He Who Comes With the Dawn?

“More than that,” Rhuarc said, and Rand realized he had spoken his thoughts aloud. “Prophecy brought us over the Dragonwall, and the name that is not spoken drew us to the Stone of Tear.” The name he meant was “People of the Dragon”, a secret name for the Aiel; only clan chiefs and Wise Ones knew or used it, apparently seldom and only with each other. “For the rest? No-one may shed the blood of another of the same society, of course, yet mixing Shaarad with Goshien, Taardad and Nakai with Shaido ... Even I might have danced the spears with the Shaido, if the Wise Ones had not made everyone who crossed the Dragonwall swear water oath to treat any Aiel as of the same society on this side of the mountains. Even sneaking Shaido ...” He shrugged slightly. “You see? It is not easy, even for me.”

“These Shaido are enemies of yours?” Rand fumbled the name; in the Stone, the Aiel had gone by societies, not clans.

“We have avoided blood feud,” Rhuarc said, “but Taardad and Shaido have never been friendly; the septs sometimes raid each other, steal goats or cattle. But the oaths have held with us all against three blood feuds and a dozen old hatreds between clans or septs. It helps now that we journey toward Rhuidean, even if some will leave us before. None may shed the blood of one travelling to or from Rhuidean.” The Aielman looked up at Rand, face completely expressionless. “It may be that soon no one of us will shed another’s blood.” It was impossible to say whether he found the prospect pleasing.

An ululating cry came from one of the Maidens, standing atop a hill and waving her arms over her head.

“They have found your stone column, it seems,” Rhuarc said.

Gathering her reins, Moiraine gave Rand a level look as he rode past her, eagerly heeling Jeade’en to a gallop.

Flinging himself out of the saddle, Rand hurriedly climbed up the gentle slope to examine what the Maiden—it was Aviendha—had found half-buried in the ground and obscured by long grass. A weathered grey stone column, at least three spans long and a pace thick. Strange symbols covered every exposed inch, each surrounded by a narrow line of markings he thought were writing. Even if he could have read the language—if it was one—the script—if that was what it was—had long since worn to illegibility. The symbols he could make out a little better. Some of them—many—might as well have been the marks of rain and wind.

Pulling grass by the handful so he could see better, he glanced at Aviendha. She had dropped her  _ shoufa _ around her shoulders, baring short red hair, and was watching him with a flat, hard expression. “You don’t like me,” he said. “Why?” There was one symbol he had to find, the only one he knew.

“Like you?” she said. “You may be He Who Comes With the Dawn, a man of destiny. Who can like or dislike such? Besides, you walk free, a wetlander despite your face, yet going to Rhuidean for honour, while I ...”

“While you what?” he asked when she stopped. He searched his way slowly upslope. Where was it? Two parallel wavy lines crossed at an angle by an odd squiggle.  _ Light, if it’s buried, it’ll take us hours to turn this over _ . Abruptly he laughed. Not hours. He could channel and lift the thing out of the ground, or Moiraine could. A Portal Stone might resist being moved, but surely they could move it that much. Channelling would not help him find the wavy lines, though. Only feeling his way along the stone would do that.

Instead of answering, the Aiel woman squatted easily with her short spears across her knees. “You have treated Elayne badly. I would not care, but Elayne is my friend. Yet Elayne likes you still, so for her sake I will try.”

Still searching the thick column, he shook his head. Elayne. Sometimes he thought women all belonged to a guild, the way craftsmen in cities did. Put a foot wrong with one, and the next ten you met knew of it, and disapproved. He wasn’t sure which incident Aviendha was referring to, and didn’t want to ask. There were plenty of things he’d done that he was sure Elayne would have hated him for, only for it to turn out otherwise. Which of those things had left him out in the barn this time?

His fingers stopped, returned to the bit he had just examined. It was weathered almost beyond making out, but he was sure it was the wavy lines. They represented a Portal Stone on Toman Head not in the Waste, but they located what had been the base of the thing when it stood upright. Symbols at the top represented worlds; those at the bottom, Portal Stones. With a symbol from the top and one from the bottom, he could supposedly travel to a given Portal Stone in a given world. With just one from the bottom, he knew he could reach a Portal Stone in this world. The Portal Stone near Rhuidean, for instance. If he knew the symbol for it. Now was when he needed luck, needed that  _ ta’veren _ tugging at chance to favour him.

A hand reached over his shoulder, and Rhuarc said in a reluctant voice, “These two are used for Rhuidean in old writings. Long ago, even the name was not written.” He traced two triangles, each surrounding what appeared to be forked lightnings, one pointing left, one right.

“Do you know what this is?” Rand asked. The Aielman looked away. “Burn me, Rhuarc, I have to know. I know you don’t want to talk of it, but you have to tell me. Tell me, Rhuarc. Have you ever seen its like before?”

The other man took a deep breath before answering. “I have seen its like.” Each word came as if dragged. “When a man goes to Rhuidean, Wise Ones and clansmen wait on the slopes of Chaendaer near a stone like this.” Aviendha stood up and walked away stiffly; Rhuarc glanced after her, frowning. “I know no more of it, Rand al’Thor. May I never know shade if I do.”

Rand traced the unreadable script surrounding the triangles. Which one? Only one would take him where he wanted to go. The second might land him on the other side of the world, or the bottom of the ocean.

The rest of the Aiel had gathered at the foot of the hill with their pack mules. Moiraine and the others dismounted and climbed the easy slope, leading their horses. Mat had Jeade’en as well as his own brown gelding, keeping the stallion well away from Lan’s Mandarb. The two stallions eyed one another fiercely now that they had no riders.

“He really doesn’t know what he’s doing?” one of the Accepted, a skinny girl named Pedra who would have looked right at home in the Theren, was saying. “Moiraine Sedai, stop him. We can ride to Rhuidean. Why are you letting him go on with this? Why don’t you say something?”

“What would you suggest I do?” the Aes Sedai said dryly. “I can hardly drag him away by his ear. We may be about to see how useful Dreaming really is.”

“What does Dreaming have to do with this?” Pedra asked.

“Will you two be quiet?” Rand made himself sound patient. “I am trying to decide.” Pedra stared at him indignantly; Moiraine showed no emotion at all, but she watched intently.

“Do we have to do it this way?” Mat said. “What do you have against riding?” Rand only looked at him, and he shrugged uncomfortably. “Oh, burn me. If you’re trying to decide ...” Taking both horses’ reins in one hand, he dug a coin from his pocket, a gold Tar Valon mark, and sighed. “It would be the same coin, wouldn’t it.” He rolled the coin across the backs of his fingers. “I’m ... lucky sometimes, Rand. Let my luck choose. Head, the one that points to your right; flame, the other. What do you say?”

“Well that is just utterly ridiculous,” Alanna said as she climbed the slope to join them. “This one was your friend from childhood, Rand? Like Aybara? The latter was a much better choice, I can see at once.”

“Hey!” Mat protested. “I’m not the one who has to go around forcing people to bond with them.”

Alanna glared at Mat as though he had said something that wasn’t a plain truth. The tell-tale goosebumps returned and Rand decided that he’d waited quite long enough.

Seizing  _ saidin _ once more, he slammed a shield around Alanna, cutting off her connection to  _ saidar _ . Rand ignored her scandalised gasp, just as he ignored the feelings of shock, hurt and betrayal that assaulted him through the bond between them. He wrapped Alanna and Ihvon in flows of Air, pinning them both in place. How the woman could manage to feel shocked or hurt by this defied his understanding. Betrayal? He had made it plain, and more than plain, that he did not want her near him.

“Ayame. Inukai. Bring me some ropes from the pack animals, please,” Rand called, and the two Shienarans moved to obey.

Alanna’s pretty eyes reproached him. “What is the meaning of this, Rand? Release me.”

Saying nothing, he stood with his arms folded as he waited for the ropes, watching Moiraine out of the corner of his eye. If the Blue decided to come to her Green sister’s aid, he might be in trouble. Especially since she had the Accepted to back her up. Pedra was bouncing on her toes, waiting for Moiraine’s order, and who knew what the other Accepted were thinking. Ilyena wore a smirk, and Dani a frown. The tall Domani, Theodrin, looked thoughtful, while the darkest of them, Mayam, was chewing her full lip worriedly. But it was Moiraine who would decide, and Moiraine simply observed the scene with cool detachment.

Only when Inukai handed him the ropes did Rand speak again. “You seem to think I was joking when I told you you weren’t coming with me, Alanna. I wasn’t.”

Ihvon stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched, as Rand tied the Warder’s feet together, and bound his hands behind his back. “Take him to his horse,” he commanded.

“Apologies, Ihvon Gaidin,” said Inukai as he took hold of Ihvon’s shoulders. “Please allow me to escort you out.” Shienarans in general were a polite people, and the Aes Sedai were well-respected there. But Rand was the Dragon Reborn, and for these Shienarans, at least, that was more important. Ayame lifted Ihvon’s feet, and they carried the silent swordsman dangling between them down the gentle hillside.

Alanna, of course, did not go as quietly. Slender as she was, she resisted the binding of  _ saidin _ , of Rand’s greater physical strength, and of the ropes that, eventually, he was able to knot around her thrashing wrists. “How dare you!? Come to your senses, Rand! You can’t do this to me!”

“And yet, it appears to be happening,” he said grimly, kneeling to bind her feet. Alanna danced away from his grip; he held one dainty ankle in his hand but the other she stretched as far away from him as she could. “Hold still!”

Mat snickered, and Merile seemed to be hiding a smile behind her hand, but Rhuarc looked troubled, and Loial ears had wilted completely. “This is not wise,” the Ogier mumbled, though his mumble was as loud as most human men’s raised voices. “Better to touch the sun than to anger an Aes Sedai.”

That was a common sentiment throughout the world, Rand knew. The White Tower would be a formidable enemy in its own right, and, worse, one that could turn many hands against him if it wished. But if the price of avoiding their enmity was to kneel at the feet of women like Alanna, then Rand would sooner have the whole world turn against him. He was already feared and hated, damned to madness and death—what could the Tower do that was worse?

“Let me go!” cried Alanna, as Rand, tired of their dance, pulled her to him and slung her over his shoulder. She continued to thrash uselessly, her long black hair now mussed and dangling near the ground. Finally capturing both of her ankles, he began to tie her feet together. “Rand, please,” she whispered then, trying to keep her words for him alone. “I need to go with you. You need me with you.”

“No I don’t,” he said, finishing the knot and starting downhill. He moved carefully, balancing her weight on his shoulder. She was light enough, and the slope gentle, but Rand placed his feet slowly and deliberately nevertheless.

When he reached her horse, he heaved Alanna over the saddle. The fine green silk of her dress did not quite hide the curves of her bottom, not when she dangled over her horse’s back with her butt in the air. Nearby, Ihvon hung from his own gelding in a similarly undignified manner. The Shienarans stood aside, hands folded behind their backs.

“The shield should wear off after I’m gone,” Rand said, taking both horses by the reins. “You can return to Tar Valon, or whatever, then.” He led them back to the dirt road. “Don’t try to follow me. The pair of you might be able to survive walking home across the Aiel Waste, barefoot, but I can promise you would not enjoy it.” With that he gave the horses’ rumps a sharp slap, first Ihvon’s, then Alanna’s. As they trotted off down the road, Alanna let out a sound Rand could not quite name. A growl, a hiss, a sob? No, matter. He put the Aes Sedai out of his mind, in so much as he was able to, and turned back towards the Portal Stone.

Moiraine’s face was as expressionless as a marble statue’s when he rejoined them. He was, he had to admit, pleasantly surprised that she had not tried to stop him from getting rid of Alanna.

“Anyway,” Rand said. “Head right and flame left wasn’t it, Mat?”

“You’re a bloody nutter, Rand,” Mat chortled, “but, yes, head’s the right one.” The coin spun into the air off Mat’s thumb, gleaming dully in the sun. At its peak, Mat snatched it back and slapped it down on the back of his other hand, then hesitated. “It’s a bloody thing to be trusting to the toss of a coin, Rand.”

Rand crouched down and laid his palm on one of the symbols without looking. “This one,” he said. “You chose this one.”

Mat peeked at the coin and blinked. “You’re right. How did you know?”

“It has to work for me sooner or later.” None of them understood—he could see that—but it did not matter. Lifting his hand, he looked at what he and Mat had picked. The triangle pointed left. The sun had slid down from its apex. He had to do this right. A mistake, and they could lose time, not gain it. That had to be the worst outcome. It had to be.

Standing, he dug into his pouch and pulled out the small hard object, a carving of shiny dark green stone that fit easily into his hand, a round-faced round-bodied man sitting cross-legged with a sword across his knees. He rubbed a thumb over the figure’s bald head. “Gather everyone close. Everyone. Rhuarc, have them bring those pack animals up here. Everyone has to be as close to me as possible.”

“Why?” the Aielman asked.

“We’re going to Rhuidean.” Rand bounced the carving on his palm and bent to pat the Portal Stone. “To Rhuidean. Right now.”

Rhuarc gave him a long flat look, then straightened, already calling to the other Aiel.

Moiraine took a step closer up the grassy slope. “What is that?” she asked curiously.

“An  _ angreal _ ,” Rand said, turning it in his hand. “One that works for men. I found it in the Great Holding when I was hunting that doorway. It was the sword that made me pick it up, and then I knew. If you are wondering how I mean to channel enough of the Power to take us all—Aiel, pack mules everybody and everything—this is it.”

“I’m surprised Be’lal didn’t take it.”

“So am I. Maybe he didn’t notice. Or maybe he found something better. I don’t know. There’s a lot of stuff in there.”

Moiraine nodded. “And most of it is junk, not even remotely connected to the One Power. The Tairens did not know what they were gathering, only that it was strange to their eyes.”

Dani looked worried. “If your own strength isn’t enough, even with what we saw in the Stone ... Are you certain that  _ angreal _ is strong enough? I can’t even be sure it is one. I believe you if you say it is, but  _ angreal _ vary. At least, those that women can use do. Some are more potent than others, and size or shape is no guide.”

“Of course I’m certain,” he lied. There had been no way to test it, not for this purpose, not without letting half of Tear know he was up to something, but he thought it would do. Just. And as small as it was, no-one would know it was gone from the Stone unless they decided to inventory the Holding. Not likely, that, not with his ward in place. It was a nice surprise to have in his pocket.

Off to the side, Tam and an Aiel Maiden were studying the Portal Stone. With her  _ shoufa _ up, he recognised her only by her voice. Aca. “What exactly is that? I do not like the feeling I get from it.”

“Apparently they are doorways between worlds,” Tam explained, repeating the explanation Rand had given him during their meeting. “Other worlds, where people just like us—who might even really  _ be _ us—live lives very similar, or very different to our own. But a channeler can use them to move instantly from one place on this world to another, without needing to visit those others. If they do their channelling right.”

“Are we seriously walking through, Tam?” Aca asked incredulously.

“We are,” Tam said, as calm as a boulder in a storm.

Rand made a point of not looking their way, though he privately wondered what business this girl, no older than him, had speaking to his father so familiarly. He’d never heard an Aiel use a person’s name properly before—properly by wetlander standards, that was. Usually they kept the family name attached. His own efforts to explain to them that it was unneeded and that they could just call him Rand had been met with stiff backs and uncomfortable refusals. There was none of that in the way Aca was speaking to Tam.

“You leave  _ Callandor _ behind and bring this,” Moiraine murmured, distracting him from his thoughts. “You seem to have considerable knowledge of using Portal Stones. More than I would have thought.”

“Verin told me a good bit,” he said. Verin had, but it had been Lanfear who first explained them to him. He had known her as Selene, then, but he did not intend explaining that to Moiraine any more than he would tell her of the woman’s offer of help. The Aes Sedai had taken the news of Lanfear’s appearance too calmly, even for her. And she had that weighing look in her eyes, as if she had him on balance scales in her mind.

“Take a care, Rand al’Thor,” she said in that icy, musical voice. “Any  _ ta’veren _ shapes the Pattern to one degree or another, but a  _ ta’veren _ such as you might rip the Age Lace for all of time.”

He wished he knew what she was thinking. He wished he knew what she was planning.

The Aiel climbed the hill with their pack mules, covering the slope as they crowded close around him and the Portal Stone, crowding in shoulder to shoulder on everyone but Moiraine and the Accepted. Those they left a little space. Rhuarc nodded at him as if saying, “It is done, it is in your hands now”.

Hefting the shiny green  _ angreal _ , he thought of telling the Aiel to leave the animals, but there was the question of whether they would, and he wanted to arrive with all of them, with all feeling he had done well by them. Goodwill might be in short supply in the Waste. They watched him with imperturbable faces. Some had veiled themselves, though. Those who had objected to his plan weren’t entirely wrong. He was trying to transport a lot of people. It would have been smarter to leave more of them behind, but ... He thought he could manage it, without triggering another glimpse of the Lines of If. He hoped he could. Mat was nervously rolling that Tar Valon mark across the backs of his fingers over and over, while Merile looked to him for reassurance. He smiled for her as best he could. There was no point in waiting any longer. He had to move faster than anyone thought he could.

He released  _ saidin _ only long enough to draw on it again, this time through the  _ angreal _ . The Power filled him, breath of life, wind to uproot oaks, summer wind sweetened with flowers, foul waftings from a midden heap. Floating in emptiness, he fixed the lightning-laced triangle before him and reached through the  _ angreal _ , drew deeply at the raging torrent of  _ saidin _ . He had to carry them all. It had to work. Holding that symbol, he pulled at the One Power, pulled it into him until he was sure he would burst. Pulled more. More.

The world seemed to wink out of existence.


	51. What Might Be

She was tempted to just march on out of the Amyrlin’s office, if for no other reason than because she didn’t like being told what to do, or kept as a virtual captive in a city she didn’t want to stay in. But she stayed where she was, under the scrutiny of the pale-eyed Tairen. It was the Amyrlin Seat, after all. The most powerful person in the world. Just flouncing out was hardly an appropriate thing to do.

“I don’t like that stubborn look on your face, girl,” the Amyrlin warned. “And not just because you’re prettier without it. I expect my orders to be obeyed, by kings and queens, by Aes Sedai, and by sulky girls as well. If you’re thinking I’ll go easy on you just because of your special gifts, think again. Make my job harder than it is and I’ll have you boned like this morning’s catch.”

“I just don’t see what good I can do sitting around here,” she sulked. “And I don’t much like being threatened either. Besides, I wouldn’t be so sure that you could bone me, if I were you. Those gifts you mentioned can be pretty dangerous.”

The Amyrlin snorted. “Oh? The goldfish thinks she’s a shark, does she? You’re ready to be out there by yourself, doing whatever you please, is that it?”

That mocking tone made her temper flare. “Yes! Better that than sitting around here. I’m not your bloody servant!”

“A lesson is in order, then.” The Amyrlin shot to their feet, and marched around their desk so abruptly that she tried to reach for the One Power despite knowing she was shielded.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, when the Amyrlin seized her by the arm and pulled her up out of the chair.

“You’re head’s too full of stories. It’s time you had a little taste of reality,” he said.

Raye al’Thor’s response fled her mind when she found herself pushed over the desk. Her thighs hit the edge, and moments later her elbows hit the smooth wood. Before she could straighten up, she felt something pressing up against her bottom. She looked back at Huan Sanche in alarm, and gasped when she saw him undo his belt and fish out a hard cock, one that he pointed right at her.

“What do you think you’re doing,” she said in outrage, though she had a good idea already. Her heart raced.

“Showing you how power works, girl. And the danger of barking at bigger dogs.” Though no hand touched them, her red skirts flew up to spread across the desk around her, and the bodice of her dress came loose, making her heavy breasts spring free to touch the cold wood. She tried to move, but something invisible to her eyes was binding her elbows and holding her down. She felt that same invisible something take hold of her ankles and spread them wide. “Learn this lesson well, Raye. It might save your life someday,” the Amyrlin said.

She barely managed to splutter half a response before she felt something hot press up against her soft sex and begin pushing inside her. It was outrageous. It was infuriating. And to some hidden, sinful part of her, if was wickedly exciting.

Red-faced, Raye bit her lip in silence as the Amyrlin mounted her, his hard cock touching places her fingers could never reach, forcing her treacherous body to cry out gladly. Huan wasn’t gentle with her. He had his way with her roughly, his hips slapping up against her butt at a steady tempo while he held her by her long red braid.

“You’re a pretty girl,” he grunted as he thrust. “And you may be powerful someday. If—and only if!—you learn your place.”

To him, Raye’s place was here, bent over his desk in Tar Valon. It wasn’t what she’d expected when she’d rode here from Fal Dara with him, and it certainly wasn’t what she planned for her future, no many how many secret places he touched. Despite that, her hips began to move to meet his when her pleasure crested higher.

“That’s good. Now you’re learning,” said Huan. That learning must have excited him, for he began ravaging her even harder.

When Raye came, it was a sudden and surprising thing, the effects of which she tried to hide from her dominator. A sharply indrawn breath was all the reaction that escaped her, but the Amyrlin still noticed. He made a knowingly amused noise.

“See? It’s not so bad. Just let the Black Tower guide you, and everything will be fine. We know best. All you need to concern yourself with is how to carry out our plans.”

Raye said nothing in response, not because she agreed, but because she knew now that arguing with him would never bring him to see her side of things. _I will not stay in Tar Valon forever_ , she silently vowed. _There are prophecies to be fulfilled. The Aes Sedai can’t help me with that. They’ll just get in the way_.

She remained there, bent over the Amyrlin’s desk, for some time longer, until at last Huan had had his fill of her body, and—after hilting inside—began to fill her with his seed. Raye took every drop in wordless submission, panting, half-naked, flushed and exposed.

“See how little good running your mouth does you?” the out of breath Amyrlin said, once he’d finished spurting inside her.

“I see it now, Father,” Raye said meekly.

She supposed she must look defeated to him. But she was not defeated. She was just waiting her chance. Lessons had, in fact, been learned that day. Just not the ones the Amyrlin wanted to teach.

_Flicker_.

Frowning fiercely while trying to ignore the images that flashed before his eyes, and the sensations that bloomed in his mind, Rand drew even harder on the _angreal_. He extended an invisible bubble around those who gathered near him, embracing them, trying to pull them with him through the Portal Stone. They could reach the other side, without touching any more of the Lines of If. They had to.

_Flicker_.

* * *

“You like that, don’t you? You dirty girl,” he said as he rode her.

Elayne shook her head, her red-gold curls flying. But for all her denials, her pussy clutched at him desperately. Her long nails scratched not his face, but his forearms as she let him taste that sweet, highborn pussy.

“I’m not a dirty girl. I am the Daughter-Heir of Andor,” she moaned. “How dare you treat me like this, you vile ruffian!?”

He snorted, and thrust into her as deeply as he could, forcing a high-pitched yelp from her lips. “The Daughter-Heir of Andor is a saucy little slut, who dreams of cock all day long, if you ask me.”

Her fair skin flushed red, but her hips began to buck against him all the harder.

“You can deny it all you want,” he continued, “but I know the truth. You’re a bad girl in sore need of a good hard fucking, and a good hard spanking, too.”

“A ... a spanking,” Elayne gasped. “I would never ... I would never allow ...”

“I bet Rand’s never spanked you, or told you what a slut you are,” Mat said with a knowing grin. “He’s much too nice for that. He would never treat you the way we both know you deserve to be treated. The way you want to be treated.”

“How dare you? You don’t know anything about me,” Elayne said, while biting her lip cutely.

“Don’t I?” he pulled himself out of her sweet little pussy, and stood up from the sofa on which they cavorted, there in the Stone of Tear. “Turn around and show me that pretty little ass of yours. Naughty liars deserve to have their cheeks reddened. Wouldn’t you agree?”

The slender legs that had been wrapped around his hips loosened. Though she trembled with some unknown emotion, Elayne rose wordlessly from her back to kneel on the sofa in front of him, her pretty ass pointed his way in shaking anticipation of what was coming.

“I knew it from the moment I saw you,” Mat crowed. He took her by the hips and thrust himself back inside her, forcing a loud cry from her lips. She cried even louder when his hand cracked across her pale backside, but she didn’t try to stop him. “Walking around with your nose in the air like that, insulting every man you see. I knew what you needed. And I’m just the man to give it to you.”

He rode Elayne hard and fast, and soon lost track of what they’d been saying, so lost in the thrill of it was he. He didn’t even notice when the door to the sitting room opened. It was only the shout that made his head whip around, the loud, furious roar of a man betrayed twice over.

“What do you flaming think you’re doing to my wife!?”

Elayne gasped even louder than Mat did. Her jaw nearly touched her chest when she saw Rand standing in the doorway, his face red with anger, furious anger. Insane anger. Her vain, wriggling efforts to cover herself made her pussy rub along Mat’s cock in a way that had his eyes trying to roll back in his head.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Mat lied.

“You fucking traitors!” Rand roared, truthfully.

Mat tried to use his best grin, while scrambling to think of some way to explain this, but he didn’t get far into preparing his story before a dark realisation struck him. There were flames glowing between the fingers of Rand’s white-knuckled fists, and that was not the look of a man who was going to settle for throwing hands and blackening eyes. There was murder in those eyes.

“Now hold on—” he managed. They were not the wittiest of last words, but they were all he could get out before the flames roared up inside him and words turned to dying screams.

_Flicker_.

“Blood and ashes! What was that? What’s going on!?” Mat shouted. He would have run from the damn Portal Stone if he could, but there were too many people all around him, pressing close, looking shocked, horrified, aroused, confused, terrified—even the Aiel. He saw Rand nearby. The look of intense concentration on his face was far too close to the one he’d worn when he killed him. Killed him! “Rand! Stop this!” he shouted. But now, as then, his words fell on deaf ears.

_Flicker_.

* * *

He didn’t need a light to navigate the corridors of Ishamael’s fortress, for _Callandor_ ’s glow provided all the light he needed. Or light enough to see by, at least. There were no guards on the door he approached. Either those inside didn’t trust enough people to protect them, or they didn’t think they needed the help. Or perhaps both. It didn’t matter anymore. Nothing did. He spun Air to open the door, and stepped inside, with an outthrust _Callandor_ leading his way.

A dozen or more of the Forsaken were gathered inside, standing neatly spaced around a large table. They looked his way when he entered, making no effort to hide the scorn, hate and resentment they felt. It washed over him and left even less residue than the filtered _saidin_ that still raged through _Callandor_ and into him. With that amount of Power, he could probably kill any of them.

But what would be the point of that?

“So good of you to join us at last,” Rahvin said, while jealousy eyeing the glowing _sa’angreal_. “I do not like waiting, ‘Doonla’. Especially not for a newcomer—a pretender among the Chosen.”

“And yet you did it,” Doonla said, as he took his place among the Forsaken. He didn’t care how hotly Rahvin glared. He would try to kill him eventually, of course, and Doonla would try to kill him back, along with all the rest of them. It didn’t matter. It had all been for nothing, but he’d still kill them, though that would be for nothing, too. Just as all his sacrifices had been. Just as loving her had been.

The newest Forsaken listened to his despicable peers plot; he watched them with dull, lifeless eyes that reflected the cold dead heart that was all that was left inside him.

* * *

Raye was a young woman with few prospects, being the only child of an ailing family whose farm lay in the Westwood. But whenever she lamented that to others during her visits to Emond’s Field, they laughed it off and told her it didn’t matter. She was a pretty girl, with a fine, womanly figure. And such exotic colouring, too! She would have no trouble finding a man to take care of her, they said.

That didn’t sit very well with Raye, who would much rather have taken care of herself. Sometimes she dreamed of leaving the Theren to seek her fortune elsewhere, for surely the patriarchy couldn’t reign over all of Valgarda just because a woman had broken the world all those centuries ago. She thought she might have done it, too, if only Mat and Perrin hadn’t proven so distracting.

All three of them were of an age, and they had played together often when they were children, but the games had changed with their bodies as they grew, and now their interactions took a more serious bent.

She hadn’t intended for it to become a literal bent, the day she went for a walk in the woods with Perrin, but it did. A little playful pushing, some laughter and chasing, and somehow they’d ended up hugging, then kissing, and before she even knew what she was doing, she was bent over a fallen log while Perrin was probing places no-one had ever probed before, waking feelings that were at once frightening and exciting.

That was a confusing time for Raye, made all the more so by the fact that it was only a day later, while she was avoiding Perrin due to not knowing what she should say to him, that Mat kissed her for the first time.

He’d been flirting with her for a while, but she’d shrugged that off. Mat flirted with all the girls, and she wasn’t about to take him too seriously. They were friends, after all. He was probably just joking. But his kisses didn’t feel like jokes. They were very ... intent.

They were in the stable of the Winespring Inn at the time, and the sound of voices coming closer soon drove her to push Mat away.

“That’s enough teasing, Mat,” she told him, and was surprised by how breathless her own voice was.

“Heh. I was thinking the same. Every time I see you walk by, I keep wondering: ‘Light, is she doing that deliberately, or does it just come naturally?’ ”

Raye frown slightly. “Doing what?” Mat grinned, but didn’t respond. The arrival of Mayor Bran drove them out of the stable, with both youths trying their best to look innocent. The round and balding man didn’t look very convinced, but said nothing.

Raye hadn’t wanted to come between her two friends, but it was Bel Tine, and the festival was in full swing. She had anticipated them asking her to dance, but she hadn’t reckoned on them asking at the same time. Mat and Perrin were friends, and hadn’t scuffled with each other since they were five so far as she could recall, but the way they glared at each other that day made her fear they would come to blows. Her efforts to assuage them both won her scornful looks from those who overheard, men and women both, but her friends were better and kinder than that. They calmed down, they calmed themselves, and limited their disagreement to words and frowns.

She danced with them both that day, and listened to entreaties that made her heart race. They both claimed to love her, and to have loved her since they were children. That was easy to respond to, since she could say with utter honesty that she felt the same. But the rest? Marrying the town’s future blacksmith or the eldest son of one of Emond’s Field’s most successful farmers would definitely improve her prospects, but what about the future she’d been dreaming of? The one where she made something of herself out in the wide world beyond the Theren?

Knowing that they had a rival, the two boys grew aggressive, and pressured her for an answer all throughout the festival. When she grew angry, they pleaded. When she acted conciliatory, they pressed the advantage, sometimes touching her arm, or going for a kiss. Not wanting to commit, or to hurt either of them, she dodged as best she could for as long as she could. Until the time came, towards the end of that year’s festival, when she found herself alone with them on Mat’s farm at the outskirts of town.

Mat had said he needed to talk to her alone, but Perrin hadn’t been about to let them out of his sight so had marched along, ignoring the increasingly cutting remarks the other boy shot his way as they walked. Once he’d made sure that none of his family were home to overhear, Mat demanded answers of her, there in the front room of his da’s farm. Answers and a decision. That Perrin echoed his demand only made his jaw set angrily.

Raye looked to the blue sky beyond their window for answers but found none written in the few clouds that drifted across it. “Why can’t it all just be the way it was?” she pleaded. “Why can’t we just be friends again?”

“Because you’re you. And I can’t stop thinking about you,” Perrin said roughly.

“When are men and women ever just friends?” Mat asked. “I can’t look at a woman as beautiful as you, Raye, and not want to have her. Be mine.”

“No. Be mine,” Perrin said, his dark eyes pleading.

Raye sighed. “But I want to be my own. Look, what if we all just pretended this Bel Tine never happened. It could all be the way it was.”

“That can never happen. We aren’t kids anymore,” Mat insisted.

“I want you to be more than my friend,” Perrin added roughly. “I need it.”

“For the Light’s sake! Look ... I don’t ...” Raye’s mind tried to outrace her heart, and lost. She blurted out words she had not intended to say. “What if I let you get it out of your system. Could we talk rationally, then?”

“Let what?” Perrin said.

“You know. Let you do what you want to me,” she said.

“Who?” Mat asked, his brows climbing high.

“You two, of course.”

“Blood and ashes!” the boys cursed in unison.

“Both? Burn me, Raye. I knew you were more adventurous that the other girls around here, but ... Burn me,” said Mat. He was grinning, and looked almost impressed.

Perrin, however, wore a disappointed frown. “I see ... Well ... that is one way to solve the problem, I suppose.”

“Definitely,” Mat said, as he boldly reached out to squeeze her breasts. Raye let him, and could not deny that it felt good to have that soft flesh touched by his nimble fingers. It felt so good that she was soon undoing the laces of her dress and pushing the bodice down, to let him touch her directly.

It all went rather fast after that. Seconds after seeing her breasts, Perrin’s shirt was flying across the room to land on one of Master Cauthon’s chairs. She barely had time to admire the heavy muscles that moved under the thick coat of dark hair on his body, before he was dropping his trousers and giving her something else to admire—the thick cock with which he’d probed her before. Everything had happened so suddenly back then that she hadn’t gotten the chance to look at it, but seeing it now brought a warm red glow to her cheeks. Mat was working at his belt, too, while he continued to grope her chest with his offhand, seemingly unwilling to release his grip on her long enough to undress himself properly. His hands were soon joined by Perrin’s, who kissed the side of her neck as he stood behind, gently squeezing the bountiful flesh of her breasts.

Raye was very tall for a Theren woman—of a height with the two men, in fact—but they didn’t seem to mind at all as they pressed her between them. Their rivalry was momentarily forgotten as they teamed up to rid her off her concealing clothes, exposing her pale flesh and chubby bottom, her long legs, and the now very wet sex that hid behind a thatch of red hair.

It was Mat whose fingers first parted that thatch, and sent pleasure spiking through her as surely as his fingers spiked inside.

Raye stood naked in the farmhouse, being rubbed all over by the warm flesh pressing against her nakedness from front and back, but that was not enough for her friends. If that was still all they were. It certainly wasn’t enough to satisfy them.

It was Mat who led them out of the sitting room and down the hall. He kept his fingers in her pussy as he did so, crooking them, smiling knowingly as he beckoned her along in a way that made her blush, but a way that she could not resist. It was awkward to walk with his fingers in her like that, especially with Perrin fondling the fleshy cheeks of her bottom as she walked, but Raye did it. Her embarrassment was twin to the pleasure that she found growing within her.

It was to Mat’s bedroom that they took her, and in Mat’s bed that they had her. There was no artistry in it. The boys wanted to be inside Raye’s body, and found whatever entrance they could. She let them do as they pleased, even when she found herself kneeling before, and kissing, Mat on the bed while Perrin stole up behind and parted the fleshy cheeks of her bottom to get at the tight little hole between. She cried out in a mixture of pain and pleasure when he thrust into her. Mat went wild after that.

Raye found that she had no breath left for words while being pounded from both ends by the hard, hungry cocks of her oldest friends. There was only the gasps and the groans and the unbridled pleasure. They held her upright between them, her soft curves sandwiched between their hard bodies. She had no idea how long it lasted, or how many times she came, or even which of the two men came first. But eventually, after they had pumped her full of their come, and pulled themselves out of her now tender holes, the three former friends ended up sitting on the narrow bed, catching their breaths, and trying to make sense of what had just happened.

“Burn me, but that felt incredible,” Mat said.

Perrin grunted. “It was fun.” His solemnity made her look a question his way, but he didn’t meet her eyes for long.

“Now that we’re all calmer,” Raye said, “perhaps we can talk about this problem you two have.”

“There’s no problem,” said Perrin. “We’re friends, like you said. There’s no need to complicate things further.”

Blinking, Raye sat up, the motion causing her heavy breasts to sway. The men’s eyes were drawn to them, and their sticky cocks twitched, but Perrin moved away from her rather than towards. “What changed your mind?” she said slowly.

Perrin shrugged, still avoiding her eye. “An easy woman can be fun to know, but she’s not someone you would marry.”

That hurt. It hurt in a way she couldn’t put into words, and so they parted in silence. Mat tried to make a joke of it all, but her half-hearted responses curdled even his smile after a while. She dressed, and left the Cauthon farm feeling smaller than she ever had.

She would have left the Theren, too, and made good on her plans to explore the world, but Mat proved surprisingly hard to be rid of. Far from being disgusted at her unladylike behaviour, he was entranced by it. He sought her out constantly, and proved so skilled at loveplay that Raye was all too happy to indulge his passions. They spent the best part of a year fucking each other at every opportunity, in every location, and in every orifice. When they were not fucking, they’d laugh and joke just as they had when they were younger, and talk about how much they’d like to see the world. They even made tentative plans to leave together someday. Those plans never got very far beyond conception, though, for they’d inevitably end up back in bed, too enamoured with each other’s bodies to think of much else.

It was at the next year’s Bel Tine that he asked her to marry him, and a week after its end that she became Raye Cauthon, and moved into the farm that Mat would someday inherit. His family was very welcoming, and a year afterwards it expanded by two members. They named the twins Jacen and Jayna, and their arrival changed Mat. Each time he stood over their cribs, smiling down at them, he seemed to become more and more like his father. Raye wasn’t sure what to make of that at first. She’d loved Mat just the way he was. But she learned to love this new, more mature Mat as well. All seemed well in their world ... until rumours began to drift down from Taren Ferry of dark things happening in the lands beyond the Theren.

Those rumours mentioned the Shadow more often than not, and every time she heard talk of the Dark One stirring and the Borderlands retreating, strange thoughts would stir in her mind. Chaotic thoughts, the kind that Mat had taken to teasing her over in a way that got less jokey and more concerned each time she mentioned them. She should be out there, fighting, she’d say, as she breastfed their latest child. The Dark One had to be stopped. It was her job. It was everyone’s job, Mat would respond, to which she’d nod her head and repeat with growing grimness. It was her job.

Raye got her chance to fight in the end, for all the good it did. Untrained, inexperienced, and with three young children, she was not with the ragtag “army” that opposed the Shadowspawn when they invaded the Theren. So she was not there to see her husband die. He’d fought bravely, they assured her, though he’d been shouting words that no-one understood, for some reason. They told her that while evacuating everyone who was left alive. South they fled, unable to even spare the time to mourn, south to Deven Ride. It was there they made their last stand, there that Raye first used the One Power consciously, there she killed for the first time. And it was there that she died, overwhelmed by the Shadow’s hordes along with the last surviving members of her people.

As her life’s blood leaked out of her, she suffered under no delusion that her children would survive her long. But she was still bewildered by the bodiless voice that spoke its mockery into her ear. _You lose again, Louise Therin_.

* * *

He was alone when they found him. Anyone else might have thought him just a lost farmboy, albeit an abnormally muscular one, but she and Long Tooth knew better. That was why they made themselves known to him instead of avoiding contact, as they would normally have done with people who were still fully human. Bane tried to warn him. She told him not to listen to the wolves. She told him to run back to his village, and never to leave again. But the boy did not heed her warnings.

He came to be known as Young Bull. He was younger and stronger than Long Tooth. Handsomer, too. Not that that mattered. Wolves didn’t value appearances when deciding who in the pack should mate, and neither did the wolfkin. Young Bull ran with their pack for some time, and followed Long Tooth as he should, but it was Bane to whom he spoke most often. They agreed that the wolves were dangerous, that their influence on the humans’ minds was too great, but neither of them knew how to make it stop. Long Tooth grew angry at such talk. He liked the wolves. He preferred their company to that of the humans, even Bane, his mate.

There came a time when the arguments between Long Tooth and Young Bull grew too angry to be settled with words. Bane was not surprised. That, too, was the way of the wolves. They fought, and she did not take a side, neither with her mate, nor with the youth she’d come to think of as her friend. They fought, and both men took wounds, but it was the younger, stronger one who stood victorious in the end.

Long Tooth did not survive the conflict.

She thought that fact horrified Young Bull, but his horror didn’t prevent him from claiming Long Tooth’s mate afterwards, to assert his dominance in the pack. Bane let him mount her, willingly dropping to her hands and knees in that isolated field so that Young Bull could shove his cock inside her and pound brutally away. They were beasts, and they mated like beasts, all snarls and grunts.

It had seemed right at the time, but in the days and weeks that followed they came to realise their mistake. The wandering, the listening to wolves, the killing, and even the mating. What had they become? Was there anything left inside them that could be called human? Full of self-loathing, Bane asked her questions of Young Bull, and got the very answer she knew she would get.

No. They were monsters.

There was little but misery left for them after that. Young Bull hated himself as much as she hated herself. And though neither of them was so cruel as to tell the other that they hated them, too, the unspoken assumption that it was so, that it had to be so, was always there.

Bane and Young Bull returned to their human names in the months that followed. They settled in an Andoran town where no-one knew them. A town large enough that their sullen silences would not occasion too much talk from their neighbours. Of the strange colouring of their eyes, there was nothing they could do except keep their heads down and hope no-one would make a big deal over it. Publically, they returned to the use of their human names: Raine and Perrin.

They remained mates, of a sort, during that time, but their ongoing struggle to suppress their bestial natures made any physical contact difficult. Passion woke the beasts within, and invariably led to both of them stewing in guilt and regret after their minds had been cleared of lust. It was a stilted relationship, one which brought few smiles to either of their faces, but at least they were not alone.

They fought together, too, when the Shadow came. Perrin was shocked when he heard the townsfolk speak of the one they called the Dragon Reborn, but not due to that fearsomely famous moniker, as she might have expected. No, he was shocked when they used this Dragon’s other name. Rand al’Thor.

It was, he told her in open-mouthed shock, an old friend of his. A childhood friend that he’d thought had died along with all the others. He decided he wanted to seek this al’Thor out, and help him in his struggle, and Raine decided that she would go with him.

Meeting the Dragon Reborn was what finally drove her mad.

She knew she had to mate with him from the moment she saw him. The wolves, whose voices she had fought so hard to suppress, howled out his name in her mind with renewed volume. _Shadowkiller_ , they called him. There was such awe in them. She had to mate him, for he was the leader of the pack. And yet ... the stench of him! He exuded a miasma that smelled like week old carrion. His flesh was so twisted that she could not bear to look at him for long. It was as pale as her own in some places, a lingering remnant of the man he’d been, but in other spots it was the yellow of rotten leaves, the grey of a sunbaked fish, or the charcoal black of overcooked meat. The wolves demanded she caress that flesh, that she lift her dress and invite his rotting body within her. The thought made her want to scream. His eyes were the only part of him she could bear to look at for long, and those eyes were full of the torment of a living man who knew he occupied a body that even a starving predator would not deign to eat.

She fled from him, and from Perrin, and from the wolves. And most of all, she fled from herself. It would be years later before Bane the beast died. But by then, Raine the girl was not even a distant memory to her.

* * *

She couldn’t find anyone, not her parents or her brother or her friends. All she could find was death and fire. The leaf might fall at its appointed time, unresisting, but it was hard to watch so many leaves fall at once. The attackers even killed the poor dogs. How many times had they bounded around her, wagging their tails and licking at her face? Such friendly big things they had been. They hadn’t deserved this. But the Way of the Leaf told her she shouldn’t grieve for anyone’s fate, or resist when it came for her. Merile ran through the camp, looking for someone who could tell her what to do, while creatures out of nightmare prowled in the shadows.

Her aimless flight ended abruptly when a huge beastman stepped around one of the wagons and right into her path. It had a face like a dog but the body of a man, albeit an extremely big one, and the look it gave her had nothing of the friendliness of a real dog.

Merile barely had time to scream before it was on her, smashing her off her feet to land stunned on the grass. She had fallen, as a leaf should, but she still found herself instinctually trying to get back up. She didn’t manage to get far before the thing fell atop her. Its clawed hands closed around her arms, which looked like twigs in those big mitts. She screamed in pain when it began tearing at her, its claws ripping through the fabric of her dress and the flesh beneath with equal ease. An evil, inhuman laugh issued from the beast’s throat when it heard her distress. That dog-like face could not leer, but she saw mockery in its almost-human eyes.

The leaf should fall at its allotted time, but Merile was unable to stop herself from resisting when the Trolloc began ripping her skirt to shreds. She thrashed on the ground, and kicked out blindly, but the thing was just so much bigger than her. There was nothing she could do, and perhaps nothing she should do. The Way of the Leaf forbade fighting back.

With her mind awash with panic and conflicted thoughts, she found herself freezing in place when the creature bared its strange, bright red cock. When it grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her legs apart with such ease, she remained frozen. She shouldn’t fight. It wasn’t the way. But ... but ...

When that inhuman cock pressed against her special place, and she felt the pain of it tearing its way into her body, Merile did nothing to stop it. She lay there, with tears streaming from her wide, horrified eyes, as the Shadowspawn raped her. The pitiable whimpers that she let out were drowned by the harsh growling of the creature rutting atop her.

The leaf fell where it should. As her rapist did his business, Merile found herself wishing her time on this world would come to an end soon, for she did not want to endure this horror any more. The leaf fell where it should, or so she told herself. But when the Trolloc closed its teeth around her ear, when it ripped off a piece of her body and reared up to look down on her, when it stared into her eyes as it began chewing what it had taken, when that happened, Merile could not help but fight. It was _eating_ her! A primal horror rioted through her, demanding escape, or vengeance, or something, anything but lying there and letting herself be eaten alive by her rapist. But it was too late by then. The Trolloc’s jaws closed around her throat, slobbering on her tender flesh as it slowly, tauntingly began to tighten its grip.

She’d done the right thing, and not fought back. And now she couldn’t fight back at all. She would not have known how to use a weapon even if she’d had one. It was the Way of the Leaf, to fall at its allotted time and place. But in that allotted time and place, in that incarnation, Merile died hating the Way and wishing she’d never followed it.

* * *

He hated to think of her trapped in there, enduring who knew what torments, but Mat wasn’t one for rushing into danger without thinking it through first. What good would it do to try to kick in the door of the Seanchan’s _damane_ quarters all by himself? Those soldiers would slice him to ribbons before he could get a word out. So he walked the perimeter of the building, while trying to blend in with the Falmeran crowds as casually as he could. He counted the Seanchan sentries, kept track of their patrol routes, and made note of all the ways into the building.

He waited until night before making his move. He went slowly and carefully, but he always kept a knife in hand, just in case one of the guards spotted him. He slipped over the wall, and through the garden, before entering the building by the back door. He’d seen women in grey dresses by the windows on the upper floor, and guessed that was where he’d find her, so that was where he went, tiptoeing his way up the stairs while his ears strained for any hint of another person’s presence. The corridor proved blessedly empty, so he crept along, poking his head into each of the rooms to see who was held within. Most of the _damane_ were asleep, and the few who were not looked on the intruder with dull, uninterested, hopeless eyes. It made him shudder.

He was afraid he’d find that same defeated look on Raye’s face when he located her, but the glare with which she greeted his entrance proved a familiar relief. She was wearing the same drab grey dress as the others, and a collar of silvery metal was locked around her neck, connected by way of a thin metal lead to a bracelet that hung from a peg on the wall near her bed. Her fiery red hair was not in its usual thick braid, but fell unbound to her waist, tousled as if from sleep ... or from other things. Mat smiled at the sight of her, for far from the first time.

“Mat. How did you get in—? Never mind. Get this thing off me would you?”

She kept her voice low, and he did the same. “What, no thank you? Here I am, risking life and liberty to save the day, and she doesn’t even do me the courtesy of fainting like a princess in a story.” He grinned as he said it, and slipped into the room, closing the door carefully behind him. The leash proved strange to the touch. Smooth, without an obvious catch, or any other way to detach it. But there had to be one, otherwise how had the _sul’dam_ taken it off?

Raye rolled her eyes. “When have I ever fainted? But thanks, though. I wasn’t sure if they’d captured you, too. It all happened so fast.”

“Mat Cauthon does not get captured. Or tamed,” he boasted. “Unlike a certain al’Thor I could name.”

“Get this collar off me, and I’ll show you exactly how untamed I am,” Raye growled.

Mat hand’s paused in their examination of the leash. He chewed his lip as he studied her. Even the loose, unflattering _damane_ dress wasn’t enough to hide her bounteous curves, and the way she was talking, with her hair flying free like that ... It all had him thinking things that a good, proper Theren man shouldn’t be thinking.

Of course, Mat Cauthon had never been a good, proper Theren man.

“I could do that. But first I think a little show of gratitude is in order,” he said, in a low, husky voice.

“I already said thank you, what more do you—Oh,” Raye said. Her red brows rose high and her fair cheeks coloured. “This is hardly the time, Mat. We can do all that stuff later.”

He smiled. “What’s the rush? It’s night. There’s no-one here but the two of us. Come on, Raye. Show me that gorgeous body of yours. I just can’t concentrate on this lead thing right now. My thoughts are full of you. And of you being full of me.”

Her face reddened even more. “Honestly, Mat! You are such a, a ... I don’t even know what!”

He stepped close, knelt before her as she sat on the bedside, and took her face between his hands. “You know you love it,” he said quietly, before pressing his lips to hers.

Raye’s resistance to his advances didn’t last long, and she was soon kissing him back, possibly even more ardently than he was kissing her. When he pulled the dress up to her waist, she rose from the bed long enough to let him pull it the rest of the way over her head, freeing her pale, bouncy breasts. He attacked them hungrily, squeezing the soft flesh with his hands while seeking out a stiff pink nipple to suck on. They made for great pillows, those breasts, as he knew from past experience. He pushed her back, and climbed onto the bed with her, while she unbuckled his belt for him. Her hand soon found and freed his stiffened member, and she caressed it gently but firmly. He groaned. He had to have her.

And have her he did. Raye spread her legs willingly for Mat, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders when he got on top of her. She gasped sweetly in his ear when he slid his cock into her hot pussy. It was all so sweet, too sweet. It mere moments he was fucking her fervently.

Ordinarily, that would have been more than enough for him. Beautiful Raye, the friend of his childhood who’d become his ardent lover, welcoming him into her body. Who could want more than that? Even if she had been cursed with the ability to channel. Even if he didn’t now know that it could never last, this thing they had. As his hips bucked against hers, and his hands tangled themselves in her hair, Mat’s thoughts drifted to the _a’dam_. It was how the Seanchan controlled channelers, and ensured they could never hurt themselves of anyone else. They treated those channelers poorly, but was it really any worse than Gentling them, or—Light forbid!—letting them run around doing whatever their taint-addled brains told them to do?

The _a’dam_ lay on the bed beside them, and he found himself taking hold of it. When he pulled out of Raye, and sat back on his heels, she looked a question at him. “Get up on your hands and knees,” he said breathlessly.

Raye’s gaze slid to the leash in his hands, and she frowned to herself, but it wasn’t long before she was shifting on the bed, turning around and displaying that round, curvaceous ass of hers. Mat groaned at the sight. He quickly got behind her and rammed himself home again, the force of his entrance making her butt cheeks quiver, and Raye herself gasp loudly.

He held the leash in one hand and her hair in the other as he fucked her as hard as he ever had. At that pace, it wasn’t long before he was shooting his come into her over and over again.

Raye took it all. When he’d spent himself, and sat back on the bed, she righted herself again and sat nearby, breathing heavily.

“Well, what do you know? It seems Raye al’Thor _can_ be tamed,” Mat smirked.

The scowl she gave him was far from playful. “I told you, get this collar off me and you’ll see exactly how untamed I am. These Seanchan owe me a debt, and I mean to collect.”

He still had the leash in his hands, and had been toying with it idly, but now he paused. A small frown grew on his face. “What do you mean? What are you going to do?”

Raye, his old friend, who’d always been up for a laugh even when the other girls got all prim and proper, glared murderously at the closed door of that plain room. “I’m going to kill them all. You don’t know what _saidar_ can do, Mat. Neither did I, really, but these bloody _sul’dam_ have shown me. The sheer destruction I can unleash once this collar is gone! I could torch this whole benighted city. There isn’t a single one of them that will escape me. Not one!”

Mat gaped at her. A cold chill ran up his spine. Was that the madness talking? Had it infected her mind already? Blood and ashes, if he took that thing off would she turn the One Power against him, or only against Falme? Only! Light, that was bad enough. There were thousands of people in this city. Raye was looking at him. He’d sat there, silent and unmoving for too long.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked, frowning.

Mat’s hands trembled on the leash. He should free her. He loved her. And she would have deserved to be free even if she’d been a total stranger. But ... What if she was already mad? And even if she wasn’t, what would happen when she _did_ go mad? It was the inescapable fate of all female channelers. The leash fell from his numb hands, and he climbed slowly from the bed.

“I’m sorry, Raye,” he said, feeling thoroughly awful. “I can’t do this.”

She gaped at him, the pretty face that had so recently blushed at his flirting now going ghostly pale. “What do you mean?” Her bare breasts rose and fell with her panicky breaths, but his mind was clear of lust now, so that did not move him.

He backed away from her. Towards the door. “I can’t. The madness. You’re just too dangerous. You see that, right? You must see it. I don’t have a choice.”

“Mat! You can’t be serious,” she gasped. There were tears in her eyes. Small, weightless things, those tears. But they hit him harder than any tavern tough ever had. Flinching, Mat turned his face away from her, and set his hand on the door latch.

“I’m sorry,” was the last thing he ever said to her.

“Mat, please!” Raye called, as he darted out of the room and abandoned her to her fate.

* * *

Rand knew more combat in his months in Falmerden than he had in all the years he’d lived beforehand. He knew more than his fair share of women, too, some of whom he cared deeply about, and others who simply looked good and were willing.

Cerandin, for example. It took no more than a glance and a word to make the runaway Seanchan woman strip herself naked, that night on the Falmeran border. She stood before him for a moment, letting him take in the sight of her body. She was slim and small-breasted, and the hair that covered her sex was a darker shade of yellow to that on her head. Her narrow face revealed nothing of her thoughts.

She folded to the ground in a practiced motion, and turned to present her hips to him, down on her elbows and knees. “I am yours, High Lord,” she said once more. “Use me as you see fit.”

He knew he shouldn’t, but he did it anyway. A forbidden thrill heightened Rand’s pleasure as he plumbed the Seanchan woman’s depths, tasting first her pussy and then her ass. She didn’t object to that part either, just reached back and parted her own cheeks for him, allowing better access to her tight little hole. When he came in her butt she actually thanked him, claiming he had honoured her. It was madness. And he couldn’t tell whether it was her or him that was the most insane.

He hadn’t loved her, but he still wept when he found her body.

He hadn’t meant to kill Lan, or at least he didn’t think he had. He had been shouting in fury at Moiraine, accusing them of murder. The Power was in him and he did not know how to control it. It had been an accident. Hadn’t it? Was it a comfort that the fires that consumed the last of the Malkieri had burned so hot that he scarcely had time to scream? Rand did not think so. He knew that Nynaeve would never forgive him, nor Moiraine, nor any of the others. He’d never forgive himself. He fled the circus and all those he had once called friends.

Rand avoided others after that. He knew he was the Dragon Reborn and that he had to face the Shadow, but he resolved to do it alone, as Lan once had, before becoming a Warder and joining Moiraine’s search for Rand. Before Rand killed him. So, lacking any other plan, Rand made his way to the Blight. He walked north, always north, killing anything that got in his way. He killed them with sword and bow and knife, but above all he killed them with the One Power, for it burned always in him now. He did not dare release it until his job was done.

He was still holding it when the monstrous insect confronted him, deep in the heart of the Blight. It was fifty feet long if it was an inch, its fangs and tentacles too numerous to count, but Rand had run out of fear. He didn’t care if he lived or died and the Power could destroy anything.

So he thought anyway. As the fires he sent against it sloughed off the creature like nothing more than raindrops, as its pincers closed around his waist and he felt the agonising pinch that cut his legs from his body and sent blood fountaining from his mouth, Rand heard a voice in his head.

_You lose again, Lews Therin_.

* * *

Moiraine paced back and forth, alone in her cabin. Three paces each way was all she had, but she made vigorous use of the space, the calm on her face belied by the quickness of her step. Persuading Rand to winter here in the Black Hills had been difficult. Persuading him to stop arguing with her over when to leave was proving even more so. He was such a stubborn boy. Infuriatingly so. She had much to plan for, and did not like having to waste time arguing with him each day. She could do it, of course. Her resolve was absolute. It was the need to do it at all that vexed her, not the difficulty of it. While trying to decide what to have him do once they left, she found herself considering ways in which she could silence his constant complaints. She surprised herself with some of the ways she considered, but Rand had proven susceptible to such distractions from other women. It would likely work ...

_A scandalous thought. I should not be even considering it. And yet ... it would surely silence his calls to leave this isolated locale and make contact with the Dragonsworn_.

She was still pondering when a loud knock on the door announced Rand’s arrival, come for his daily argument. Refusing to sigh, Moiraine left her chamber for the outer room, and called for Rand to enter.

The outer room, where Lan slept, was stark and simple, with a rough bed built against one wall, a few pegs for hanging possessions, and a single shelf. Not much light entered through the door Rand opened, and the only other illumination came from crude lamps on the shelf, slivers of oily fatwood wedged into cracks in pieces of rock. They gave off thin streamers of smoke that made a layer of haze under the roof. It was a crudely made hut, but it did the job. Crude methods could, too.

The low roof was only a little higher than Rand’s head. Clad in a black coat of Andoran cut, he closed the door behind him and trod across the dirt floor to face her, his handsome face set in a stubborn cast.

“We’ve been here for months now, Moiraine. I think it’s time we left. We are wasting time. If this goes on much longer we’ll have been camping in these hills for half a year!”

That was nothing new. He’d voiced the same complaint several dozen times over by now. She had had enough. “We are staying here.”

“ _You_ may be,” he growled. “Perrin and Uno and the rest will come with me if I leave.”

That might well be so. She was not certain, and did not want to find out, which of them the others would obey. There was no real win for her in breaking the authority the world would one day need Rand to have. She simply needed him to do as she advised. And the simplest way to do that would be ...

“You misunderstand. I said we will be staying here. You and I. In this cabin.”

She knew he had known a woman’s touch. Several women’s touches. But he still looked confused. That was good. None of those women, more experienced that Moiraine that they might have been, could match her resolve and ingenuity. _I will do as I must. As I always have_.

“Just because you say so doesn’t mean I—”

“Do not let hazy, angered thoughts cloud your judgement,” she interrupted. “You misunderstand once more, as you so often have.” She gave him her most imperious look, one she had learned in the Sun Palace of Cairhien and perfected in the halls of the White Tower. “Follow me, and I will show you the truth.”

He looked as if he might balk still as she returned to her own room, which was not much different from Lan’s save for the larger bed and the better lighting. Rand stalked after her, suspicious as ever. When she embraced _saidar_ and used it to close and seal the door, while weaving a ward against sound into the walls of the room, he jumped slightly before glaring at her even more suspiciously. It simply wouldn’t do. She would have to show him more than truth.

“You have refused me too often. I do believe I shall lay claim to you now,” she said.

“What are you tal—” She didn’t interrupt him with words this time, only with actions. Moiraine watched his face as she calmly undid the buttons on her dress. His mouth hung open, challenging words unspoken. The glare faded from his face to be replaced with a shock that looked close to awe. Not close enough for her purposes, but she was confident she could change that. Though she had never been with a man before, no nervousness showed on Moiraine’s face, and her hands were as steady as could be when she pushed her dress over her shoulders and bared her breasts to the young Dragon Reborn’s popping eyes. She watched his cheeks colour, and watched even closer the way his eyes darted away from her body only to return again, as hungry for as they were stunned by what they were seeing.

_Yes. That will do nicely_.

“Lie down on the bed. I am of a mind to ride you,” she said, her voice cool music.

Rand swallowed. “What ... what makes you think I’ll j-just ...?”

She silenced him by sitting on the bed and shedding her dress entirely. Holding it clear of the dirt, she draped it over one bedpost, then sat there looking at him, clad only in her underwear. A small if telling fear crept its way into her mind. What if he actually refused her? She didn’t think it likely, but what if he did? The humiliation! The bulge in his trousers told her it was unlikely to happen, yet the mere thought of it was enough to make her feel relief when he stepped towards the bed, tugging at his clothes.

She told herself that was the only reason her heart was speeding up so much. It certainly could not have had anything to do with the sculpted body with the smooth skin of youth that he bared. It wouldn’t have anything to do with the size of him either, not the muscles, nor the long thick shaft that protruded from his crotch. She found herself watching that big thing waving in the air as he shed his trousers and moved to lie naked on her bed.

“Good boy. Do you understand now?” she said.

“I’m not—” Her hand on his cock silenced him far more easily than the hours of arguments she had put forth these past months had. It was warm to the touch, and stiff. _Yes. This will do nicely_ , Moiraine thought.

Unwilling to reveal her sex to him, she pulled her underwear aside instead when she came to kneel atop him. His breath hitched when she touched the head of his cock to what hid from his eyes within the silky white garments. She didn’t put him inside, however; she just let him rest there while she fixed her eyes on his. “You must lie still,” she commanded. “I will not have you acting the boy and ruining this for us both. Simply lie there, and allow me to show you the truths you have been mistaking for lies.”

Breathing heavily, he did not say anything for a time. But he didn’t move either. The saying was important, she knew, so she waited him out, still holding his tip against her rapidly moistening sex. He licked his lips. “I’m doing it. I’ll do it, just ... just put it in.”

She grasped him by the jaw firmly. “I will do with it what I please. Do you understand?”

He nodded with a flattering rapidity. “I understand.”

“Good.” As a reward for his good behaviour, she took him inside her body. It was just the head at first, but even that was enough to send a rather shocking tide of pleasure through Moiraine. She moved down upon him slowly, adjusting to the unfamiliar sensation. It was not at all unpleasant, or disgusting, no matter what her Aes Sedai teachers had always claimed. His breath hitching, Rand tried to take hold of her hips. She pushed his hands away. “None of that. Simply lie there.”

He did, though not silently. “Light, Moiraine. I never imaged a woman like you would ... would ...”

Would what? Fuck him? She was not what he thought her, as Siuan could have attested if she had been there. It was good that he could not bring himself to say it to her, however. She needed him to be compliant and respectful. Moiraine’s hips found a slow rhythm of their own, one that turned Rand’s words to incomprehensible moans. It was surprising how much effort she had to expend to remain silent, but it would not do to let herself make such sounds as he was.

She held him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye as she sped up, taking his cock deeper inside herself now. “Put your hands on my breasts,” she ordered. Rand complied with a most satisfying haste, given how stubborn he had been up until now. “Good boy.” He didn’t object to the description this time, being too fascinated by the fleshy globes that his callused hands now touched with a surprising gentleness. It felt good. Impulsively, she decided she wanted more. “Suck on one of them.” At her command, Rand’s hard stomach clenched and he sat up to bring his mouth towards her soft breast. When his lips touched her, and her nipple disappeared inside his wet mouth, Moiraine couldn’t help but shudder. _Light. I may come from this. In fact, I almost assuredly will_. It was a surprise to her. She had just wanted to put an end to his defiance. She hadn’t expected taking him to feel this good.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his breath hot against her breast. “And not cold the way I’d imagined.”

A slight smirk touched Moiraine’s face. So he had been imagining her, had he? She hadn’t expected that. He was so often hostile to her. It was, she found, a not unpleasant realisation. She sped up, taking him almost all the way in now.

“You are intolerably rude, to describe me so,” she said. “I am of a mind to tie you to this bed and not let you leave for the rest of the day.”

If she had threatened to tie him up in any way before this, Rand would have exploded in anger, but her suggestion only made him tremble in her embrace now. That was a marked improvement.

Moiraine was certain that it would be the first of many improvements. The orgasm that thundered through her as she rocked her hips around the thick shaft inside her was certainly an eye opening experience. And the way Rand shot his hot seed into her not long afterwards was nice, as well. When she made good on her threat, and he did not try to stop her from binding his wrists and ankles to the bed, she accounted that a great improvement indeed. Not only would this put an end to his arguments, but it would even prove a surprisingly enjoyable distraction from her planning. Yes. A great many improvements.

Or so she thought. As the months multiplied with no real progress being made, as she waited and waited for a sign from the Pattern or orders from the Amyrlin, something that would tell her what prophecies she needed to fulfil first, as the time passed and Rand did nothing more than serve as her willing bedtoy, she began to worry that she had made a terrible mistake.

* * *

It was usually hard to tell what Lan was thinking. Usually. But the stare he fixed on Rand as they made their way through the Aiel Waste on horseback, surrounded by marching Aiel, promised a lot more than stern words. There was lightning in those eyes, and only an iron self control kept it from striking Rand. It was only after they’d camped for the night that Rand learned the reason.

Nynaeve.

Lan demanded to know what had passed between her and Rand, and every attempt at evasion only made him more sure of what he suspected, and more angry. Rand pointed out that it wasn’t for him to be gossiping about what Nynaeve had or hadn’t done behind closed doors, and that Lan should take it up with her, only for the Warder to snap out that he was a coward. That a real man would own his actions instead of trying to weasel out of them. Rand was far too young and far too thin skinned to let that pass. So he confessed all, angrily and defiantly. That was a mistake.

Perhaps if they had waited longer, once the duel had been asked for and granted, things would have ended differently. If Moiraine had arrived back from her meeting with the Wise Ones in time, she would surely have ordered Lan to stand down. But the only people nearby were the Aiel, and they were not noted for their aversion to violent contests.

So they fought, not with wooden practice swords this time, but with naked, razor sharp steel. It was not a quick contest, for Lan had trained Rand well, but it was still a contest that ended in the Warder’s favour. It also ended with Rand’s right hand lying on the burning sands of the Aiel Waste, several feet away from his bleeding stump.

Moiraine, having felt that something was amiss with Lan through their bond and grown alarmed, arrived in time to Heal Rand’s wound, but there was no way she could reattach what was lost. He had never seen her so furious before, and her fury was directed at Lan as much as at him.

That was the end of Rand’s friendship with the Warder, and should have been the end of his fighting days, as well. But pride drove him to try to train on, trying to remain physically viable instead of relying on the One Power. The shame of being crippled remained with him long after Lan had left in pursuit of Nynaeve. It drove him to try to learn how to fight with his off-hand alone, but he was never really able to. No more than he was able to perform in bed as well as he would have liked, or carry out any number of small tasks that he’d once been able to do easily. It was very frustrating, and he grew into a solemn, unsmiling man.

He had learned not to bother trying to fight without the Power, but there were circumstances in which it proved impossible for him to avoid at least trying to do so. His visit to Far Madding was one such instance, for there he found himself cut off from _saidin_ by the Guardian’s presence, and there he found himself alone with the Cairhienin blademaster Toram Riatin. Riatin hated him and wanted him dead. Rand had known that for some time. He could not begin to imagine how the man had found his way to Far Madding, of all places, and had no time to ask. They fought, and Rand gave it his all, but with only one hand and no access to the One Power, his all did not prove to be enough. Riatin’s steel found his heart, and Rand crumpled to the ground. He took no comfort in the shrill whistles that heralded the imminent arrival of the Street Guard, for his last thoughts were full of the horrified, grief-stricken realisation that he had failed to save his people, like the useless cripple he was. One of those thoughts whispered to him in a voice that was not his own, _you lose again, Lews Therin_.

* * *

Izana was surprised by how well these southern farmers adapted to a Shadowspawn raid into their region. He’d expected more in the way of screaming and panic, but there was little of that to be seen. The only conflicts in evidence were over how best to fight back, not whether to fight or flee. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised by that, given that this was where Rand had grown up.

He was a little surprised by how little they resembled Rand, though. It didn’t really make much sense for him to look the way he did while surrounded by people whose appearances were so dissimilar to his own. He was a head taller than any of the men here, with a slightly fairer skin tone, paler eyes, and hair of fire rather than earth. He was also far more beautiful than any of the Theren men. He might have wished it were otherwise, if only to distract himself from his sadness, for he’d come to despair that Rand would never echo the desire with which he looked on him.

He hadn’t told Rand how he felt, of course. He wasn’t sure he would have had the nerve to even if he had not been the Lord Dragon, or engaged to Egwene. That last obstacle was a strange one, for though Rand was quick to remind anyone who flirted with him that he was promised to another, he and his girl didn’t seem to get along very well at all. Almost every conversation Izana had heard between them had ended in an argument, usually with Egwene flinging insults and Rand stoically accepting them. It made him want to tell her off. It made him want to offer Rand whatever comfort he could. He did neither, for he was only an armsman, standing in the background of his lord’s legend. Unnoticed.

The attitudes of these Theren folk towards such things was not so very dissimilar to that of his native Shienar. They were a stiff and proper people, who believed in keeping their carnal impulses under strict control. Izana dared to wonder if Rand was hiding what he felt, in the same manner that he himself was, and sought out his father one day to ask.

He was subtle about it, steering the conversation through tales of Rand’s childhood before mentioning that time back in Falmerden when he had so publically rejected the forceful Morrigan, who had not been inclined to take a hint.

On hearing that tale, Tam nodded in satisfaction. “Just the way I raised him. I’ve had to resist some temptations of that sort myself,” he said.

“It’s just as well he has such close friends in Mat and Perrin, then. No temptation there,” Izana said, nodding in agreement while hoping he wasn’t being too obvious.

If he had been, Tam was kind enough not to point it out. “Good Theren lads, I think. Even Mat. He might talk a lot of old rot at times, but he’s always there when he’s really needed.”

“That’s nice,” Izana said, but privately he despaired. Tam had told him nothing of Rand’s inclinations, and it didn’t look likely that he ever would.

He resolved to keep his feelings to himself, and would have done so had things not gone so badly in the aftermath of the battle at Emond’s Field. Rand was driven out by his people, and Egwene did not go with him. Izana didn’t know her reason, hadn’t been there to hear them, and didn’t particularly care. He only cared that Rand was alone and in pain, so he went to him that night. As a friend, he told himself, even while secretly wishing it would become something more.

Rand spoke to him like a friend instead of a lord, and shared his bitter recriminations over what had happened to the attacking Whitecloaks whose deaths at his hands had presaged his people’s turning against him.

“Hey, don’t keep blaming yourself. It’s a war, so it can’t be helped. It’s not your fault,” Izana said, but Rand just shook his head.

“It’s _all_ my fault. Whose else? If the Dark One destroys the world it will be because I failed in my duty to stop him.”

Izana wanted to tell him that was not true but ... the prophecies. If it was true, though, it shouldn’t be. That was an unfair burden to place on any one person. And a much greater lament than unrequited love could ever be. _Say something! If it’s “no”, it’s “no”, but at least say something!_

“Rand. Are you hiding something from me?” Izana blurted.

Surprise softened Rand’s features. “Yes ... lots of things.”

That was so emboldening that he didn’t pause to think it through. “You’re hiding something after all! I could never be sure. I have been working for you all this time! I was just tailing behind you, because you were too happy dealing with Egwene to notice me, right?”

“I’ve always noticed you, Izana,” Rand said. He was blinking rapidly, in a way that made him look especially cute. Izana didn’t think many people would have called the Dragon Reborn cute, certainly not to his face, but his racing heart drove him to say so now.

“I noticed you, too. You’re so cute, and you have an amazing body. I’ve wanted to do this for so long ...” He put his hand on Rand’s broad chest and leaned in, his mouth stretching up to touch the other man’s. The touch of their lips made every hair on Izana’s body stand on end, and instantly awoke the desire he’d so long been suppressing.

Alas, it did not have the same effect on Rand.

Strong hands grabbed his shoulders, and a rough shove sent him staggering back. “Blood and ashes, man! What do you think you’re doing!?” Rand demanded.

The shove itself did not particular imbalance him, but the words left him reeling. “What’s ... what’s the matter with you, Rand? Why are you suddenly yelling? I’m confused ...”

“You bloody kissed me! Why do you think I’ve yelling!?”

Izana’s stomach tried to drop to his ankles. “I-I ... I thought y-you ... Don’t you l-like me?”

Rand looked flabbergasted. “What’s that got to do with anything? I’m promised to Egwene. And we’re both men besides!”

Izana’s face burned. “Ah! S-sorry.”

Rand slowly shook his head. “Burn me. Two men kissing. I’ve never heard of such a thing. What would the Women’s Circle say?”

Izana winced, his shoulders shrinking inwards. He was hurt and embarrassed and wanted nothing more than to flee this scene as quickly as he could. “It can’t be helped ... I’m sorry I overstepped my bounds .... I will go ...”

Rand didn’t try to stop him when he slunk away. As he was making his miserable way back to the camp, he passed Min coming the other way. She was a nice girl, and he very much suspected that she, too, harboured secret feelings for Rand. She paused on the path, and asked him if he was okay, but Izana waved her on. Perhaps she would have more luck than he’d had. Perhaps she was the right gender. Perhaps she could make Rand happy in the way that Izana now knew he never would.

“I was rejected ...” he said, once the woods had hidden her back from him. “But ... I’m glad ... because I’ve always wanted them both to be happy.”

He silently wished them well as he trudged on down the path. Alone.

* * *

Geko had been fighting the Shadow since before he’d become a man, and knew that keeping a calm head and a sharp focus was essential to ensuring victory against that ancient foe. So nothing of his surprise showed when he was given command of the defence of Murandy, of all places, despite how strange it was for a Shienaran soldier to be fighting so far south of the Borderlands.

Of course, the Borderlands were not as they had once been now. As Tarmon Gai’don raged on, and the months of war turned to years of war, the frontlines had shifted dramatically. No nation in Valgarda had not been despoiled by the march of Trolloc hooves, not even the ever-unreliable Altara.

The sun was an orange sliver in the west when he called for his column to halt. Hardened veterans every one, his soldiers began setting up camp and sending out sentries without the need for him to issue orders. They were only five thousand, but that should be enough to stiffen the locals’ resistance. He just hoped they’d be able to inspire some discipline in the notoriously quarrelsome folk he’d been sent to help. But that was a worry for tomorrow, when they were scheduled to arrive at the city proper.

Shinobha approached him as he was handing the reigns of his horse off to a grizzled Tairen who’d been a dockworker not so very long ago, but who could not be mistaken for anything but a soldier now. His Aiel wife restrained herself to no more than a touch of her fingers to his cheek by way of greeting, something which would not have been the case if they had been alone. Geko ached to put his arms around her, but held himself in check out of respect to her customs.

With her ghostly pale hair and deadly serious countenance, Shinobha cut an intimidating figure despite her slender body. Getting to know her was not enough to dispel that impression completely, either. “ _Far Dareis Mai_ report that five scouts have observed our approach, shade of my heart,” she said once the Tairen had left them. “They go to tell their septs, but are not running so fast that we could not catch them. Do you wish them stopped?”

“There is no need for that. Our arrival is not a secret.”

“Perhaps it should have been,” she said.

Geko smiled fondly. “Not everyone has your skill at stealth, my love. These clanking goat-kissers behind me are not likely to pass unnoticed, and would not even were they fewer.”

Shinobha cast a critical eye over the wetlander soldiers. “The armour has its uses, I admit, but it is not worth sacrificing speed and stealth. It is better not to be hit at all than to have a blow bounce off that heavy plate.”

“Let us agree to disagree,” he said calmly. It was a discussion they had had before, and neither of them had ever been able to convince the other.

Before she could respond, a scream sounded from the north, where hedgerows marked the edges of the local farmers’ fields. Geko’s hands twitched towards his swordhilt but he refused to draw. That was not the role of a commander. Instead, he watched as his lieutenants organised a defensive line against whatever the scout he could see riding pell-mell towards them was fleeing from. It was hard to see what it was, for the land rose and fell in lazy hillocks, but it was fast enough to keep pace with the horse. Black. A long tail. Some kind of Shadowspawn no doubt.

The scout had almost reached safety when the creature sprang upon his horse, its claws digging into the screaming animal’s hindquarters and propelling it further forwards so it could reach the man atop. The blood that spurted from his throat did so in a strange way, but Geko had no time to ponder that. One of his men had just been killed.

“Charge! Cut it down!” he shouted.

His soldiers leapt to obey. There were a dozen of them in the line by then, and the Shadowspawn was alone. A scout perhaps, too viscous or too stupid to realise the danger it was in. It hissed at the men who approached it, rearing up into a half crouch that might have made it look vaguely human were it not for the elongated, eyeless head. He had never seen a breed like it, but was sure that good steel would put as swift an end to it as it did all the others.

He was only half right.

The creature fought viscously, with claws and teeth and whipping, stabbing tail. His men’s armour served them well, but for one poor soul who was impaled on that tail before his fellows could hack the creature down. The two-handed swordblow that severed the tail might have avenged him, but it would not be enough to save him from such a wound.

The loss of two of his men was enough to make Geko grind his teeth, but the horror that followed had him shuddering openly. Blood fountained from the creature as it died, pale green blood that sprayed all over the men nearest it. Their screams were instant, and the reason for them took only seconds longer before making itself plain. Where that blood fell, armour melted like candlewax, and the flesh beneath fared even worse. Wide-eyed, he watched as the faces of men he’d fought beside for years caved in like rotten fruits, were hollowed out and melted by the touch of that creature’s blood. At his side, Shinobha doubled over and did what he had never seen her do in all the blood-soaked time he’d known her. She threw up everything she’d eaten for the past days. He was sorely tempted to do the same, but duty held him erect.

“Get clear of it! Don’t let it touch you!” he shouted. They hardly needed his command to do that, for every one of the remaining men, hardened veterans though they were, was scrambling to put some distance between them and this new kind of Shadowspawn.

“How are we supposed to fight it, if its blood can do all that?” Shinobha asked. Geko could only shake his head. It would be for the Dragon Reborn to answer that question. All he could do was try to keep himself and his army alive long enough to report back to him.

* * *

“I am a dreamwalker as well,” Raye responded. “It sounds a useful skill, so why won’t you help me learn to use it? Why can’t I come with you?”

Edwin snorted loudly and adjusted the lapels of his coat. “Your head is swelled up like an overripe melon, Raye al’Thor.” He said it flatly, as a statement of fact.

Anger bubbled outside the void. Not at what he had said; he had been in the habit of trying to take her down a rung even when they were children, usually whether she deserved it or not. But of late it seemed to her he had taken to working with Morgan, trying to put her off balance so the Aes Sedai could push her where he wanted. When they were younger, before they learned what she was, she and Edwin had thought they would marry one day. And now he sided with Morgan against her.

If the diminutive Aes Sedai was pleased by that, it didn’t show on his ageless face. The other two men in the room showed little reaction to what had been said either, but that was to be expected. Pale-haired Amed and his apprentice Avram were Aiel, after all.

“You’re supposed to be helping me,” Raye growled. “But instead all you do is try to cut me down.” She stalked to the tentflaps to glare out at the Aiel army that camped around them. Her army, supposedly, yet when she asked the Wise Men of the Aiel to help her they turned their noses up just as high as any Aes Sedai ever had.

Abruptly something seemed to strike her across the buttocks, for all the world like a thick hickory stick. Nothing could be seen, of course, for the “stick” had been made of _saidin_.

Spinning back to face them, she reached out to _saidar_ , filled herself with the One Power. The Power felt like life itself swelling inside her, as if she were ten times, a hundred times as alive; the Dark One’s taint filled her, too, death and corruption, like maggots crawling in her mouth. She wanted to hold on to the sweetness of _saidar_ forever, and she wanted to vomit.

The taint would drive her mad eventually, if the Power did not kill her first; it was a race between the two. Madness had been the fate of every woman who had channelled since the Breaking of the World began, since that day when Louise Therin Telachol, the Phoenix, and her Hundred Companions had sealed up the Dark One’s prison at Shayol Ghul. The last backblast from that sealing had tainted the female half of the True Source, and women who could channel, madwomen who could channel, had torn the world apart.

She filled herself with the Power ... And she could not tell which man had done it. They all looked at her as if butter would not melt in their mouths, each with an eyebrow arched almost identically in slightly amused questioning. Any of them could be embracing the male half of the Source right that instant, and she would never know.

“ _Tel’aran’rhiod_ is too dangerous for you, Raye,” Morgan said calmly. “You have been told this already. Stop being childish. You cannot afford to take unnecessary risks.”

“I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Amed.”

“A melon couldn’t be swollen enough for your head,” Edwin muttered, folding his arms across his chest. “And a stone couldn’t be as stubborn! Morgan is only trying to help you. Why won’t you see that?”

Amed interrupted before Raye could speak. “Raye al’Thor is correct, in part. This is Wise Man business, not Aes Sedai business. We will decide whether we teach her or not.”

Morgan locked eyes with the Aiel, and it was almost a surprise that neither of them was frozen solid by the chill in their gazes. Neither of them looked away until Morgan said, “An interesting decision, Amed. We will watch the outcome with great care. As should you.” He did not stalk from the tent—he was too dignified for that—but his displeasure was hard to mistake.

Raye watched him go, wondering if his threat had been idle or not.

“There is no need you scowling like that, Raye al’Thor.” Edwin’s voice was low, his eyes irate; he had hold of his belt, and was gripping it as if he wanted to take it off and strangle her with it. “Whatever you are, you’re a rude, ill-mannered chit. You deserve more than you got. It would not kill you to be civil!”

“So it was you,” she snapped, but to her surprise he half-shook his head before catching himself. It had been Morgan after all. If the Aes Sedai was showing that much temper, something must be wearing at him terribly. Her, no doubt. Perhaps she should apologize. _I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to be civil_. Though she could not see why she was supposed to be mannerly to the Aes Sedai while he tried to lead her on a leash.

But if she was thinking of trying to be polite, Edwin was not. If glowing coals were dark brown they would have been exactly like his eyes. “You are a wool-headed fool, Raye al’Thor, and I should never have told Gawyn you were good enough for him. You aren’t good enough for a weasel! Bring your nose down. I remember you sweating, trying to talk your way out of some trouble Matti had gotten you into. I can remember Niven switching you till you howled, and you needing a cushion to sit on the rest of the day. Not that many years gone, either. I ought to tell Gawyn to forget you. If he knew half what you’ve turned into ...”

She gaped at him as the tirade went on, with him more furious than he’d been all day. Then it hit her. That little near shake of his head that he had not meant to give, letting her know it had been Morgan who struck her with the Power. Edwin worked very hard at doing what he was about in proper fashion. Aes Sedai usually kept a rein on their tempers, but they never ever gave anything away that they wanted to hide.

_Elijah never flashed his temper at me when he was angry with himself. When he gave me the rough side of his tongue, it was because he ..._ Her mind froze for an instant. She had never met a man named Elijah in her life. But she could summon up a face for the name, dimly; a handsome face, golden hair exactly the shade of Gawyn’s. This had to be the madness. Remembering an imaginary man. Perhaps one day she would find herself having conversations with people who were not there.

Amed frowned at Edwin. “Enough. The sun has set, and we have work to do.” Edwin’s rant came to an end, though the sullen look on his face told her that he had more he wanted to say.

Raye wasn’t surprised. His putdowns had become a constant feature of her life. She ignored Edwin and spoke to Amed instead. “Will you show me how to control _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , then?” When he nodded, she added a second question. “What changed your mind?”

She meant it for Amed, but Edwin spoke first, though to Avram, and with a smile. “Stopping a woman from what she wants to do is like taking a sweet from a child. Sometimes you have to do it, but sometimes it just isn’t worth the trouble.” Avram nodded. Such a simple gesture, yet it lowered her regard for him rather drastically. Her regard for Edwin was already long gone.

Raye already knew how to enter _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , so she had little difficulty in meeting up with Edwin and Amed later that night, in that dream-like reflection of the real world. Her control of what happened there was poor, however, so it was Amed who took charge. To Tar Valon they went, where they were to meet up with either Niven or Gawyn, Raye knew not which. She’d rather it was Gawyn, for obvious reasons.

She thought it _was_ Gawyn at first, too, when they opened a door and stepped into an office high in the Black Tower to find a man with red-gold hair rifling through some papers. But then he turned around and revealed himself to be one of the other Aiel Wise Men, Mel. Or so she thought.

Edwin was not so easily fooled. “Niven, if Mel knew you were using his face, he’d probably knock your teeth out.”

The man blurred, though the papers in his hands remained the same, and suddenly it was Niven standing before them, the old Wisdom of their home village. Not that he was close to old, of course, even though he acted like it. Niven was a grouch, but he had a heart of gold and had saved their lives many times over. Raye smiled to see him.

“You nearly frightened ten years out of me,” Niven muttered. “So the Wise Men have finally decided to let you come and go as you please? Or is Mel behind—”

“You should be frightened,” Edwin snapped, colour rising in his cheeks. “You are a fool, Niven. A child playing in the barn with a candle.”

Niven gaped, and so did Raye. Even Amed, who stepped last into the room looked a touch surprised by Edwin’s outburst.

Getting over his initial shock at having his former apprentice, and a man that he had once freed from slavery at great risk to his own life, speak to him in such a manner, Niven bunched his fists at his side. “You listen to me, Edwin al’Vere. I’ll not take that from Mel, and I won’t take it—”

“You had best take it from someone, before you get yourself killed.”

“I—”

“I ought to take that stone ring away from you. I should have given it to Gawyn and told him not to let you use it at all.”

“Told him not—!”

“Do you think Mel was exaggerating?” Edwin said sternly, shaking his finger. “He was not, Niven. The Wise Men have told you the simple truth about _Tel’aran’rhiod_ time and again, but you seem to think they’re fools whistling in a high wind. You are supposed to be a grown man, not a silly little child. I vow, whatever sense you once had in your head seems to have vanished like a puff of smoke. Well, find it, Niven!” He snorted loudly. “Right now you are trying to play with the pretty flames in the fireplace, too foolish to realize you might fall in.”

Niven stared in amazement. “I am well aware of how much I don’t know,” he said levelly, “but those Aiel—”

“Do you realize you could dream yourself into something you could not get out of? Dreams are real here. If you let yourself drift into a fond dream, it could trap you. You’d trap yourself. Until you died.”

“Will you—?”

“There are nightmares walking _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , Niven.”

“Will you let me speak!?” Niven barked.

“No, I will not,” Edwin said firmly. “Not until you want to say something worth listening to. I said nightmares, and I meant nightmares, Niven. When someone has a nightmare while in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , it is real, too. And sometimes it survives after the dreamer has gone. You just don’t realize, do you?”

Suddenly rough hands enveloped Niven’s arms. His head whipped from side to side, eyes bulging. Two huge, ragged men lifted him into the air, faces half-melted ruins of coarse flesh, drooling mouths full of sharp, yellowed teeth. One of them ripped his shirt open down the front like parchment, and then grabbed at his crotch. The other seized his chin in a horny, callused hand and twisted his face toward him; his head bent toward Niven, mouth opening. Whether to kiss or bite, Raye did not know, but she had no intention of allowing either. She embraced _saidar_.

“Please, Edwin!” Niven squealed. “Please!” _Edwin?_

The men—creatures—vanished, and Niven’s feet thudded to the floor. For a moment all he did was shudder. Raye went to him, and put her hand gently on his shoulder, murmuring words of comfort. She did what she could to fix his shirt, while struggling to understand what had just happened. Niven had seemed to think Edwin was responsible, and the stern, uncaring way with which he was now looking at the former Wisdom bore out that suspicion.

“There are worse things here, but nightmares are bad enough,” said Edwin. “I made these, and unmade them, but even I have trouble with those I just find. And I did not try to hold them Niven. If you knew how to unmake them, you could have.”

Niven tossed his head angrily, plainly humiliated and trying in vain to hide it. “I could have dreamed myself away. Or back to my bed.”

“If you had not been too scared spitless to think of it,” Edwin said dryly. “Oh, take that sullen look off your face. It looks silly on you.”

Niven, who was usually forceful to the point of being mule-stubborn, flinched at that mockery. The smug, satisfied look Edwin was giving him infuriated Raye, for it was twin to the one he so often gave her.

Then, as before, it hit her.

“Do you think there will ever be a person in this world who is not more important to you than your own ego, Edwin?” she asked coolly.

“What foolishness are you spouting this time?” Edwin said.

“You were angry that you gave away that Morgan hit me earlier, so you called me every insult you could think of to salve your poor little pride. Now you are afraid that Amed will find out you broke your word to him and visited _Tel’aran’rhiod_ unsupervised, so you attack the man who saved you from the Seanchan—threaten to rape him even!—all to cover your own sorry hide. You really are a vile, selfish little man, aren’t you?”

Amed frowned. “Is this true?”

Red-faced, though not with shame, Edwin opened his mouth. But Raye spoke first. “It was what they were talking about just before you stepped in and Edwin went off on his latest self-serving rant.”

While Amed frowned censoriously at his student, Edwin sneered at Raye. “Telling tales? How very female of you. Do you ever miss a chance to gossip?”

“Often. But not today,” said Raye. She wasn’t even angry, she found, just grim. Anger would have required her to be surprised by Edwin’s behaviour, but she’d known what he was like for a long time. “I’m tired of biting my tongue with you. In fact, I’m tired of having you around me at all. As soon as we return to the wetlands, I want you gone from my company. Whether you go back to the Black Tower or to the Pit of Doom doesn’t matter to me, so long as I never have to see you again.”

Far from being chastened, Edwin put on a disdainful smile. “It takes an especially weak woman to want to hide like that. You just hate me because I am a strong man, and strong men frighten you. They make you conscious of how weak you are deep down.”

“You don’t frighten me in the slightest, you self-absorbed buffoon,” Raye said coldly. “I have to fight the Dark One, you might recall, and compared to a foe like that you are nothing. But you know what, Edwin? You are indeed strong, as strong as any Aes Sedai that ever damned a nation for not flattering him vocally enough. As strong as any Whitecloak. You’re also a piece of shit that I should have scraped off my shoe a long time ago. We are done, you and I.”

He shook his head slowly, frowning at her. “You can’t really believe that. You need me. You haven’t a chance of winning without me to ... to guide you.”

“I meant every. Single. Word,” she bit out.

Edwin snorted again. “My father always told me the best way to learn to deal with a woman was to learn to ride a mule. He said they have about equal brains most of the time. Sometimes the mule is smarter. He was even more right than I thought.”

“Then maybe you should go back to Emond’s Field and help him run the place,” she snapped. “At least then you’d be relevant. Better that than trailing around after me for another year, eating much and doing little. When was the last time you contributed anything again? Other than inspiring someone to come rescue you, that is. I honestly can’t remember.”

The argument between them raged long into the night, and the words said were too bitter for there to be any chance of reconciliation. They were, as Raye had said, done. But Edwin was not, it turned out, to remain as irrelevant as she’d described him. Though he was exiled from her company as threatened, he did not return to Emond’s Field. Instead, he went on to become the Amyrlin Seat, and became her most intractable foe in the struggle to unite Valgarda.

* * *

It had seemed a simple task at first. Find Gawyn and bring him back to Raye. Easy, she’d thought. Gawyn was desperate to get between Raye’s legs, she had a good idea of where to find him, and she had an army to back her up if anyone got in the way. It should have been easy. But Matti hadn’t reckoned on having to deal with someone who was both a noble and a bloody Aes Sedai, so her simple task had turned into an extended tour of Altara, minus the army she’d first arrived with. That was how she ended up in Ebou Dar, being summoned to speak to the bloody King of bloody Altara. Or king of the small bloody part of it that paid any attention to what he said, at least.

Tyler Quintara, by the Grace of the Light, King of Altara, Master of the Four Winds, Guardian of the Sea of Storms, High Seat of House Mitsobar, awaited her in a room with yellow walls and pale blue ceiling, standing before a huge white fireplace with a stone lintel carved into a stormy sea. He was well worth seeing, she decided. Tyler was not young—his black hair had grey at the temples, and faint lines webbed the corners of his eyes—nor was he exactly pretty, though the two thin scars on his cheeks had nearly vanished with age. Ruggedly handsome came closer. But he was ... imposing. Dark eyes regarded her majestically, an eagle’s eyes.

“Majesty,” she said, dipping a curtsy and flourishing an imaginary cloak, “by your summons do I come.” Tyler’s breeches were tight enough to display his bulge. Not that it mattered. She would never tangle herself with a king.

Tyler crossed the room and walked slowly all the way around her. “You speak the Old Tongue,” he said once he stood in front of her again. His voice was low-pitched and musical. “You are Lady Matti Cauthon?” There was just a hint of question in the title. His eyes minded her more than ever of an eagle’s. A king could not like someone coming to him pretending to be a lady.

“Just Matti Cauthon.”

“The Son-Heir and Niven Sedai seldom mention you,” he said, “but one learns to hear what is not said.” Casually he reached out and touched her cheek; Matti’s eyes widened uncertainly. “What they do not say, but I hear, is that you are an untamed rogue, a gambler and a lightskirt.” His eyes held hers, expression never altering a hair, and his voice stayed firm and cool, but as he spoke, his fingers stroked her other cheek. “Untamed girls are often the most interesting. To talk to.” A finger outlined his lips. “An untamed rogue who travels with Aes Sedai, a _ta’veren_ who, I think, makes them a little afraid. Uneasy, at the least. It takes a woman with a strong liver to make Aes Sedai uneasy. How will you bend the Pattern in Ebou Dar, just Matti Cauthon?” His hand settled against her neck; she could feel her pulse throbbing against his fingers.

She backed away, wondering if she dared push a king aside. He smiled, a faint curl of his lips that did not lessen the predatory gleam in his eyes. The hair on her head tried to stand up.

Tyler’s eyes flickered over her shoulder to the doorway. “I must arrange to speak with you again, Miss Cauthon.”

When Matti looked behind her, she saw a slender young woman entering the room, a dark youth with sharp eyes that flicked by Matti with barely a pause. “Father,” she said, curtsying to Tyler.

With Tyler distracted by his daughter, Matti made good her escape from the palace. HHad she thought it would do any good, she would have run. The skin between her shoulder blades prickled so, she almost forgot the dice dancing in her head.

It wasn’t long after that the invitation to move into the palace was sent. She could have refused, but the closer she was to Gawyn the more chance she’d have of talking some sense into the stuck up fool. Before long, she knew she had made a mistake.

It started when Tyler himself came to greet her in the rich rooms she’d been given. She reminded him that she wasn’t a noble, but the response wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “Of course not. You’re a succulent little duckling, is what you are.” Matti gave a start and stared. Duckling? And a _little_ duckling, at that! Indignation or no indignation, she managed an elegant curtsy anyway. He was the King; she had to remember that. “Majesty, thank you for these wonderful apartments. I’d love to talk with you, but I have to go out and—”

Smiling, he advanced across the red-and-green floor tiles, dark eyes fixed on her. She backed away. “Majesty, I have an important—”

He started humming. She recognized the tune; she had hummed it to a few boys lately. She was wise enough not to try actually singing with her voice, and besides, the words they used in Ebou Dar would have singed her ears. Around here, they called it “I Will Steal Your Breath with Kisses”. Laughing nervously, she tried to put a lapis-inlaid table between them, but he somehow got around it first without seeming to increase his speed. “Majesty, I—”

He seized her by the arm, pulled her to him, and then bore her down onto the table. With his weight atop her, she was trapped. Oh, she could have slipped one of her hidden daggers out of a sleeve, but she doubted her threatening him would be as acceptable to his manhandling her seemed to be. This was Ebou Dar, after all. If a man killed a woman here, the unspoken assumption was that she had done something to deserve it. She tried to push him off, except ... She had seen fishmongers in the city selling peculiar creatures called squid and octopus—Ebou Dari actually ate the things!—but they had nothing on Tyler. The man possessed ten hands. She thrashed about, vainly trying to fend him off, and he laughed softly. Between kisses, she breathlessly protested that someone might walk in, and he just chuckled. She babbled her respect for his crown, and he chortled. She claimed betrothal to a boy back home who held her heart in his hands. He really laughed at that.

“What he does not know cannot harm him,” he murmured, his twenty hands not slowing for an instant.

It was a knock on the door, and the arrival of her companions that saved her. Tyler got to his feet and had stepped smartly away from her before they let themselves in. He didn’t linger long after that, though his parting words left Matti with an ominous feeling.

“I look forward to having your company with pleasure; I shall find it interesting, having a _ta’veren_ where I can reach out and touch her at will. But I must leave you to your friends, now.” That with just the hint of a mocking smile.

Later that evening, she received a note, an invitation of sorts, elegantly lettered on thick white paper that smelled like a garden of flowers.

_My little rabbit, I expect to have you for dinner tonight in my apartments_.

No signature, but she hardly needed one. Light! The man had no shame at all! There was a red painted iron lock on the door to the corridor; she found the key and locked it. Then, for good measure, she jammed a chair under the latch on the door. She could do well enough without dinner. Just as she was about to climb into bed, the lock rattled; out in the hall, a man laughed at finding the door secured. She should have been able to sleep soundly then, but for some reason she lay there listening to her belly grumble. Why was he doing this? Well, she knew why, but why her? Surely he had not decided to toss all decency over the barn just to bed a _ta’veren_. She was safe now, anyway. Tyler would not batter down the door, after all. Would he? Not even most birds could get in through the wrought-iron arabesques screening the balconies. Besides, he would need a long ladder to reach that high. And men to carry it. Unless he climbed down from the roof on a rope. Or he could ... The night passed, her stomach rumbled, the sun rose, and she never closed her eyes or had a decent thought.

Gawyn chided him about missing dinner with the King that afternoon, which he had learned about when Tyler inquired whether she was ill. “You must put your best foot forward with the King. Don’t be nervous. You’ll enjoy an evening with him.”

“Just don’t do anything to offend him,” Niven muttered. “Be accommodating for once in your life.”

With no help to be found there, Matti took to sneaking around the palace in hopes of avoiding Tyler. She was good at sneaking, but the King had other means at his disposal. When she sneaked down to the kitchens like a fox, slipping from corner to corner, flashing down stairs, she found there was no food to be had. Oh, the smell of cooking permeated the air, roasts turning on spits in the big fireplaces, pots bubbling atop the white-tiled stoves, and cooks kept popping open ovens to prod this or that. There was just no food for Matti Cauthon. Smiling women in pristine white aprons ignored her own smiles and put themselves in her way so she could not get near the sources of those wonderful smells. They smiled and rapped her knuckles when she tried to snatch a loaf of bread or just a bit of honey-glazed turnip. They smiled and told her she must not spoil her appetite if she was to eat with the King. They knew. Every last one of them knew! Her own blushes as much as anything else drove her back to her rooms.

Her withdrawal would have gone a deal better if one of the cooks had not cackled at her back, “The King will feast on roast duckling soon enough, lass.” Very droll. The other women roared so hard, they must have been rolling on the floor. Very bloody droll.

Once back in her room, she locked the door behind her. A man who would starve a woman might try anything. That evening, a second note was slipped under his door.

_I have been told it is more sporting to take a pigeon on the wing, to watch it flutter, but sooner or later, a hungry bird will fly to the hand_.

She could not evade the king forever, though, as she discovered a few days later, when she returned to the room to find Tyler lurking inside.

“You really are a cute little thing, especially when you rabbit about so,” he said, making her jump. He’d been standing by the wall near the door, and she hadn’t noticed him until he spoke. He produced the long iron key to her room and turned it in the lock with a loud click, before depositing it in his pocket. “Now, lambkin.” He smiled.

It was too much. The man hounded her, tried to starve her; now he locked them in together like ... like she did not know what. _Lambkin!_ She reached him in two long strides, and began fumbling in his pocket for the key. “I don’t have bloody time for—” Her breath froze as the sharp point of his dagger beneath her chin shut her mouth and drove her right up onto her toes.

“Remove your hand,” he said coldly. He was not smiling now. She took her hand out of his pocket carefully. He did not lessen the pressure of his blade, though. He shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. I do try to make allowances for you being an outlander, gosling, but since you wish to play roughly ... Hands at your sides. Move.” The knifepoint gave a direction. She shuffled backward on tiptoe rather than have her neck sliced.

“What are you going to do?” she mumbled through his teeth. A stretched neck put a strain in her voice. A stretched neck among other things. “Well?” She could try grabbing his wrist; she was quick with her hands. “What are you going to do?” Quick enough, with the knife already at her throat? That was the question. “Will you answer me!” That was not panic in her voice. She was not in a panic. “Majesty? Tyler?” Well, maybe she was in a bit of a panic, to use his name. Tyler did not answer, only kept her tiptoeing backward, until suddenly her shoulders bumped against something that stopped her. With that flaming dagger never easing a hair, she could not move her head, but eyes that had been focused on his face darted. They were in the bedchamber, a flower-carved red bedpost hard between her shoulder blades. Why would he bring her ...? Her face was suddenly as crimson as the bedpost. No. He could not mean to ... It was not decent! It was not possible! “You can’t do this to me,” she mumbled at him, and if her voice was a touch breathy and shrill, she surely had cause.

“Watch and learn, my kitten,” Tyler said. He pushed her down into the bed, and held her there while his knife sliced away her clothes, easily cutting through the laces on her bodice to expose her pert young breasts, and cutting the waistband of her skirt, too, such that he hardly had to yank it at all to bare her legs. He peeled her like an orange, and tossed her hidden knives on the floor, before stabbing his own blade into the bedpost and climbing atop her.

Had it been any other man, Matti would have fought harder, but he was a king in his own palace. Hurting him would have been as much as her life was worth. Worse, he was skilled with his hands. He pawed at her breasts and legs while he kissed her. And when his fingers finally probed her sex, they discovered the evidence of her body’s betrayal.

Tyler chuckled over that. “My naughty little duckling. It is time for you to be basted,” he said, as he fished his hard cock out of his breeches. She barely caught a glimpse of it, before he eagerly shoved it into her pussy.

Heart pounding, Matti lay spread-legged on the bed beneath the king’s bulk as he ravaged her long into the evening.

Afterward, a considerable time later, she irritably pulled the sheet up to her chest. The King of Altara hummed happily beside her on the bed. Folding her arms, she scowled fiercely at the air before her nose.

“You should not flounce, duckling, and you shouldn’t pout,” Tyler said. He yanked his dagger from where it was driven into a bedpost, examining the point before sheathing it. “What is the matter? You know you enjoyed yourself as much as I did, and I ...” He laughed suddenly, and oh so richly. “If that is part of what being _ta’veren_ means, you must be very popular.”

Matti flushed like fire. “You can’t just go around doing whatever you want to people.”

But Tyler just shook his head fondly. “Oh, pigeon. I do keep forgetting. You are in Ebou Dar, now. I left a little present for you in the sitting room.” He got up from the bed and strolled away, patting her foot through the sheet as he went. “Eat well today. You are going to need your strength.”

Matti put a hand over her eyes and tried very hard not to weep. When she uncovered them, he was gone. Not quite holding her breath, she went to the tall red-and-gilt wardrobe, and dressed hurriedly. In the sitting room, she found a large parcel elaborately wrapped in green paper sat on one of the tables. There was also a red silk purse holding twenty gold crowns and a note that smelled of flowers.

_I would have bought you an earring, piglet, but I noticed your ear is not pierced. Have it done, and buy yourself something nice_.

She nearly wept again. _Piglet? Oh, Light!_

There was no escaping Tyler, not short of fleeing Ebou Dar and abandoning her mission for Raye. The next night, he had half a dozen serving men seize her in the halls and drag her into his apartments, where he tied her hands together and used her over and over. He’d put her on her hands and knees at first, but when he came in her he was on his back, holding her by the hips and making her bounce up and down on his cock. The bloody man treated her like a toy!

She resolved that she was not going to put up with it anymore the next morning. But her resolve was a fragile thing, one that failed to fool even her for long. If they did not get out of Ebou Dar soon, Tyler would be pinching her bottom and calling her his little pigeon again that night. His latest note all but promised it.

_Matti, my sweet,_

_I am having your things moved to my apartments. So much more convenient. I have seamstresses coming to measure you. I will enjoy watching that. You must wear shorter coats. And tight breeches. It is the latest fashion, and you have a delightful bottom. Duckling, who is this Son of the Nine Moons I made you think of? I have thought of several delicious ways to make you tell me._

_Tyler_

She went to Gawyn again after that, in hopes of inspiring him to finish his business here so they could get back to Raye. She caught up to him in a hallway of the Tarasin Palace, but the bloody princeling wasn’t in half the hurry to leave that Matti was.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather remain here?” he asked. “I’m sure Tyler would enjoy your company for breakfast. The King said he finds you wonderfully entertaining and courteously compliant,” he added in a doubtful tone.

Matti despaired. In another minute, she was afraid, she might just start crying. She didn’t want to plead for help from anyone, and especially not from Gawyn—the two of them had never gotten along—but with Tyler’s shadow lurking behind every corner, she had no choice.

“Listen to me! That man won’t take no for an answer; I say no, and he laughs at me. He’s starved me, bullied me, chased me down like a rabbit! He has more hands than any six men I ever met. He threatened to have the serving men undress me if I didn’t let him—” She tossed her head, cheeks flaming. She could say no more.

A faint blush crept into Gawyn’s cheeks, but his face became solemn as a marble bust. “It ... appears that I may have misunderstood,” he said soberly. “That is ... very bad of Tyler.” She thought his lips twitched. “Have you considered practicing different smiles in a mirror, Matti?”

Startled, she blinked. “What?”

“I have heard reliably that that is what young women do who attract the eyes of kings.” Something cracked the sobriety of his voice, and this time his lips definitely twitched. “You might try batting your eyelashes, too.” Catching his lower lip with her teeth, he turned and walked away, shoulders shaking. Before he darted around a corner, she heard him chortle something about “a taste of her own medicine.”

_Men!_ She should have known better than to expect sympathy. She would have liked to throttle the bloody Son-Heir. And Niven, too, on general principle. Except, of course, that she could not. She had made promises. And those promises, it seemed, would keep her in Ebou Dar for a long time yet.

* * *

Chaos reigned in the Stone of Tear, but Danyel focused his attention on a very particular target instead of the Trollocs and Myrddraal that prowled the halls. _Saidin_ was being used with abandon, and as one of the few male channelers in Tear it fell to him to oppose whoever was using it.

He followed the residue to his target, though as she got closer he no longer needed those fading signs. The attacker was up ahead. At that range, he could sense the man’s strength, and it was considerable. He was so unnerved by the strength he felt that he almost lashed out at the first man he saw, despite knowing him and knowing that he could not channel.

Reiner Cinclare was the man’s name. A lean youth with short red hair and a patchy beard, he was pulling his shortsword out of the stomach of a dying Trolloc when Dany rounded the corner and caught sight of him. Fierce golden eyes met his, and he readied the bloodstained weapon as though to use it to deny his passage. That told Dany everything he needed to know. There was only one person in the Stone that Reiner would put his neck on the line for.

“Is the Phoenix Reborn in there? With _that_!? Blood and ashes, man, get out of my way!”

Reiner’s golden eyes narrowed. “How do I know you aren’t with the scythe-wielder? Watch her back, Shadowkiller said.”

Dany spun _saidin_ and wrapped him in bands of Air. “I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to trust me. She’s too important to argue with you now,” he said as he rushed past the futilely struggling man.

When he burst into the room, he found Raye al’Thor squaring off alone against a pale-haired man in a black robe. She had _Callandor_ in her hands, the crystal sword glowing like the sun, while her opponent carried a bizarre weapon that looked like a scythe, if any fool had ever made a scythe with three blades.

Raye was taller than most men—of a height with Dany—and easy on the eyes, but he had to time for staring just then. A storm of _saidin_ was coming her way, spun by the stranger in the room—a Forsaken, Dany had to assume. He had no time to think of that either, or recall the tales his parents had told of such beings, not while Raye was in danger. He ran past her and spun a shield to block the Forsaken’s attack. _Saidin_ crashed against _saidin_ , and though nothing touched him physically, he still flinched from the mental impact of that crashing.

“What are you doing here? Get out of the way before you get hurt,” Raye said angrily.

“You shouldn’t be risking yourself,” he told her. “Get out of here. I’ll hold him off.”

She scowled instead of running, and began muttering under her breath. He couldn’t hear it all. Something about men always acting like she couldn’t take care of herself, along with speculation as to how he’d enjoy having her foot placed somewhere tender. Dany decided it was probably for the best that he couldn’t hear. Or that he couldn’t tell what the Forsaken was screeching at him. He could tell it was the Old Tongue, but no more than that. The man had to be Moridin, for all the stories spoke of him carrying a scythe. If Raye could tell what was being said, or cared in the slightest, she certainly didn’t show it. She stepped out from behind Dany and aimed _Callandor_ at Moridin’s chest.

Liquid light erupted from the tip of the Sword That Is Not a Sword. Though Raye could not have seen it, Moridin spun _saidin_ to counter. It would sever the attack before it could land, Dany knew, unless ... It was a subtle weaving he made—there was no way he could ever match Moridin’s raw strength—but even the slightest of force applied at just the right place would be enough to ... _Yes!_

Shock covered Moridin’s narrow face when his counterstroke unravelled, and remained there for the brief moment before Raye’s uncountered attack lanced through his chest. The Forsaken dropped dead, and a sudden silence fell over the room. Even though he’d seen it happen, Dany could not quite believe it. The Forsaken were monsters out of legend. The death of one should have occasioned more fanfare than this. Instead, he found himself staring at the unremarkable corpse of a lean, not overly tall or handsome man, who might have faded into the background of any marketplace if he’d been dressed less outlandishly.

He jumped when Raye’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “It was nice of you to help, but this is my job, not yours.”

He had to lick his lips, and work some moisture back into his mouth before he could speak. “You don’t have to do it alone. That would be ... ah, I mean, that’s not very wise.”

The wry twist of Raye’s lips told him she’d heard the word he left out. Suddenly, she whipped her head around to frown at the door, her long red braid flying. “Where’s Reiner?”

Dany trotted after her, hastily explaining as they went. “I didn’t have time to argue with him, so I had to restrain him. But I did no damage.”

It was true as well, unless you counted the damage to the youth’s pride. Dany hastily untied his weave and released Reiner, but the scowl he got was not exactly swimming with gratitude. He sighed. He really didn’t want any trouble with Raye and her people. Not least of which because the Black Tower would have his head if he, a mere Accepted, messed up relations with the Phoenix Reborn.

“He helped fight the Forsaken. He’s not an enemy,” Raye said, looking Reiner right in the eyes.

Those eyes dropped quickly. “As you say, Shadowkiller. Pack? Mate?”

Raye’s cheeks coloured. “I didn’t say that!”

She didn’t scoff at the suggestion either, though, and Dany spent the rest of the evening wondering over that. As the Shadowspawn attackers were driven from the Stone, and the work of tending the wounded and cleaning up the damage began, he found his thoughts straying more and more towards the strange woman who had become, almost overnight, the most famous—or infamous—person on the continent. She was very attractive, he couldn’t deny that. Very dangerous, and possibly soon to be insane, but very attractive, too. There weren’t many women in the Black Tower, and it had been a long time since he’d been able to enjoy any private company that wasn’t male. If there was a chance ... dare he take it?

While cleaning the sweat and blood of battle from his face, he found himself examining himself in the mirror. Dark reddish skin, brown eyes, glossy black hair that was tied back into a tail. A strong, clean-shaven jaw, with high, sharp cheekbones. He’d been called handsome before, but how could you tell if that was true or just kindness? He’d never had the vanity needed to look in the mirror and like what he saw there. What did Raye see when she looked at him?

Later that evening, he went to see her, just to check if she was alright, he said. Raye shrugged off his concern, saying she was fine, but he could see how tired she was. When he said as much, she simply nodded, which was as great a proof of her tiredness as could be, given how stubborn she normally was. She left him then, and went to her room. He had not the nerve to follow, but she paused in the open doorway, and looked back at him.

“This is probably foolish. But there aren’t many people who’d fight a Forsaken for you, and I’m too tired to think straight. And too doomed to waste what time I have. Would you like to join me, Danyel?”

He swallowed. Heart racing, he walked the rest of the way to her door. “I’d like that a lot. But call me Dany. Everyone else does.”

It was Raye who closed the door behind them, and Raye who kissed him first, but Dany quickly ended up taking charge. She really was tired. She let him fondle her breasts through the dress for a brief while before turning around and pulling her braid out of the way of her buttons. He undid them with trembling hands. No sooner were they undone than she was walking away from him towards the grand bed, shrugging out of the dress as she went, pushing it down past her narrow waist and her flaring hips. When her dress hit the floor, and she stepped out of the folds of fabric, the curves of her butt could be seen moving under the thin white silk of her petticoat.

Dany followed with haste, while attacking his own clothes in his haste to be rid of them. Raye rid herself of the petticoat before turning around and sitting on the edge of the bed. Her breasts were huge and round and oh so squeezable. Her eyes travelled over his body as he approached.

“You’re very handsome,” she said with a wan smile.

“And you are far more than that,” he said, just before he locked his lips to hers and bore her back onto the bed. His hands found and mapped those breasts. Her arms went around him, but again it fell to Dany to take charge. Though she was the ruler here, and a figure of legend and prophecy, Raye’s legs parted easily when he spread them with his knees. The Phoenix Reborn, slayer of Forsaken, was wet and willing when he claimed her. And what a thrill that was. Her pussy seized his cock, caressing every inch of him with her heat, and in no time at all he was fucking her in earnest. It felt so different to fucking his pillow-friends in the Tower. That had been fun, too, but this ... this was a new and wondrous experience to him.

Dany was lost to pleasure, but not so lost that he didn’t freeze in place when the door latch clicked. He whipped his head around, and found Reiner standing beside the closed door of Raye’s bedroom. He looked surprised, and hurt.

Raye didn’t push Dany off, but her hand on his bottom signalled a halt to their cavorting. “There’s no need to look so sad, Reiner. This won’t change things between us. I already told you I’m never going to marry.”

Reiner hunched his shoulders. “I know. Didn’t think he’d be here is all. Pretty. See why you like him. Just didn’t expect it. Wanted to ... After the fight, I thought you’d want it, too.”

Raye sighed, put her hands on Dany’s hip and shoulder, and rolled them over until she was on top. She looked over her shoulder at the lean youth, and smiled. “I won’t deny you. There’s room in the bed, and in ...” her cheeks flared, and her voice became choked. “In me.”

“Can’t say no to that,” Reiner growled.

As he underdressed, Raye turned her attention back to Dany. She gently undid the tie in his hair, and combed her fingers through his dark locks. “You don’t mind, do you? I hate to disappoint people. You aren’t uncomfortable with another man about, are you? I know some men do be ...”

“No, I ... In the Tower there were ...” Dany blushed, not wanting to admit it all to her, but Raye just smiled. There was a knowing in her pale eyes, but she didn’t try to make him say it.

“I hope you won’t judge me if I can’t be silent, then,” she said as the bed shifted under the addition of Reiner’s weight. He quickly crawled over and took position behind Raye, his hands gripping the cheeks of her bottom, spreading them to expose the tight little hole between. Raye bit her lip when she felt him knocking at her back door, and moaned sexily when he let himself in. He found himself watching their faces as they joined, and instead of being jealous he was entranced. They were both so pretty. Once Reiner had hilted inside her, Raye relaxed. Her breasts touched and spread across Dany’s lean chest, and her lips found his.

Her kisses, and the shallow grinding of her hips, woke his lust once more. He fucked her from below even as Reiner pounded away at her from above. Raye rested her head on his shoulder as she let them have their way with her, so Dany found himself watching Reiner. He was such a strange fellow. Seemingly feral, but as devoted as a puppy. Though not exactly gorgeous, he was definitely cute. And those eyes were nothing short of stunning. Reiner noticed him watching, hesitated for a moment, and then leaned down and kissed him on the lips.

Dany was too shocked to do anything but take it, and too surprised by the instant connection he felt to say a word when Reiner reared up again to look questioning down on him.

It fell to Raye to break the silence. “Well. That was unexpected. Ah ... do you want to be on top again? I don’t mind.”

Both at once? He’d never done that. Dany swallowed. He was unable to voice his assent, so he just nodded. Grinning, Reiner pulled out of Raye, who promptly rolled them over again, hiding her ass from the golden-eyed youth while presenting Dany’s. Reiner, already half ready to pop, wasted no time before taking his cock in hand and seeking out Dany’s hole. He blushed as he felt himself being mounted, all the more so because there was a woman in the bed, watching him. He wasn’t sure why that mattered, but somehow it did.

Soon, Dany found himself being sandwiched between the two sexy redheads, and almost instantly lost his mind. The pleasure was just too much. Reiner fucked him lustily, each thrust of his hips pushing Dany’s cock into Raye’s pussy. Raye stretched her long legs around them both, spurring them on, while Dany lay pillowed upon her breasts. Reiner sniffed at his hair, and even licked the side of his neck as he fucked him. The pleasure was far too much.

He clutched at Raye as he came in her. Reiner did not cease his ministrations when Dany tensed up. His cock kept moving in and out of him, so that it was almost as if he was pumping Dany’s seed into Raye himself. When it was done, Dany lay supine between them, while Reiner humped on. It wasn’t too long afterwards that the other man tensed up, too, and he felt him spurting inside.

They said little in the immediate aftermath, with all three of them being too tired to do much more than collapse naked atop the bed. But much was said and done in the days that followed. Dany grew quickly attached to both Raye and Reiner. Surprisingly quickly. He almost felt as if he’d known them all his life. He accompanied them into the Aiel Waste, sharing their company and their blankets.

They shared the company of an Aiel man named Avram, too. A sternly humourless fellow, who’d become close friends with Gawyn in the Stone. Dany didn’t think much of it, until the day that Avram stabbed him. Shock warred with pain as she stood there, clutching at the Aielman. Avram must have seen the question in his eyes, for he spoke, kindly but unapologetically. “Raye al’Thor belongs to Gawyn Trakand. You should have respected the fact that he had declared his interest, and not betrayed him in this. As his near-brother, honour demands that I remove you.”

Dany’s mouthed worked, but no words would come out. His hands slid down Avram’s side as he collapsed slowly to the dry earth. The pitiless ground of the Aiel Waste drank up his lifeblood with a parched, insatiable hunger. As he died, he somehow knew that that land would always be there, waiting for him. Welcoming yet hungry. Hated yet loved. His tears disappeared into it as easily as his blood.

* * *

_Flicker_.

Rand grit his teeth. Too many. There were too many people. There were too many possibilities. He was losing his grip on the real world again. If he didn’t force his way through soon, he’d never reach the other side.

_Flicker_.

He didn’t know if it was madness that drove him to kill Tam, or anger, or grief at his betrayal. It was easier to blame the Aes Sedai anyway. After all, they were the ones who had weaponized his father against him when all other attempts at manipulation failed. Some small part of him regretted the destruction of Tar Valon even so, as he stood there with _Callandor_ in hand, watching the great island city sink beneath the Erinin. He didn’t regret killing all the Aes Sedai inside the Tower, but the other people who’d lived there hadn’t deserved to die. Or at least, they hadn’t deserved to die any more than Tam, or him, or everyone else in the world did. Perhaps, now that Tar Valon was gone, he should turn his attention to the other cities, and give them their just rewards ...

_Flicker_.

“No. Not like this. I won’t let it happen!”

_Flicker_.

Perhaps it had always been inevitable that Egwene would lead the Aes Sedai against him. Her ascension to the Amyrlin Seat had certainly not filled Rand with hope for his future, and that cynicism was proven deserved when she tried to turn all his vassals against him and usurp his command. He fought back this time, as he so rarely had during her other attacks, verbal or physical. He fought back, and he won. Whatever the White Tower’s prestige, it could not prevail against the simple fact that the people needed the Dragon Reborn more than they did the Amyrlin. For those who could not be swayed by a reminder of the oaths they had sworn, a simple threat to abandon them to the Shadow’s mercies was enough to strongarm them into compliance.

The Aes Sedai left the Field of Merrilor alone, while Egwene vowed grandly that Rand would realise his error soon enough. He needed her, she maintained. He told her she was wrong, and meant it. The Aes Sedai were not, after all, the only female channelers in the world. He already had all he needed to enact his plan to restore the seal on the Dark One’s prison.

He did it better this time, using a mixed Circle of men and women. It made for a better seal, one that would last longer. But it also left them open, once again, to the Dark One’s counterstroke. This time, it was not just _saidin_ that was tainted, but _saidar_ as well.

Whether there was anyone in the world who did not curse his name for the Second Breaking, Rand never knew. By then, he was far too insane to notice.

_Flicker_.

Rand was glad he took Thom’s advice to flee to Tear instead of press on to Caemlyn. It freed him of the Shadow and of Moiraine both, for there he met a beautiful Atha’an Miere woman named Avaleen. Their romance was a whirlwind that ended in a spur of the moment proposition, and within months he was sailing away from Valgarda on her ship, aptly named _Liberty_. They sailed south, where Avaleen vowed to show him the lands beyond the Sea of Storms. Nothoryos was to be their first destination, she said, it was— _No! This isn’t me!_

_Flicker_.

Raye thought the bookish Accepted named Theo was— _I don’t care! Take me to the Waste! Now, burn you!_

_Flicker_.

Between one heartbeat and the next, the world exploded back into being around him, leaving Rand and all those with him stunned.


	52. The Aiel Waste

Sensation returned before sight. The strain of channelling so much of the One Power combined with the intense heat to hammer Rand to his knees. The touch of the ground burned him, even through his breeches, and the hand he thrust out to avoid falling on his face found a gravelly stove before it. His skin prickled painfully for a moment, then sweat gushed from every pore. It scarcely dampened his clothes, for the sweat seemed to evaporate immediately.

“He was right,” he heard Loial gasp. “A city in clouds.”

Someone gripped him by the waist and drew his arm over their shoulders. “Easy, lad. Are you hurt?” Tam’s voice.

“Just tired,” Rand mumbled. Tam pulled him to his feet, and Rand was glad of the support. He felt unaccountably dizzy, and though his sight was returning fast, the world around him seemed to be shimmering. It was only after half a dozen attempts to blink his eyes into focus that Rand realised the shimmering in the air was being caused by the heat.

All about him, Aiel contended with braying, sliding pack mules on a steep rocky slope where nothing grew. The milling crowd nearly hid the surroundings from him, but he saw a bit in flashes between them. A thick gray stone column angled out of the ground just beside him, scoured by windblown sand until there was no telling whether it had ever been twin to the Portal Stone in Tear. Rugged slab-sided mountains that looked carved by a mad giant’s axe broiled beneath a blazing sun in a cloudless sky. Yet in the centre of the long, barren valley far below, a mass of dense fog hung, billowing like clouds. That scalding sun should surely have burned it off in moments, but the fog rolled untouched. And out of that roiling grey stuck the tops of towers, some spired, some ending abruptly as though the masons still worked.

Clutching his gelding’s bridle, Mat was staring around wide-eyed. Few of the others were faring any better, even among those who’d glimpsed the Lines of If before. Merile was down on her knees, and neither Moiraine nor Lan was showing their customary self-control. Tam’s eyes flinched away from Rand’s searching look. The shame on his face further deepened the lines there.

“Apparently, almost anything can and has happened in those other worlds. It wasn’t me, though, not the real me. I find it best to push those memories aside,” Rand panted.

He meant the words for no-one and everyone, but it was Mat who reacted. He jerked and stared at Rand, then dropped his reins and grabbed Rand’s coat with both hands. “Rand, I’d never tell anyone about—about you. I wouldn’t betray you. You have to believe that!” He looked haggard, but Rand thought it was mostly fright.

“I do,” Rand said. He wondered what lives Mat had lived, and what he had done. _He must have told someone, or he wouldn’t be so anxious about it_. He could not hold it against him. Those had been other Mats, not this one. Besides, after some of the alternatives he had seen for himself ... “I believe you.”

Shaking his head to try to clear the shock and the memories, Mat looked about himself. “Burn me, we made it!” He tugged open his shirt laces at the neck. “Light, it’s hot. Burn me for true!”

“The Aiel Waste. Called the Three-fold Land by those who lived there. The Aiel, they were named, meaning—” Loial gave off composing his notes to tug his own collar open. “You are right, Mat. It is a bit … stuffy.”

Moiraine was standing nearby, studying Rand with apparent calm—and a slight tightness at the corners of her mouth that meant she would like to box his ears.

“I did it,” Rand said, looking around.

“You came close,” Moiraine said coolly. Very coolly. “The _angreal_ was not sufficient to the task. You must not do this again. If you take chances, they must be reasoned and for a strong purpose. They must be.”

“I don’t take chances, Moiraine. Mat’s the fellow for chances.” Rand forced his right hand open; the _angreal_ , the fat little man, had driven the point of its sword into his flesh, right into the branded heron. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I did need one a little stronger. A little bit, maybe …” He gave a huffing laugh. “But it worked, Moiraine. That is what’s important. It worked. I’ve outrun them all ... I hope.” He’d seen quite a few of the Lines of If, though. Had he lost time, as he had during that bungled trip to Falme? The thought was more than disturbing.

The look Lan was giving him was pretty disturbing, too. “That is one of the things that matters,” he said, nodding slowly. Rand tried to keep his face as bland as he could. Had they seen the same worlds, or different ones? In some of those worlds, things had gone very poorly when Lan found out about Rand and Nynaeve. If he suspected now ... Rand would have to be very careful.

“The fatigue of channelling is not like other tiredness,” Moiraine said. “I cannot rid you of it completely, not when you have channelled as much as you did, but I will do what I can. Perhaps what remains will remind you to be more careful in future.” She _was_ angry; there was a definite hint of satisfaction in her voice.

Even in that stifling heat, Rand still felt the goosebumps that told him a woman was channelling nearby. He didn’t have the strength just then to escape Moiraine’s touch but, when he leaned away from her, Tam shifted their feet, putting his sturdy shoulder to the Aes Sedai. She made a vexed sound.

“I think we talked about this before, Moiraine Sedai.” Tam said with deceptive mildness.

Rand made a concerted effort to stand on his own two feet. “Ask, Moiraine,” he said coldly, stuffing the _angreal_ into his belt pouch. “Ask first before you channel at me. And tell me what you intend to do as well. I’m not your pet dog that you can do whatever you want to whenever you want.”

While Moiraine scowled, he looked for the Accepted among the crowd, knowing that their presence made her even more dangerous than she’d already been. Pedra’s glare made plain her feelings over his disrespect, but neither dark Theodrin nor the even darker Mayam would meet his eyes. Ilyena looked to be lost in her own bitter thoughts, while Dani was staring at Rand as though she’d never seen him before.

It came to him that the Aiel had gone absolutely still now that they had the mules quieted. They stared outward warily, not toward the valley and the fog-shrouded city that could only be Rhuidean, but at two camps, one to either side of them perhaps half a mile away. The two clusters of dozens upon dozens of low, open-sided tents, one twice as large as the other, clung to the mountain slope and very nearly disappeared against it, but the grey-brown Aiel in each camp were clearly visible, short spears and arrow-nocked horn bows in hand, veiling themselves if they were not already. They seemed poised on the balls of their feet, ready to attack. Uno and his men had recovered themselves enough to notice the strangers, too. Even as Rand turned his head towards them, Ayame’s hands closed on the hilts of his short swords.

Rand would have called out, tried to forestall the inevitable. But a woman’s voice from upslope spared him the need. “The peace of Rhuidean,” she called, and Rand could almost feel the tension leave the Aiel surrounding him. Those among the tents began lowering their veils, though they still watched cautiously.

Mat hastily slipped a pair of knives back into his sleeves. And Tam breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Raine wended her way through the crowd toward Rand, while keeping a firm grip on her knife, and scowling suspiciously at everyone. At least until she saw that Merile was still down, then her suspicion turned to concern.

While she went to see to Merile, Rand called Uno over.

The one-eyed warrior came swiftly to stand before him, and bowed respectfully. “How can I serve, my Lord Dragon?”

“Well, as ever. I want to avoid conflict here. As much as I possibly can, anyway. Try to avoid offending anyone, or doing anything that might be considered hostile.”

Uno glared at the surrounding Aiel. Well, glanced really, but he didn’t seem capable of looking at someone without it seeming like a glare. “I’ll do what I can to keep the men in line, my lord. Short of leaving you undefended, of course.”

“These are not our enemies, Uno. If all goes well, they may even be our allies. I should not need defending from them.” And if he ever did, five Shienarans, no matter how brave, would not be enough to save him.

Uno still looked dubious, but he bowed again nonetheless. “As you say, my Lord Dragon.”

Rand nodded. “I expect you’ll want to stow that armour. I’ll let you get back to it.” Uno bowed yet again and moved back to his soldiers, already unbuckling his breastplate. Rand’s own armour was still with the packhorses. He had no intention of wearing it in this heat.

The earlier tension had passed quickly, so Rand was as surprised as anyone when a sudden scream split the air. He whipped around just in time to see Raine, who had been resting a hand on Merile’s shoulder, suddenly be batted through the air like a kicked stone. Those unfortunate enough to have been standing close by suffered the same fate.

“Nooo! Don’t touch me!” Merile screamed, hugging herself tight and shaking her head from side to side.

Mat swore loudly while Dani cried out Raine’s name. Veils that had been lowered were instantly raised again, and even the most distracted of the Accepted turned on Merile in anger. Rand snatched at _saidin_ , and spun a net of Air that he hoped would allow him to break Raine’s fall as gently as he could. As he lowered her limp form to the ground, he found himself praying that the hit hadn’t been enough to kill her outright. The very thought made his blood run cold but it wasn’t enough to stop him from running to Merile’s defence.

“Don’t hurt her! She’s just upset! Moiraine, shield her from the Source.”

While the surrounding Aiel froze uncertainly, the Aes Sedai spared Rand a coolly raised brow. “I already have. Though this kind of outburst is precisely why she should have been sent to the Tower.”

The Accepted nodded their support of her statement as Rand rushed past. He went to his knees before Merile, ignoring the way the ground burned through the fabric of his clothes, and resisting the urge to wrap his arms around her.

He made his voice as gentle as he could. “It’s okay, Merile. You’re back in the real world now. I know those things felt real, but they didn’t happen to you. You’re safe now. I’m here, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Tears were streaking down her cheeks, and her eyes were huge and frantic. “I couldn’t do anything. They ... They ... It hurt. It hurt but I couldn’t stop it. I wasn’t allowed. I didn’t know how.”

Rand didn’t want to hear the details. He could guess. Plenty of his other selves had been hurt and helpless at times, too. The way some of the others nearby flinched made him suspect they could empathise, too. “It’s over,” he said. “You’re safe now. There’s no need to be afraid.”

“Rand?”

“I’m right here.”

Merile jerked forwards and wrapped her arms around him. Though she pressed her face against his chest, he could tell she was weeping. He held her as she shook with emotion, and petted her head in what he was sure a clumsy kind of comfort. It was all he could offer, though, and eventually her trembling came to an end. She didn’t let go of him, however, and Rand certainly wasn’t about to push her off, so he knelt there in the heat, surrounded by a watching crowd, for an uncomfortably long time.

It was the arrival of a staggering Raine that brought Merile out of her daze. When Rand expressed his relief that she hadn’t been seriously injured, Merile shot to her feet and clapped her hands across her mouth. “Did I hurt you?” she said.

Though made mumbles, her words would have been as clear as a well-tuned harp to Raine’s ears. “That was nothing. Don’t worry, pup,” she said with a shrug.

That shrug was pained, despite her efforts to put on a brave face, and Merile saw it as plainly as he did. She abandoned Rand and went to Raine, fussing over her and loudly lamenting her lack of training at Healing. Watching them, Dani grimaced and began to grind her teeth. Rand was left wondering if it might not have been a mistake to bring Merile, after all. The Aiel weren’t fond of her for some reason, and the Accepted had taken against her, too. She would have been safer in Tear. He should not have been so foolish as to let a pair of pretty eyes cloud his judgement.

Four women picking their way easily down the slope of the mountain drew Rand’s attention. There was a third, much smaller encampment beyond the first two, he realized, a few of the low tents on a small level patch. It was from this camp the women came, sedate and dignified in dark bulky skirts and loose white blouses, with brown or grey shawls around their shoulders despite the heat, and many necklaces and bracelets of ivory and gold. Two had white hair, the third’s hair was a dark grey, and the last had hair the colour of the sun. Each woman wore her hair long, flowing down their backs to the waist and held back from their faces by folded kerchiefs tied around the forehead.

Rand recognized one of the white-haired women: Amys, the Wise One he had met in _Tel’aran’rhiod._ Again he was struck by the contrast between Amys’ sun-darkened features and her snowy hair; she just did not look old enough. He couldn’t decide if her hair was simply so fair that it appeared white, or if she was the most youthful grandmother ever. The second white-haired woman had a more natural looking, grandmotherly face, creased and aged, and one of the others, with the grey-streaked dark hair, seemed almost as old. The last, with hair of a similar shade to Elayne’s, looked to be only about a dozen years older than Rand.

The Aiel women stopped ten paces upslope from the gathering around the Portal Stone, and the grandmotherly woman spread her open hands, speaking in an aged yet powerful voice. “The peace of Rhuidean be on you. Who comes to Chaendaer may return to their holds in peace. There shall be no blood on the ground.”

With that the Aiel from Tear began to separate, quickly apportioning the pack animals and the contents of the hampers. They were not dividing by societies now; Rand saw Maidens going with several groups, some of which immediately began making their way around the mountain, avoiding each other and the camps, peace of Rhuidean or no. Others strode toward one or the other large cluster of tents, where finally weapons were being put down, to Rand’s relief.

“Where are they all going? Aren’t you going to stop them?” Mat asked Rand. “Burn me, what happens if they all abandon us here?”

Ayla answered as she was walking by. “I would hope that is obvious.” She fixed Rand with a proud stare. “Do well here and you will be an Aiel. Fail, and it will not matter anyway.”

Adelin, Mangin, Dorindha and Luaine marched off together without a backwards glance. Urien and Tuandha. Ayla, Lidya, Sansu and Acavi were part of a large cluster than skirted around the encampments, while Nici and Jula shouldered their hampers and headed off towards one of the bigger camps. Almost all of the Aiel who had come over the Spine of the World and taken the Stone of Tear dispersed quietly, leaving Rand upon the mountainside. He felt suddenly exposed, and tried not to let it show on his face. The Aiel who had come from the Stone had been courteous even when not exactly friendly; the watchers looked neither. _I have to do this. I need an army, and the Aiel have one of the best in the world. No matter how strange or dangerous they are_.

Standing with his thumbs tucked behind his belt, Rand pretended not to see Mat hastily slipping a pair of knives back into his sleeves. He spotted Aviendha among the dispersing groups, carrying a large clinking jute sack, and two rolled wall hangings over her shoulder, as she moved briskly towards one of the big encampments.

“You will stay, Aviendha,” the woman with grey-streaked hair said loudly. Aviendha stopped in her tracks, not looking at anyone. Rand found himself frowning slightly. The woman’s voice almost sounded familiar.

Rhuarc climbed the slope with a smile. “I am come back, Amys, though not by the way you expected, I will wager.”

“I knew you would be here today, shade of my heart.” She reached up to touch his cheek, letting her brown shawl fall down onto her arms. “My sister-wife sends her heart to you.”

She had known? How? Something to do with _Tel’aran’rhiod_ perhaps? Rand made a mental note to ask later. Amys and Rhuarc plainly didn’t want to be disturbed, from the way they were looking into one another’s eyes, and Rand had other tasks before him.

Some men had come out from each of the camps, one man alone, and two in a pair. One of the pair was tall and broad-shouldered, flame-haired and still short of his middle years, while the other was a bit older, lean, pale-haired and even taller. The lone fellow was older still, and darker, as tall as the first but more slender. The two stopped a few paces away from Rhuarc and the Wise Ones, while the other one came to stand at Rhuarc’s side. The lone, leathery-faced man carried no visible weapon except his heavy-bladed belt knife, but the other two carried spears and hide bucklers. The youngest of them held his head high with a fiercely prideful scowl directed at Rhuarc.

Rhuarc ignored him, turning to the man at his side. “I see you, Heirn. Has one of the sept chiefs decided I am already dead? Who seeks to take my place?”

“I see you, Rhuarc. No-one of the Taardad has entered Rhuidean, or seeks to. Amys said she would come meet you here today, and these other Wise Ones travelled with her. I brought these men of the Jindo sept to see they arrived safely.”

Rhuarc nodded solemnly. Rand had the feeling something important had just been said, or hinted at. The Wise Ones did not look at the fiery-haired man, and neither did Rhuarc or Heirn, but from the colour rising in the fellow’s cheeks, they might as well have been staring at him.

Lan leaned down and spoke quietly to Moiraine. “A Wise One can go anywhere safely, into any hold regardless of clan. I think not even blood feud touches a Wise One. This Heirn came to protect Rhuarc from whoever the other camp is, but it would not be honourable to say it.” Moiraine lifted one eyebrow a trifle, and he added, “I don’t know much of them, but I fought them often before I met you. You have never asked me about them.”

“I will remedy that,” the Aes Sedai said dryly.

Nodding, Lan pushed an unstoppered leather water bottle into her hands. She drank sparingly before handing it back. “This heat can kill if you are not used to it,” the Warder explained as he wet down a plain white linen scarf pulled from his coat. At his instructions, Moiraine tied the soaked cloth around her forehead. The Shienarans were outfitting themselves in a similar manner, so Rand began to do the same. Mat, Tam, and the others soon followed suit. Only Lan left his head unprotected to the sun; nothing seemed to faze him.

The silence between Rhuarc and the Aielmen with him had stretched out, but the clan chief finally turned to the flame-haired man. “Do the Shaido lack a clan chief, then, Couladin?”

“Suladric is dead,” the man answered. “Muradin has entered Rhuidean. Should he fail, I will enter.”

“You have not asked, Couladin,” the grandmotherly Wise One said in that reedy yet strong voice. “Should Muradin fail, ask then. We are four, enough to say yes or no.”

“It is my right, Bair,” Couladin said angrily. He had the look of a man not used to being balked.

“It is your right to ask,” the thin-voiced woman replied. “It is ours to answer. I do not think you will be allowed to enter, whatever happens to Muradin. You are flawed within, Couladin.” She shifted her grey shawl, re-wrapping it around her angular shoulders in a way that suggested she had said more than she considered necessary.

The flame-haired man’s face grew red. “My first-brother will return marked as clan chief, and we will lead the Shaido to great honour! We mean to—!” He snapped his mouth shut, almost quivering.

Rand was instantly wary. This Couladin reminded him of the Congars and the Coplins back home, full of boasts and trouble. He had never before seen any Aiel display so much raw emotion. Angry, poor self-control, ambitious, disrespectful of the established leaders. Yes, that one would be trouble.

Amys was made of sterner stuff than Rand; she dismissed Couladin as though he were an unruly child. “There is one who came with you, Rhuarc,” she said. Her eyes swept straight to Rand but her face gave no sign that they had met before.

Reminding himself of all he had learned from speaking to Rhuarc and the others in Tear, Rand strode up the slope to stand beside Rhuarc, at eye level to the women. Sweat plastered his shirt to his body. He made the odd bow as he had been instructed, left foot advanced, left hand on knee, right hand outstretched palm upward.“By the right of blood,” he said, “I ask leave to enter Rhuidean, for the honour of our ancestors and the memory of what was.”

Amys blinked in evident surprise, and Bair murmured, “An ancient form, but the question has been asked. I answer yes.”

“I also answer yes, Bair,” Amys said. “Seana?”

Rand followed her gaze to the grey-haired woman, and was unable to hide his surprise. Come to think of it, she had sounded a bit like the woman he’d met in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , but this Seana was far older. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. It was a coincidence he had little time to ponder, for Couladin broke in angrily.

“This man is no Aiel! It is death for him to be on this ground! Why has Rhuarc brought him? Why—?”

“Do you wish to be a Wise One, Couladin?” Bair asked, a frown deepening the creases on her face. “Put on a dress and come to me, and I will see if you can be trained. Until then, be silent when Wise Ones speak!”

“My mother was Aiel,” Rand said in a strained voice. Kari al’Thor was the only mother he had ever known, even if she was not the woman who had birthed him, even if he had only known her slightly. To deny her like this, especially in front of Tam, tore at him. But his job, his duty, his cause, demanded it. Rand did not look back, but the expression he imagined on Tam’s face made him flinch inwardly.

“Not your mother,” Amys said slowly. “Your father.” _My father?_ His mother had been a Maiden of the Spear who had died on Dragonmount during the Blood Snow. Amys’ words made no sense. Rand opened his mouth, but Amys did not let him speak. “Seana, how do you say?”

“Yes,” the woman with grey-streaked hair said. “Melaine?”

The last of the four hesitated. “It must be done,” she said finally, and unwillingly. “I answer yes.”

“You have been answered,” Amys told Rand. “You may go into Rhuidean, and—” She cut off as Mat scrambled up to copy Rand’s bow awkwardly.

“I also ask to enter Rhuidean,” he said shakily.

The four Wise Ones stared at him. Rand’s head whipped around in surprise. And Couladin reacted more fervidly than any of them. Lifting one of his spears with a snarl, he stabbed at Mat’s chest.

The blow did not land. Before Rand, or anyone else, could reach for a weapon, an invisible something lifted the fiery-haired man and flung him back a dozen paces. The goosebumps were back, but when Rand looked to Moiraine he found her standing absolutely still, and staring not at Couladin, but at the Wise Ones. Were they channelers, too?

Couladin scrambled to his feet in a crouch. “You accept this outlander as one of us,” he rasped, pointing at Rand with the spear he had attempted to use on Mat. “If you say it, then so be it. He is still a soft wetlander, and Rhuidean will kill him.” The spear swung to Mat, who was trying to slip a knife back up his sleeve without being noticed. “But he—it is death for him to be here, and sacrilege for him to even _ask_ to enter Rhuidean. None but those of the blood may enter. None!”

“Go back to your tents, Couladin,” Melaine said coldly. “And you, Heirn. And you, as well, Rhuarc. This meeting is the business of Wise Ones, and none of men save those who have asked.”

The man who had come with Couladin had watched everything with cold eyes. He spoke now for the first time. “This meeting has no purpose. The wetlanders are wasting your time, Wise Ones. And you are wasting mine. You know what must be done with them. Step aside and let us do it.”

“Do you wish to dress in skirts as well, Saren?” Melaine snapped. “Then do not meddle in the affairs of Wise Ones. Go! All of you!”

Rhuarc and Heirn nodded and walked away toward the smaller set of tents, talking together. Couladin glared at Rand and Mat, and at the Wise Ones, before jerking around and stalking off toward the larger camp. Saren lingered long enough to give each of the wetlanders an icy stare before making his own, slower way back.

The Wise Ones exchanged glances. Troubled glances, Rand would have said, though they were almost as good as Aes Sedai at keeping their faces blank when they wanted to.

“It is not permitted,” Amys said finally. “Young man, you do not know what you have done. Go back with the others.” Her eyes brushed across Moiraine, Lan and the rest of the “wetlanders” standing alone now with the horses near the wind-scoured Portal Stone.

“I can’t.” Mat sounded desperate. “I’ve come this far, but this doesn’t count, does it? I have to go to Rhuidean.”

“It is not permitted,” Melaine said sharply, her long red-gold hair swinging as she shook her head. “You have no Aiel blood in your veins.”

Rand had been studying Mat. His friend could be impulsive, but Rand doubted he would ask something like this for no good reason. Mat’s insistence on accompanying Rand to Rhuidean had begun just after he visited that strange world on the other side of the doorway in the Great Holding. Rand felt a little disappointed; it would have been nice to think their old friendship had brought Mat here, rather than whatever those snake-like people had said to him. But if what they had told him was dire enough to get Mat to endure Rand’s company, and Moiraine’s, and journey all the way to the Aiel Waste … “He comes with me,” he said. “You gave me permission, and he can come with me whether you say he can or not.” He stared at the Wise Ones, resolved. If Mat needed this that badly, then Rand meant to see that he got it.

“It is not permitted,” Melaine said firmly, addressing her sisters. She pulled her shawl up to cover her head. “The law is clear. No woman may go to Rhuidean more than twice, no man more than once, and none at all save they have the blood of Aiel.”

Seana shook her head. “Much is changing, Melaine. The old ways …”

“If he is the one,” Bair said, “the Time of Change is upon us. Aes Sedai stand on Chaendaer, and _Aan’allein_ with his shifting cloak. Can we hold to the old ways still? Knowing how much is to change?”

“We cannot hold,” Amys said. “All stands on the edge of change, now. Melaine?” The golden-haired woman looked at the mountains around them, and the fog-shrouded city below, then sighed and nodded. “It is done,” Amys said, turning to Mat. “You,” she began, then paused. “By what name do you call yourself?”

“Mat. Mat Cauthon.”

Amys nodded. “You, Rand al’Thor, must go into the heart of Rhuidean, to the very centre. If you wish to go with him, Mat Cauthon, so be it, but know that most men who enter Rhuidean’s heart do not come back, and some return mad. You may carry neither food nor water, in remembrance of our wanderings after the Breaking. You must go to Rhuidean unarmed, save with your hands and your own heart, to honour the Jenn. If you have weapons, place them on the ground before us. They will be here for you when you return. If you return.”

Rand unbuckled his swordbelt and laid it at Amys’ feet, then after a moment added the greenstone carving of the round little man. His longbow was stowed on Jeade’en, but his greatest and most terrible weapon was one he could never relinquish. “That is the best I can do,” he said.

Mat began with his belt knife and kept right on, pulling knives from his sleeves and under his coat, even one from down the back of his neck, fashioning a pile that seemed to impress even the Aiel women. He made as if to stop, looked at the women, then took two more from each boot top. “I forgot them,” he said with a grin and shrug. The Wise Ones’ unblinking looks wiped his grin away.

“My companions,” said Rand. “May they make camp here? Can I trust you to see that there are no … incidents?”

“The peace of Rhuidean will be extended to them, Rand al’Thor,” said Bair. “Save that they break it.” Rand nodded his thanks.

Amys had not finished with her instructions. “Your clothes also must be discarded. For only those who have endured hardship and proven their strength, may lead.”

Rand could not hide his wince and Mat groaned openly. The Aiel women’s faces were without pity. Letting out a long sigh, he began untying the laces of his shirt.

Moiraine advanced to join them, Aes Sedai serenity firmly in place. “This is unwise. Such extreme temperatures as these are particularly dangerous to those who are unaccustomed to them. Rethink this decision.”

The Wise Ones were uncowed. Four sets of hard eyes stared back at her. “You overstep yourself, Aes Sedai. This is Aiel business,” Amys said flatly.

“If the Dragon Reborn dies trying to prove his manliness by setting fire to himself it would be the business of all peoples. For all peoples would bear the consequences of his foolishness,” said Dani sternly. Loial nodded agreement to her words.

“Too hot,” Raine put in.

“Not to mention indecent,” Pedra added.

Rand finished draining the waterskin he had used to wet his kerchief. He supposed he’d have to discard that, too, but they couldn’t make him leave what he’d already drank. Pulling his shirt over his head, and tossing it atop his swordbelt, he said, to no-one in particular, “I don’t need or want special treatment. If this is the way it’s done, then this is the way I’ll do it. You might have mercy on Mat, though, since he’s already breaking tradition by going, and isn’t taking any test.”

Lan nodded approval but his fellow Borderlander, Ilyena, frowned at Rand scornfully. “Reckless idiot. Have you no care for yourself at all?”

It was the first time she’d ever addressed him, and didn’t exactly promise an easy journey together, but he refused to let himself be needled. He’d heard far worse from people far closer to him. “Well, much as I’d like to win Tarmon Gai’don by spending a few weeks relaxing in the Waterwood, I think it’s going to involve a great many risks such as this. Maybe you should be grateful I _don’t_ have enough care for myself.” Rand met her scornful look with a wry smile. “You might also consider turning your back. It being rude to peek and all.” He began undoing the buckle on his belt and Ilyena quickly spun away, whatever retort she had been preparing left unsaid.

“Huh. I don’t remember her being that shy. Or shy at all,” Mat muttered.

The other Accepted looked away, too, though the Domani pair did so more reluctantly than the others. Domani women had a certain reputation. Aviendha was squatting off to the side, with her arms wrapped around her knees, as she had been since the Wise One told her to wait. Her eyes were fixed on the ground in what Rand concluded was politeness, though he would have taken the look on her face for sulkiness if he could have brought himself to imagine her being sulky. Merile and Raine didn’t bother acting coy, and the men were in no hurry to let anyone see them being bashful, though Izana was biting his lip worriedly.

Bair’s eyes flickered curiously over the unHealable wound in Rand’s side, then settled on Mat, who smiled with forced casualness. “Hey, I could do it; if I wanted to. I wouldn’t want you ladies to think me as easy as Rand, though. You haven’t even fed me yet.”

That actually brought some soft laughter from the Wise Ones. And a sniff from Moiraine, though Rand wasn’t sure if it was directed at Mat, or at Rand himself.

“Very well. Mat Cauthon may keep his clothes, to spare his blushes,” said Bair. Mat grinned at her in thanks.

Rand had discarded his boots and stockings by then, and was forcing himself to stand on the hot ground without hopping from one foot to the other. The effort helped distract him from the embarrassment of stripping in public as he bent to pull down his dark breeches.

“They are pledged to Rhuidean,” Amys said formally, just as Rand yanked the last of his clothes off. She stared over the two men’s heads, and the other three responded together, “Rhuidean belongs to the dead.”

“They may not speak to the living until they return,” she intoned, and again the others answered. “The dead do not speak to the living.”

“We do not see them, until they stand among the living once more.” Amys drew her shawl across her eyes, and one by one the other three did the same. Faces hidden, they spoke in unison. “Begone from among the living, and do not haunt us with memories of what is lost. Speak not of what the dead see.” Silent then, they stood there, holding their shawls up, waiting.

Rand and Mat looked at one another. Finally Mat barked a laugh. “Well, I suppose the dead can talk to each other, at least. I wonder if this counts for … No matter. Do you suppose it’s alright if we ride?”

“I don’t think so. I think we have to walk,” Rand said, shifting his feet. Standing still just made the ground burn worse.

“Oh, burn my aching feet,” Mat complained annoyingly. “We might as well get on with it, then. It’ll take half the afternoon just to get there. If we’re lucky.”

“ _Your_ aching feet?” Rand snorted as they started down the mountain. He tried to be glad of the heat, at least he would be warm in his nudity, but he could already feel the sun beginning to burn his pale skin and knew what awaited.

Mat made a rude sound with his lips. “Don’t blame me because your flirting got you in trouble. Stripping off like that. Which one are you trying to seduce anyway? Bair would be my bet; she seems just your type.”

“Shut up, Mat,” Rand said absently. He gave his father a reassuring smile as they passed by. Tam simply nodded, plainly wary of interrupting the Aiel ceremony with words, but Rand could see the worry in his eyes.

“You aren’t going to do anything … _crazy_ ... are you?” Mat said. “I mean to come back alive.”

“So do I,” Rand replied. “So do I.”

* * *

Dani fought the temptation to look as Rand and Mat’s voices grew fainter. She had turned her back politely, along with all the others. No-one could accuse her of being lewd. But one little peek wouldn’t hurt anyone, and he would soon be too far away to see anything in detail. Just a brief glance. That was all. She moved her head casually from side to side, as though stretching her neck. The motion had the tragic side effect of placing Rand’s receding form in her field of vision. His broad, muscular shoulders and firm bottom were on display for all the world to see. Each step he took made his cheeks press against each other. His legs were quite nice looking, too; very long, but thick in the thigh and calf regions. Fearing she had looked too long, Dani turned away again.

As she did, she caught a brief glimpse of Theodrin watching the departing men, just before she jerked her gaze away much as Dani had just done. Their eyes met for a second, before the two women looked away in mutual embarrassment.

Feeling guilty, she gave Ilyena a cautious glance, but found her pillow-friend too lost in her own thoughts to notice her indiscretion. That was an all too familiar thing these days. Mayam’s very obvious lack of temptation was a bit more surprising. She had half-expected to have to force that one to not embarrass them all by ogling Rand openly, but she just stood there, staring ahead with her full mouth downturned.

Then again, they all had good reasons to be distracted. Those other worlds she had seen, and the things that had happened there ... They had felt so real. Blood and ashes! She hadn’t been herself. Sometimes she hadn’t even been a her, never mind herself! Dani fought temptation again, this time to avoid pawing at the front of her skirt, where no bulge protruded. The whole experience had been beyond strange. Perhaps most troubling were the ways in which she hadn’t felt that different at all. Being male hadn’t made her any stupider than being female did. But the matriarchs in Arad Doman and Tar Valon both had always maintained that men were inherently less intelligent than women. How could she reconcile that with what she had experienced?

The two young men had passed from hearing as they descended. When Dani looked again she saw that they had dwindled to tiny shapes, barely distinguishable as people. Moiraine, Lan and Tam were watching them walk away, none of the three quite hiding their concern. Rand’s fair skin would not fare well in this kind of heat, she knew; Ilyena was as pale as he, and even the relatively mild summers of Tar Valon had been known to cause a bit of wincing for her. Dani’s own homeland was much hotter, but even she found the heat of the Waste to be oppressive.

The Ogier was off by himself, surveying the scene from his lofty vantage point, while Merile and Raine had their heads together. That shouldn’t have made Dani feel excluded. She didn’t know Raine at all. She didn’t! Even if she had known her very well in other lives. She shook her head, and tried to bury those memories as deeply as she could.

The Shienarans had already begun setting up camp on the level ground near the Wise Ones’ tents when the Wise Ones lowered their shawls. Moiraine took it for a sign that formality had ended, and went to them. After a brief hesitation, Dani decided to join her. Nynaeve had put her in charge of this half of their group, after all.

Though Lan had led his black stallion over alongside Moiraine, who led her own white, Amys raised a forbidding hand to the Warder. “This is women’s business, now, _Aan’allein_. You must stand aside. Go to the tents. You and the other must go with him, Treebrother.”

Lan waited for Moiraine’s slight nod before bowing and walking off to join the Shienarans. The shifting cloak hanging down his back sometimes gave him the appearance of a disembodied head and arms floating across the ground ahead of the horse. Tam and Loial gathered Rand and Mat’s horses along with their own before following him.

“Why do you call him that?” Moiraine asked when he was out of earshot. “One Man. Do you know him?”

“We know of him, Aes Sedai.” Amys made the title sound an address between equals. “The last of the Malkieri. The man who will not give up his war against the Shadow though his nation is long destroyed by it. There is much honour in him. I knew from the dream that if you came, it was almost certain _Aan’allein_ would as well, but I did not know he obeyed you.”

“He is my Warder,” Moiraine said simply.

Dani thought the Aes Sedai was troubled despite her tone, and she knew why. _Almost_ certain Lan would come with Moiraine? It sounded like his feelings for Nynaeve were truer than she’d realised. Nearly as interesting to Dani was “if you came”. Moiraine had explained some of the situation to her earlier. The letter she’d received from the Wise Ones had said that they had Dreamed that they would meet her here, on Chaendaer, today. The Aes Sedai had thought it unlikely until Rand mentioned the Stones. It was only when he proved so resistant to her dissuading that she came to believe their claim. Only now Amys was speaking of likelihoods instead of certainties. Had the Wise Ones known they were coming or not?

Bair’s thin voice interrupted her pondering. “Aviendha? Come here.”

Aviendha had been squatting disconsolately off to one side, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at the ground. She stood slowly. If Dani had not known better, she would have thought the other woman was afraid. Aviendha’s feet dragged as she climbed to where the Wise Ones stood and set her bag and rolled wall hangings at her feet.

“It is time,” Bair said, not ungently. Still, there was no compromise in her pale blue eyes. “You have run with the spears as long as you can. Longer than you should have.”

Aviendha flung up her head defiantly. “I am a Maiden of the Spear. I do not want to be a Wise One. I will not be!”

The Wise Ones’ faces hardened. “You have already been treated more gently than it was in my day,” Amys said in a voice like stone. “I, too, refused when called. My spear sisters broke my spears before my eyes. They took me to Bair and Coedelin bound hand and foot and wearing only my skin.”

“And a pretty little doll tucked under your arm,” Bair said dryly, “to remind you how childish you were. As I remember, you ran away nine times in the first month.”

Amys nodded grimly. “And was made to blubber like a child for each of them. I only ran away five times the second month. I thought I was as strong and hard as a woman could be. I was not smart, though; it took me half a year to learn you were stronger and harder than I could ever be, Bair. Eventually I learned my duty, my obligation to the people. As you will, Aviendha. Such as you and I, we have that obligation. You are not a child. It is time to put away dolls—and spears—and become the woman you are meant to be.”

Abruptly, Dani knew why she had felt such a kinship with Aviendha from the first, knew why Amys and the others meant her to be a Wise One. Aviendha could channel. Like herself, like Elayne and Nynaeve—and Moiraine, for that matter—she was one of those rare women who not only could be taught to channel, but who had the ability born in her, so she would touch the True Source eventually whether she knew what she was doing or not. Moiraine’s face was still, calm, but Dani saw confirmation in her eyes.

Some of the Wise Ones, at least, apparently saw more in Moiraine’s face. “You meant to take her to your White Tower,” Bair said, “to make her one of you. She is Aiel, Aes Sedai.”

“She can be very strong if she is trained properly,” Moiraine replied. “As strong as Elayne Trakand will be. In the Tower, she can reach that strength.”

“We can teach her as well, Aes Sedai.” Melaine’s voice was smooth enough, but contempt tinged her unwavering green-eyed stare. “Better. I have spoken with Aes Sedai. You coddle women in the Tower. The Three-fold Land is no place for coddling. Aviendha will learn what she can do while you would still have her playing games.”

Dani gave Aviendha a concerned look; the other woman was staring at her feet, defiance gone. If they thought training in the Tower was _coddling_ ... She felt a true pang of sympathy for the Aiel woman.

Amys held out her hands, and Aviendha reluctantly laid her spears and buckler in them, flinching when the Wise One threw them aside to clatter on the ground. Slowly Aviendha slid her cased bow from her back and surrendered it, unbuckled the belt holding her quiver and sheathed knife. Amys took each offering and tossed it away like rubbish; Aviendha gave a little jerk each time. A tear trembled at the corner of one blue-green eye.

“Do you have to treat her this way?” Dani demanded angrily. Amys and the others turned flat stares on her, but she was not about to be intimidated. “You are treating things she cares about as trash.”

“She must see them as trash,” Seana said. “When she returns—if she returns—she will burn them and scatter the ashes. The metal she will give to a smith to make simple things. Not weapons. Not even a carving knife. Buckles, or pots, or puzzles for children. Things she will give away with her own hands when they are made.”

“The Three-fold Land is not soft, Aes Sedai of no name,” Bair said. “Soft things die, here.”

Dani flicked a glance at Moiraine. They hadn’t spoken of whether to maintain that deception or not, but now that they arrived at the crossroads, the Aes Sedai held her silence. It fell to Dani to disavow the title, which perhaps she should have done, but the protection and authority it granted was too tempting to set aside.

“Daniele Rulonir of the Green Ajah,” she said. “But call me Dani. Everyone else does. I lead the group back there. Ah, after Moiraine, of course.” The Blue might as well have been a statue for all she reacted, but somehow Dani could feel her disapproval even so.

Amys either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “The _cadin’sor_ , Aviendha,” she said, gesturing to the discarded weapons. “Your new clothes will await your return.”

Mechanically, Aviendha stripped, tossing coat and _shoufa_ onto the pile, baring her short-cropped red hair with the single narrow tail at the back. She stepped out of her soft boots, and stood without wriggling a toe, though Dani feared her own feet would blister even through her riding boots. Wordlessly, she removed her soft undershirt and threw it away, baring skin as fair as Rand’s had been, in stark contrast to the Aiel woman’s tanned face. Her breasts were large and firm, topped with pink nipples. Dani rather admired the other woman’s toned stomach; even in her youth, when farmwork had been a daily task, she had not possessed such lean strength. Grim-faced, Aviendha pulled down her breeches, revealing her muscular legs, and the wild red thatch of hair that sheltered her womanhood. For the second time that day, Dani found herself watching a rather eye-catching person strip to their skin. No-one expected her to look away this time, but it still felt like peeking.

She thought she understood the purpose of the ceremony, though. When she’d first come to the White Tower, she’d been made to watch as the clothes she had worn were burned, a severing of ties to an earlier life, but it had not been like this. Not this stark.

When Aviendha, completely naked now, started to add the sack and the wall hangings to the pile, Seana took them from her. “These you can have back. If you return. If not, they will go to your family, for remembrance.”

Aviendha nodded. She did not seem afraid. Reluctant, angry, even sullen, but not afraid.

“In Rhuidean,” Amys said, “you will find three rings, arranged so.” She drew three lines in the air, joining together in the middle. “Step through any one. You will see your future laid before you, again and again, in variation. They will not guide you wholly, as is best, for they will fade together as do stories heard long ago, yet you will remember enough to know some things that must be, for you, despised as they may be, and some that must not, cherished hopes that they are. This is the beginning of being called wise. Some women never return from the rings; perhaps they could not face the future. Some who survive the rings do not survive their second trip to Rhuidean, to the heart. You are not giving up a hard and dangerous life for a softer, but for a harder and more dangerous.”

A _ter’angreal_. Amys was describing a _ter’angreal_. What kind of place was this Rhuidean?

Melaine cupped Aviendha’s chin and turned the younger woman’s face to her. “You have the strength,” she said with quiet conviction. “A strong mind and a strong heart are your weapons now, but you hold them as surely as you ever held a spear. Remember them, use them, and they will see you through anything.”

Dani was surprised. Of the four, she would have picked the sun-haired woman last to show compassion.

Aviendha nodded, and even managed a smile. “I will beat those men to Rhuidean. They cannot run.”

Each Wise One in turn kissed her lightly on each cheek, murmuring, “Come back to us.”

Then the Aiel woman was running down the mountainside in leaps. It seemed she might well catch up to Rand and Mat. Dani found herself staring at a pale bottom for the second time today and hastily looked away. _I hope not all Aiel ceremonies involve so much nudity_.

This one was something like being raised to Accepted, it seemed, but without any Novice training first. What would it have been like to be raised Accepted on her first day in the Tower? She thought she might have gone mad. Nynaeve had been raised so, because of her strength; she thought at least some of Nynaeve’s distaste for Aes Sedai came from what she had experienced then. _Be steadfast_ , she thought.

“Haste,” Amys said, still watching Aviendha go. “We have been hasty, because Aviendha struggled so long against her _toh_ , because we feared the Shaido might don veils, even here, if we did not send Rand al’Thor into Rhuidean before they could think.”

“You think they’d have tried to kill him?” Dani said. “But Nynaeve said he’s the one you sent people over the Dragonwall to find. He Who Comes With the Dawn.”

Bair shifted her shawl. “Perhaps he is. We shall see. If he lives.”

“He has his mother’s eyes,” Amys said, “and much of her in his face as well as something of his father, but Couladin could see only his clothes, and his horse. The other Shaido would have as well, and perhaps the Taardad, too. Outlanders are not allowed on this ground, and now there are eighteen of you. No, seventeen; Rand al’Thor is no outlander, wherever he was raised. But we have already allowed one to enter Rhuidean, which is also forbidden. Change comes like an avalanche whether we want it or not.”

“It must come,” Bair said, not sounding happy. “The Pattern plants us where it will.”

“You knew Rand’s parents?” Moiraine said leadingly.

“That is his story,” Amys said, “if he wants to hear it.” By the firmness of her mouth, she would not say another word on the subject.

“Come,” Bair said. “There is no need for haste, now. Come. We offer you water and shade.” Dani welcomed the mention of shade. The once-sopping kerchief around her forehead was almost dry; the top of her head felt baked, and the rest of her scarcely less. Moiraine seemed just as grateful to follow the Wise Ones up to one of the small clusters of low, open-sided tents.

A tall man in sandals and hooded white robes took Moiraine’s horse’s reins. His Aiel face looked odd in the deep soft cowl, with downcast eyes.

“Give the animal water,” Bair said before ducking into the low, un-walled tent, and the man bowed to her back, touching his forehead.

It looked wonderfully darker inside the tent, and Dani was not so married to her dignity that she hesitated to rush in. It was delightfully cool compared to outside. The roof of the tent rose to a peak around a hole, but even under that there was barely room to stand. As if to make up for the drab colours the Aiel wore, large gold-tasselled red cushions lay scattered over brightly coloured carpets layered thickly enough to pad the hard ground beneath. Dani and Moiraine imitated the Wise Ones, sinking to the carpet and leaning on one elbow on a cushion. They were all in a circle, nearly close enough to touch the next woman.

Bair struck a small brass gong, and two young women entered with silver trays, bending gracefully, robed in white, with deep cowls and downturned eyes, like the man who had taken the horses. Kneeling in the middle of the tent, one filled a small silver cup with wine for each of the women reclining on a cushion, and the other poured larger cups of water. Without a word, they backed out bowing, leaving the gleaming trays and pitchers, beaded with condensation.

“Here is water and shade,” Bair said, lifting her water, “freely given. Let there be no constraints between us. All here are welcome, as first-sisters are welcome.”

“Let there be no constraints,” Amys and the other two murmured. After one sip of water, the Aiel women named themselves formally. Bair, of the Haido sept of the Shaarad Aiel. Amys, of the Nine Valleys sept of the Taardad Aiel. Melaine, of the Jhirad sept of the Goshien Aiel. Seana, of the Black Cliff sept of the Nakai Aiel.

Dani and Moiraine followed the ritual. As if the sharing of water and names had broken down a wall, the mood in the tent changed palpably. Smiles from the Aiel women, a subtle relaxation, and said formalities were done. Dani was more grateful for the water than for the wine. It might be cooler in the tent than outside, but just breathing still dried her throat. At Amys’ gesture she eagerly poured a second cup.

The people in white had been a surprise. It was foolish, but she realized she had been thinking that except for the Wise Ones Aiel were all like Rhuarc and Aviendha, warriors. Of course they had blacksmiths and weavers and other craftsmen; they must. Why not servants? Only, Aviendha had been disdainful of the servants in the Stone, not letting them do anything for her that she could avoid. These people with their humble demeanour did not act like Aiel at all. She did not recall seeing any white in the two large camps. “Is it only Wise Ones who have servants?” she asked.

Melaine choked on her wine. “Servants?” she gasped. “They are _gai’shain_ , not servants.” She sounded as if that should explain everything.

Moiraine frowned slightly over her winecup. “ _Gai’shain_? How does that translate? ‘Those sworn to peace in battle’?”

“They are simply _gai’shain_ ,” Amys said. She seemed to realize they did not understand. “Forgive me, but do you know of _ji’e’toh_?”

“Honour and obligation,” Moiraine replied promptly. “Or perhaps honour and duty.”

“Those are the words, yes. But the meaning. We live by _ji’e’toh_ , Aes Sedai.”

“Do not try to tell them all, Amys,” Bair cautioned. “I once spent a month trying to explain _ji’e’toh_ to a wetlander, and at the end she had more questions than at the beginning.”

Amys nodded. “I will stay to the core. If you wish it explained, Moiraine.”

“Yes, if you will,” the Aes Sedai said.

With a nod to Moiraine, Amys began. “I will follow the line of _gai’shain_ simply. In the dance of spears, the most _ji_ , honour, is earned by touching an armed enemy without killing, or harming in any way.”

“The most honour because it is so difficult,” Seana said, bluish grey eyes crinkling wryly, “and thus so seldom done.”

“The smallest honour comes from killing,” Amys continued. “A child or a fool can kill. In between is the taking of a captive. I pare it down, you see. There are many degrees. _Gai’shain_ are captives taken so, though a warrior who has been touched may sometimes demand to be taken _gai’shain_ to reduce his enemy’s honour and his own loss.”

“Maidens of the Spear and Stone Dogs especially are known for this,” Seana put in, bringing a sharp look from Amys.

“Do I tell this, or do you? To continue. Some may not be taken _gai’shain_ , of course. A Wise One, a blacksmith, a child, a woman with child or one who has a child under the age of ten. A _gai’shain_ has _toh_ to his or her captor. For _gai’shain_ , this is to serve one year and a day, obeying humbly, touching no weapon, doing no violence.”

“Don’t they try to escape?” Dani asked. “I certainly would.”

The Wise Ones looked shocked. “It has happened,” Seana said stiffly, “but there is no honour in it. A _gai’shain_ who ran away would be returned by his or her sept to begin the year and a day anew. The loss of honour is so great that a first-brother or first-sister might go as _gai’shain_ as well to discharge the sept’s _toh_. More than one, if they feel the loss of _ji_ is great.”

Moiraine seemed to be taking it all in calmly, sipping her water. Despite her initial aversion, Dani was growing intrigued. The Aiel were obviously not the unthinking and uncultured savages that she’d always heard them derided as.

“Some _gai’shain_ now make an arrogance of humbleness,” Melaine said disapprovingly. “They think they earn honour by it, taking obedience and meekness to the point of mockery. This is a new thing and foolish. It has no part in _ji’e’toh_.”

Bair laughed, a startling rich sound compared to her reedy voice. “There have always been fools. When I was a girl, and the Shaarad and the Tomanelle were stealing each other’s cattle and goats every night, Chenda, the roofmistress of Mainde Cut, was pushed aside by a young Haido Water Seeker during a raid. She came to Bent Valley and demanded the boy make her _gai’shain_ ; she would not allow him to gain the honour of having touched her because she had a carving knife in her hands when he did. A carving knife! It was a weapon, she claimed, as if she were a Maiden. The boy had no choice but to do as she demanded, for all the laughter when he did. One does not send a roofmistress barefoot back to her hold. Before the year and a day was done, the Haido sept and the Jenda sept exchanged spears, and the boy soon found himself married to Chenda’s eldest daughter. With his second-mother still _gai’shain_ to him. He tried to give her to his wife as part of his bride gift, and both women claimed he was trying to rob them of honour. He nearly had to take his own wife as _gai’shain_. It came close to raiding between Haido and Jenda again before the _toh_ was discharged.” The Aiel women almost fell over laughing, Amys and Melaine wiping their eyes. Dani understood little of the story, and certainly not why it was funny.

Moiraine wasn’t laughing either. She set her water aside for the small silver cup of wine. “I have heard men speak of fighting the Aiel, but I have never heard of this before. Certainly not of an Aiel surrendering because he was touched.”

“It is not surrender,” Amys said pointedly. “It is _ji’e’toh_.”

“No-one would ask to be made _gai’shain_ to a wetlander,” Melaine said. “Outlanders do not know of _ji’e’toh_.”

The Aiel women exchanged looks. They were uncomfortable. _Why?_ Dani wondered. _Oh_. To the Aiel, not to know _ji’e’toh_ must be like not knowing manners, or not being honourable. “There are honourable men and women among us,” Dani said stiffly.

“Of course you do,” Bair murmured in a tone that said that was not the same thing at all.

“You sent a letter to me in Tear,” Moiraine said, “before I ever reached there. You said a great many things, some of which have proven true. Including that I would—must—meet you here today; you very nearly commanded me to be here. Yet earlier you said _if_ I came. How much of what you wrote did you know to be true?”

Amys sighed and set aside her cup of wine, but it was Bair who spoke. “Much is uncertain, even to a dreamwalker. Amys and Melaine are the best of us, and even they do not see all that is, or all that can be.”

“The present is much clearer than the future even in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ ,” the sun-haired Wise One said. “What _is_ happening or beginning is more easily seen than what _will_ happen, or _may_. We did not see Mat Cauthon or the Ogier and the other wetlanders who came with you at all. It was no more than an even chance that the young man who calls himself Rand al’Thor would come. If he did not, it was certain that he would die, and the Aiel, too. Yet he has come, and if he survives Rhuidean, some of the Aiel at least will survive. This we know. If you had not come, he would have died. If _Aan’allein_ had not come, you would have died. If you do not go through the rings—” She cut off as if she had bitten her tongue.

Dani leaned forward intently. Moiraine had to enter Rhuidean? But the Aes Sedai appeared to give no notice, and Seana spoke up quickly to cover Melaine’s slip.

“There is no one set path to the future. The Pattern makes the finest lace look coarse woven sacking, or tangled string. In _Tel’aran’rhiod_ it is possible to see some ways the future may be woven. No more than that.”

Moiraine took a sip of wine. “The Old Tongue is often difficult to translate.” Dani stared at her. _The Old Tongue? What about the rings, the_ ter’angreal _?_ But Moiraine went blithely on. “ _Tel’aran’rhiod_ means the World of Dreams, or perhaps the Unseen World. Neither is really exact; it is more complex than that. _Aan’allein_. One Man, but also The Man Who Is an Entire People, and two or three other ways to translate it as well. And the words we have taken for common use, and never think of their meanings in the Old Tongue. Warders are called ‘Gaidin’, which was ‘brothers to battle’. Aes Sedai meant ‘servant of all’. And ‘Aiel’. ‘Dedicated’, in the Old Tongue. Stronger than that; it implies an oath written into your bones. I have often wondered what the Aiel are dedicated to.” The Wise Ones’ faces had gone to iron, but Moiraine continued. “And ‘Jenn Aiel’. ‘The true dedicated’, but again stronger. Perhaps ‘the only true dedicated’. The only true Aiel?” She looked at them questioningly, just as if they did not suddenly have eyes of stone. None of them spoke.

Abruptly Moiraine rose to her knees; reaching behind her, she began undoing her dress. “I presume that I must go as Aviendha did,” she said, not as a question.

Bair gave Melaine a hard stare that the younger woman met only for a moment before dropping her eyes. Seana said in a resigned voice, “You should not have been told. It is done, now. Change. One not of the blood has gone to Rhuidean, and now another.”

Moiraine paused. “Does that make a difference, that I have been told?”

“Perhaps a great difference,” Bair said reluctantly, “perhaps none. We often guide, but we do not tell. When we saw you go to the rings, each time it was you who brought up going, who demanded the right though you have none of the blood. Now one of us has mentioned it first. Already there are changes from anything we saw. Who can say what they are?”

“And what did you see if I do not go?”

Bair’s wrinkled face was expressionless, but sympathy touched her pale blue eyes. “We have told too much already, Moiraine. What a dreamwalker sees is what is likely to happen, not what surely will. Those who move with too much knowledge of the future inevitably find disaster, whether from complacency at what they think must come or in their efforts to change it.”

“It is the mercy of the rings that the memories fade,” Amys said. “A woman knows some things—a few—that will happen; others she will not recognize until the decision is upon her, if then. Life is uncertainty and struggle, choice and change; one who knew how her life was woven into the Pattern as well as she knew how a thread was laid into a carpet would have the life of an animal. If she did not go mad. Humankind is made for uncertainty, struggle, choice and change.”

Dani winced at that, and could not help but recall her friend Min, whose visions of the future never failed. Min had never taken much pleasure in her strange gift but, even with that being so, Amys’ description rang harshly on Dani’s ears.

Moiraine listened with no outward show of impatience, though Dani suspected it was there; the Aes Sedai was used to lecturing, not being lectured. She was silent while Dani helped her out of her dress, and while she sat with her bare back to them, sliding her stockings down her slender legs, she did not even ask for privacy as she rose to her knees and shed her panties; black silk, intricately frilled, expensive and very pretty, much like the slender bottom they had hid. And was everyone Dani met today going to wave their naked buttocks at her!? She half expected Loial to suddenly thrust his giant backside through the opening of the tent and waggle it at them. A girl could only take so much.

Moiraine did not speak until she crouched naked at the edge of the carpets, peering down the mountainside toward the fog-shrouded city in the valley. Then she said, “Do not let Lan follow me. He will try, if he sees me.”

“It will be as it will be,” Bair replied. Her thin voice sounded cold and final.

After a moment, Moiraine gave a grudging nod and slipped out of the tent into the blazing sunlight. She began to run immediately, barefoot down the scorching slope.

Dani grimaced. Rand and Mat, Aviendha, now Moiraine, all going into Rhuidean. “Will she ... survive? If you dreamed of this, you must know.”

“There are some places one cannot enter in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ ,” Seana said. “Rhuidean. Ogier _stedding_. A few others. What happens there is shielded from a dreamwalker’s eyes.”

That was not an answer—they could have seen whether she came out of Rhuidean—but it was obviously all she was going to get. “Very well. Should I go, too?” She did not relish the thought of experiencing the rings; it would be like being raised to Accepted again. But if everyone else was going ...

“Do not be foolish,” Amys said vigorously.

“We saw nothing of this for you,” Bair added in a milder tone. “We did not see you at all.”

“And I would not say yes if you asked,” Amys went on. “Four are required for permission, and I would say no.”

“I see,” Dani said slowly, and quite dishonestly.

Seana studied her with shrewd eyes. “You are wondering why we wish you to remain. It is good that you see such things. What else have you seen?”

“Rhuarc will be able to tell me much of what happened in the wetlands, and of Rand al’Thor, but he is a man, and sees things as a man, and an Aiel. You are neither.” Amys’ face was a stern mask.

Dani’s lips quirked wryly. Of course. Rand. In the Stone, everyone, noble or common, had wanted to know about Rand, and almost none had had the nerve to ask him directly. Those who were known to have travelled with him, though, they were much easier game. Nynaeve had gotten tired of the questions a mere day after he drew _Callandor_ , and even Elayne’s tolerance hadn’t lasted much longer. “I really don’t know him that well,” she said.

“Are you his lover?” Melaine asked with not a hint of embarrassment.

Dani felt her cheeks turn hot. “I most certainly am not! Where would you get such an idea?” she spluttered. All she’d done was peek!

Melaine waved a conciliatory hand. “It was a question, not an accusation. Do his interests extend to women, or men? Both? Neither?”

“Oh, definitely women,” Dani confided with a shake of her head. “He is, at the risk of being crass, a bit of a slut.”

“If you are not his lover yet, do you plan to become so? How do you know him?” the sun-haired Wise One continued relentlessly.

Dani would have walked out of the room by now if anyone had accosted her with such questions on the other side of the Dragonwall. But who knew what would become of her here in the Waste if she made an enemy of these women? “Rand al’Thor barely even knows I exist. If it’s insight into his personal life you’re looking for, you need to talk to the two outside. The one with the golden eyes, and the Tinker. They are both sleeping with him.”

The Wise Ones were watching her closely, and all four looked grim. “A Lost One,” Amys said after a long silence. “That was part of no dream I had.” Dani wasn’t sure why, but she suddenly felt worried.


	53. Rhuidean

The smooth pebble in Mat’s mouth was not making moisture anymore, and had not been for some time. Spitting it out, he squatted beside Rand and stared at the billowing grey wall maybe thirty paces in front of them. Fog. He hoped at least it was cooler in there than out here. And some water would be appreciated. His lips were cracking. He pulled the scarf from around his head and wiped his face, but there was not much sweat to dampen the cloth. Not much sweat remained in him to come out. A place to sit down. His feet felt like cooked sausages inside his boots; he felt pretty well cooked all over, for that matter.

Rand looked a lot worse. At least by squatting like that he was shielding his tenderest parts from the sun for a while, but the rest of him was already turning red from the sun. Mat would have helped if he could. He would! It was not as if those other hims had done those things out of cruelty or heartlessness. They’d always had good reasons. Just as he had good reason to keep a safe distance from Rand once he’d become a channeler. And from Raye.

His throat was so dry that swallowing felt like sanding a new table. Had Raye really been Rand, and had Matti really been Mat? It was beyond unnerving to think of it. Raye had been a beautiful woman, just as Rand was a handsome man. With his being so close and so unapologetically naked, it was hard not to notice. Something else was threatening to get hard, too, so Mat turned his attention back to Rhuidean.

The fog stretched left and right better than a mile and bulked over his head like a towering cliff. A cliff of thick mist in the middle of a barren blistered valley. There had to be water in there. _Why doesn’t it burn off?_ He did not like that part of it. Fooling with the Power had brought him here, and now it seemed he had to fool with it again. _Light, I want free of the Power and Aes Sedai. Burn me, I do!_ Anything not to think of stepping into that fog, for just a minute more. “That _was_ Elayne’s Aiel friend I saw running,” he croaked. Running! In this heat. Just thinking of it made his feet hurt worse. “Aviendha. Whatever her name is.”

“If you say so,” Rand said, studying the fog. He sounded as if he had a mouthful of dust, his face was sunburned, and he wavered unsteadily in his indecent crouch. “But what would she be doing down here? And naked?”

Mat let it go. Rand had not seen her—he had hardly taken his eyes off the roiling mist since starting down the mountain—and he did not believe Mat had seen her either. Running like a madwoman and keeping wide of the two of them. Heading for this strange fog, it had seemed to him. Rand appeared no more eager to step into that than he was. He wondered whether he looked as bad as Rand did. Touching his cheek, he winced. He expected he did.

“You don’t have to go in, just because those Aes Sedai told you to,” Mat said.

“I suspect my going in there—or coming to the Waste at all—is the last thing Moiraine wants.”

“Not her. The Aiel ones.”

Rand did look at him then, but only to scoff. “Those were Wise Ones, Mat. Were you paying any attention at all?”

“Whatever they call themselves, they are Aes Sedai. They can channel, and that makes them Aes Sedai.” He glanced at Rand and gave a ragged laugh. “That makes you Aes Sedai, the Light help u all.”

Rand’s lips twisted, and he looked away again. “I suppose that’s a step up from being a mad killer, at least.”

“Just about,” Mat muttered. He imagined Rand was thinking of that Alanna, just as Mat was thinking of Joline. He was tempted to tell him about what she’d done. It seemed fair, since Alanna had blabbed to everyone earlier. Besides, Rand might well be the only person he could talk to about that stuff. But his nerve failed him, so what he said was, “Are we going to stay out here all night? This valley is pretty deep. It’ll be dark down here in another couple of hours. Might be cooler then, but I don’t think I would like to meet whatever runs around this place in the night. Lions, probably. I’ve heard there are lions in the Waste.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Mat? You heard what the Wise Ones said. You can die in there, or go mad. You can make it back to the tents. You left waterbottles and a waterbag on Pips’ saddle.”

He wished Rand had not reminded him. Best not to think about water. “Burn me, no, I don’t want to. I _have_ to. What about you? Isn’t being the bloody Dragon Reborn enough for you? Do you have to be a flaming Aiel clan chief, too? Why are you here?”

“I have to be, Mat. I have to be.” Resignation came through the parch in his voice, but something else, too. A hint of eagerness. The man really was mad; he _wanted_ to do this.

“Rand, maybe that’s the answer they give everybody. Those snake people, I mean. Go to Rhuidean. Maybe we don’t have to be here at all.” He did not believe it, but with that fog staring him in the face ...

Rand turned his head to look at him, not speaking. Finally he said, “They never mentioned Rhuidean to me, Mat. Why did they say you had to come here?”

“Oh, burn me,” he muttered. Somehow or other he meant to find a way back through that twisted doorway in Tear. Absently he pulled the gold Tar Valon mark from his coat pocket, rolled it across the backs of his fingers and thrust it back. Those snaky folk were going to give him a few more answers whether they wanted to or not. Somehow. Not that those answers were anyone’s business but his, mind.

Rand waited for a time but, when Mat gave no further explanation, he rose and started toward the fog in an unsteady stride, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Mat hurried after him. _Burn me. Burn me. I do not want to do this_.

Rand plunged right into the dense mist, but Mat hesitated a moment before following. It had to be the Power maintaining the fog, after all, with its edge boiling so but never advancing or retreating an inch. The bloody Power, and no bloody choice. That first step was a blessed relief, cool and damp; he opened his mouth to let the mist moisten his tongue. Three steps more and he began to worry. Beyond the tip of his nose was only featureless grey. He could not make out even a shadow that could be Rand.

“Rand?” The sound might as well not have come from his mouth; the murk seemed to swallow it before it reached his own ears. He was not even sure of his direction anymore, and he could always remember his way. Anything might be ahead of him. Or under his feet. He could not see his feet; the fog shrouded him completely below the waist. He picked up his pace regardless. And suddenly stepped out beside Rand into a peculiar shadowless light.

The fog made an enormous hollow dome hiding the sky, its bubbling inner surface glowing in a pale sharp blue. Rhuidean was not nearly so big as Tear or Caemlyn, but the empty streets were broad as any he had ever seen, with wide strips of bare dirt down their centres as if trees had grown there once, and great fountains with statues. Huge buildings flanked the streets, odd flat-sided palaces of marble and crystal and cut glass, ascending hundreds of feet in steps or sheer walls. There was not a small building to be seen, nothing that might have been a simple tavern or an inn or a stable. Only immense palaces, with gleaming columns fifty feet thick climbing three hundred feet in red or white or blue, and grand towers, fluted and spiralled, some piercing the glowing clouds above.

For all its grandeur, the city had never been finished. Many of those tremendous structures ended in the sawteeth of abandoned construction. Coloured glass made images in some huge windows: serenely majestic men and women thirty feet tall or more, sunrises and starry night skies; others gaped emptily. Unfinished and long deserted. No water splashed in any fountain. Silence covered the city as completely as the dome of fog. The air was cooler than outside, but just as arid. Dust grated under foot on pale smooth paving stones.

Mat trotted to the nearest fountain anyway, just on the off chance, and leaned on the waist-high white rim. Three unclothed women, twice as tall as he and supporting an odd wide-mouthed fish over their heads, peered down into a wide dusty basin no dryer than his mouth.

“Of course,” Rand said behind him. “I should have thought of this before.”

Mat looked over his shoulder. “Thought of what?” Rand was staring at the fountain, shaking with silent laughter. “Get hold of yourself, Rand. You didn’t go crazy in the last minute. You should have thought of what?”

A hollow gurgling whipped Mat’s eyes back to the fountain. Abruptly water gushed out of the fish’s mouth, a stream as thick as his leg. He scrambled into the basin and ran to stand under the downpour, head back and mouth open. Cold sweet water, cold enough to make him shiver, sweeter than wine. It soaked his hair, his coat, his breeches. He drank until he thought he would drown, finally staggering over to lean panting against a woman’s stone leg.

Rand was still standing there staring at the fountain, face red and lips cracked, laughing softly. His arms, legs and torso were all burned an angry shade of red, even his flaccid cock seemed to have sunburn; Mat winced just thinking of it, but the mad fool still stood there, looking at the gushing water. “No water, Mat. They said we couldn’t bring water, but they did not say anything about what was already here.”

“Rand? Aren’t you going to drink?”

Rand gave a start, then stepped into the now ankle-deep basin and splashed across to stand where Mat had been, drinking in the same way, eyes closed and face tilted up to let the water pour over him. He let out a long sigh of relief and leaned against the fountain, letting its water cascade over his back.

Mat watched worriedly. Not mad, exactly; not yet. But how long would Rand have stood there laughing while thirst turned his throat to stone if he had not spoken? Mat left him there and climbed out of the fountain. Some of the water drenching his clothes had seeped down into his boots. He ignored the squish he made at every step; he was not sure he could get his boots back on if he pulled them off. Besides, it felt good.

Peering at the city, he wondered what he was doing there. Those people had said he would die, otherwise, but was just being in Rhuidean enough? _Do I have to do something? What?_

The empty streets and half-finished palaces were shadowless in the pale azure light. A prickling grew between his shoulder blades. All those empty windows looking down on him, all those gap-toothed lines of forsaken stonework. Anything could be hiding in there, and in a place like this, anything could be ... _Any bloody thing at all_. He wished he still had his boot knives, at least. But those women, those Wise Ones, had stared at him as if they knew he was holding out on them. And they had channelled, one or all of them. It was not wise to step on the wrong side of women who could channel if you could avoid it. _Burn me, if I could get shut of Aes Sedai, I’d never ask for another thing. Well, not for a good long while, anyway. Light, I wonder if anything is hiding in here_.

“The heart has to be that way, Mat.” Rand was climbing out of the basin, dripping wet. Rivulets of water traced their ways down his muscular body. _Light, is he doing that deliberately, or does it just come naturally?_ The sight reminded Mat of bored and curious summers on the Waterwood. Long over and done with, those. It reminded him of Raye, too, who he’d never even met really but who had been as hard to look away from.

Mat shook his head to dispel those unwelcome memories. “The heart?”

“The Wise Ones said I had to go to the heart. They must mean the centre of the city.” Rand looked back at the fountain and suddenly the flow dwindled to a trickle, then ceased. “There’s an ocean of good water down there. Deep. So deep I nearly didn’t find it. If I could bring it up ... No need to waste it, though. We can get another good drink when it’s time to leave.”

Mat shifted his feet uncomfortably. _Fool! Where did you think it came from? Of course he bloody channelled. Did you think it just started flowing again after the Light knows how long?_

“Centre of the city. Of course. Lead on.”

They kept to the middle of the wide street, walking along the edge of the bare strips of dirt, past more dry fountains, some with only the stone basin and a marble base where the statues should have been. Nothing was broken in the city, only ... incomplete. The palaces loomed to either side like cliffs. There had to be things inside. Furniture, maybe, if it had not rotted. Maybe gold. Knives. Knives would not rust away in this dry air no matter how long they had been there.

 _There could be a bloody Myrddraal in there for all you know. Light, why did I have to think of that?_ If only he had thought to bring a quarterstaff with him when he left the Stone. Maybe he could have convinced the Wise Ones it was a walking staff. No use thinking of it, now. A tree would do, if he had a way to cut a good branch and trim it. If, again. He wondered whether whoever built this city had managed to grow any trees. He had worked on his father’s farm too long not to know good dirt when he saw it. These long ribbons of exposed soil were poor, no good for growing anything besides weeds, and not many of those. None, now.

After they had walked a mile, the street suddenly ended at a great plaza, perhaps as far across as they had walked and surrounded by those palaces of marble and crystal. Startlingly, a tree stood in the huge square, a good hundred feet tall and spreading its thick, leafy limbs over a hide of dusty white paving stones, near what appeared to be concentric rings of clear, glittering glass columns, thin as needles compared to their height, nearly as much as the tree’s. He would have wondered how a tree could grow here, without sunlight, if he had not been too busy staring at the astounding jumble filling the rest of the square.

A clear lane led from each street Mat could see, straight to the columned rings, but in the spaces between, statues stood haphazardly, life-sized down to half that, in stone or crystal or metal, set right down on the pavement. All among them were ... He did not know what to call them, at first. A flat silvery ring, ten feet across and thin as a blade. A tapering crystal plinth three feet tall that might have held one of the smaller statues. A shiny black metal spire, narrow as a spear and no longer, yet standing on end as if rooted. Hundreds of things, maybe thousands, in every shape imaginable, every material imaginable, dotting the huge plaza with no more than a dozen feet between any two.

It was the black metal spear, so unnaturally erect, that suddenly told him what they must be. _Ter’angreal_. Some sort of things to do with the Power, anyway. Some of them had to be. That twisted stone doorway in the Stone’s Great Holding had resisted falling over, too.

He was ready to turn around and go back right then, but Rand continued on, barely looking at what lined his way. Once Rand paused, staring down at two figurines that hardly seemed to deserve a place with the other things. Two statuettes maybe a foot tall, a man and a woman, each holding a crystal sphere aloft in one hand. He half-bent as if to touch them, but straightened so quickly it could almost have been Mat’s imagination.

After a minute, Mat followed, hurrying to catch up. The closer they came to the scintillating rings of columns, the more he tensed. Those things all around them had to do with the Power, and so did the columns. He just knew it. Those impossibly tall thin shafts sparkled in the bluish light, dazzling the eye. _All they said was I had to come here. Well, I’m here. They didn’t say anything about the bloody Power_.

Rand stopped so suddenly that Mat went three strides nearer the columned rings before realizing it. Rand was staring at the tree, Mat saw. The tree. Mat found himself moving toward it as if drawn. No tree had those trefoil leaves. No tree but one; a tree of legend.

“ _Avendesora_ ,” Rand said softly. “The Tree of Life. It’s here.”

Under the spreading branches, Mat leaped to catch one of those leaves; his outstretched fingers fell well short of the lowest. He satisfied himself with walking deeper beneath that leafy roof and leaning back against the thick bole. After a moment he slid down to sit against it. The old stories were true. He felt ... Contentment. Peace. Well-being. Even his feet did not bother him much.

Rand sat down cross-legged nearby. “I can believe the stories. Ghoetam, sitting beneath _Avendesora_ for forty years to gain wisdom. Right now, I can believe.” He sounded a lot like his old self suddenly.

Mat let his head fall back against the trunk. “I don’t know that I’d trust birds to bring me food, though. You’d have to get up sometime.” _But an hour or so would not be bad. Even all day_. “It doesn’t make sense anyway. What kind of food could birds bring in here? What birds?”

“Maybe Rhuidean wasn’t always like this, Mat. Maybe ... I don’t know. Maybe _Avendesora_ was somewhere else, then.”

“Somewhere else,” Mat murmured. “I would not mind being somewhere else.” _It feels ... good ... though_.

“Somewhere else?” Rand had closed his eyes, and a drunk–looking smile curved his lips. “You always want to be somewhere else these days. At least when I’m around.”

Mat let his eyes drift half-closed as his aches and pains floated away. “If you hadn’t turned out to be a channeler, I wouldn’t. But it is what it is,” he sighed.

Rand huffed a laugh. “It is, indeed, what it is.”

Mat yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Joline Maza bonded me, kind of like Alanna did you,” he said without hesitation. “She reckons that means I have to obey her, and gets all surprised when I don’t. Fool Aes Sedai. I’m nobody’s pet.”

Rand blinked at him, a frown trying and failing to form on his face. “That wasn’t very nice. I guess I should be fairer to Moiraine. At least she never did stuff like that to us.”

“I suppose.”

“Are you okay? Nah, silly question. Of course you’re not. I’m not either. It felt like being raped does,” Rand said, still smiling that dopey smile.

Mat had never experienced that, but some of his other selves had. “I suppose,” he said. The comparison didn’t sit as comfortably with him as it did with Rand. “Wait. Have you ever been raped?”

“Yes. But that’s okay. It won’t stop me from doing my job.”

Despite the lassitude that suffused him, Mat was roused to a semblance of anger. “Light, Rand! That’s not okay. It’s not even close to okay!”

A quiet moment passed, in which Rand smiled at him a bit sadly. “So you still care that much. I’m glad. We had some good times, Mat. I wish it could all just be the way it was, but I won’t ask why it can’t. I understand.”

“That reminds me of something Raye said once.”

Rand’s brows rose. “You met Raye?”

Mat smirked. “I did a hell of a lot more than ‘meet’ her.”

The laughter that burst from Rand was an easy, relaxed thing. He really did sound more like his normal old self now, even when talking about something that couldn’t have been further from normal. He seemed to sense the change, as well, for he smiled up at _Avendesora_ ’s branches. “There were no trees like this in the Theren. Or anywhere else probably.”

Mat nodded agreement, and then abruptly snickered. “There’s one tree I remember seeing in the Theren.” Rand had started to get a hardon, his big pink cock rising out of the planter made by his crossed legs.

Instead of being embarrassed, Rand just laughed softly. “I can remember many a time you were quite happy to see it.”

“Same for you and my mighty oak,” Mat teased. He felt himself getting hard, too. _We should go. What did we come here to do again?_

Rand was looking at him with his cool blue eyes, so unlike anyone else’s back home. Mat had always liked his eyes. “Hey, Mat?”

“Hmmm?”

“Do you want to make out?” he asked casually.

“But you’re all sunburned,” Mat objected. He had the feeling there should be other reasons to object, but that was the only one that came to mind just then.

“Only on the outside. And it doesn’t hurt half so bad all of a sudden. Nothing does, not even the wound in my side.” Rand closed his eyes and smiled blissfully. He was a very handsome boy, was Rand. Nearly as handsome as that Galad fellow, who Mat had met in Tar Valon; they actually looked a bit alike now that he thought about it. There seemed no reason not to lean over and kiss him, so that was just what Mat did.

He was glad they were on the ground, because the world seemed to be spinning around them. Mat didn’t know if the tree was doing something to them, or if the heat of the Waste had cooked his brains, or if he’d just missed Rand’s touch; but for whatever reason everything went kind of floaty after that.

One moment Rand’s hands were in his hair and they were kissing deeply. The next his breeches were down around his ankles and they were stroking each other’s cocks. He didn’t remember taking his shirt off, but he distinctly remembered taking hold of Rand’s hips and guiding him to crouch over him, on account of the way he smiled over it.

“You were watching me. And thinking things you shouldn’t have been thinking.”

“You know I was. And you know what I want,” Mat said.

Rand took hold of his cock and positioned it at his entrance, and then squatted lower. His ass caressed the head for a while before it popped inside his tight hole. Mat groaned in satisfaction as that tight ring slid down along his shaft until every inch of him was engulfed in Rand’s warmth. He enjoyed the way Rand rode him, and enjoyed seeing the evidence of how much Rand was enjoying it, too. Mat’s hands found that stiff shaft and caressed it expertly, inspiring Rand to ride him faster, his ass moving up and down Mat’s cock energetically.

But as good as that felt, there was something else Mat wanted, something he’d been denied for a long time. Considerate to a fault, Rand stopped moving as soon as Mat said, and climbed off him after the gentlest of pushes. Mat got to his feet, turned around and hugged the trunk of the Tree of Life. No words were spoken then. Rand stretched him wide and fucked him deep while Mat clung to _Avendesora_. Only when he’d filled Mat to the brim did Rand hiss out the breath he’d been holding.

“I’ve missed that ass,” he said.

“Given all the cuties you’ve surrounded yourself with, I’m actually flattered.”

“You’re as cute as any of them, Matti,” he teased.

To his surprise, Mat blushed. That huge shaft felt nice in his ass, but it had felt even better in his pussy. His mind addled by the Tree’s influence and by the memories of what had never been, Mat stood there and let Rand ravage him for he knew not how long. They only stopped when Mat’s knees gave out. Rand tried to ask if he was alright as he disengaged himself and eased him gently to the ground, but Mat wasn’t interested in talking anymore.

He pounced on the other man, pushing him back. Brief kisses were exchanged, but soon Mat was working his way into Rand’s tight butt as his long legs rested on Mat’s shoulders. That was sweet, the way it squeezed him every inch of the way until his hips rested against Rand’s cheeks. Thought faded a bit after that. He definitely remembered Rand lying with his arms outstretched, staring up at both Mat’s face and the branches of _Avendesora_ above them, laughing and smiling. He lost all track of time as they coupled. It was at once familiar, and very different. Not just because of where they were either. It wasn’t just Rand Mat was fucking, after all. The thought drifted up and lodged in his mind; he was fucking the Dragon Reborn. That realisation remained with him as Mat began to ride Rand faster. The abandoned city of Rhuidean spun around them, his body craved release and he felt suddenly powerful. He fucked Rand hard, both of them grunting and moaning. Mat bit his lip as he felt it begin, then cried out triumphantly as his warm cream flowed into the Dragon Reborn’s tight arse. When he reared up, he was a little surprised to see Rand’s own come smeared across his own chest and belly. Everything went dim after that.

Mat slept for a time. When he drifted awake once more, he found Rand sitting naked amidst the roots of _Avendesora_ , looking pensive; he was staring at the glittering spires nearby. _An artist could make a hell of a portrait of that_ , Mat thought. It was a pity it was just Mat there.

Wordlessly, he dragged his clothes over and began to get dressed.

Rand turned to watch him, and when Mat was done and glanced over at him, the man opened his mouth as though to speak. Mat jerked his gaze away, feeling suddenly awkward. Rand closed his mouth and smiled wistfully. He turned to look at the tall thin columns, shining so close. “Duty is heavier than a mountain,” he sighed.

That was part of a saying he had picked up in the Borderlands. “Death is lighter than a feather, duty heavier than a mountain”. It sounded like pure foolishness to Mat, but Rand was getting up. Mat copied him reluctantly. “What do you think we’ll find in there?”

“I think I have to go on alone from here,” Rand said slowly.

“What do you mean?” Mat demanded. “I’ve come this far, haven’t I? I am not going to turn tail now.” _Wouldn’t I just like to, though!_

“It isn’t that, Mat. If you go in there, you come out a clan chief, or you die. Or come out mad. I don’t believe there’s any other choice. Unless maybe the Wise Ones go in there.”

Mat hesitated. _To die and live again_. That was what they had said. He had no intention of trying to be an Aiel clan chief, though; the Aiel would probably stick spears through him. “We’ll leave it to luck,” he said, pulling the Tar Valon mark from his pocket. “Getting to be my lucky coin. Flame, I go in with you; head, I stay out.” He flipped the gold coin quickly, before Rand could object.

Somehow he missed grabbing it; the mark careened off his fingertips, clinked to the pavement, bounced twice ... And landed on edge.

He glared at Rand accusingly. “Do you do this sort of thing on purpose? Can’t you control it?”

“No.” Before Mat could respond, the coin fell over, showing an ageless woman’s face surrounded by stars. “It looks like you stay out here, Mat.”

“Did you just ...?” He wished Rand would not channel around him. “Oh, burn me, if you want me to stay out here, I’ll stay.” Snatching the coin up, he stuffed it back into his pocket. “Listen, you go in, do whatever it is you have to, and get back out. I want to leave this place, and I am not going to stand here forever twiddling my thumbs waiting for you. And you needn’t think I’ll come in after you, either, so you had best be careful.”

“I wouldn’t think that of you, Mat,” Rand said.

Mat stared at him suspiciously. What was he grinning at? “So long as you understand I won’t. Aaah, go on and be a bloody Aiel chief. You have the face for it.”

“Don’t come in there, Mat. Whatever happens, don’t.” He waited until Mat nodded before turning away.

Mat stood, watching him walk in among the glittering columns. In the shifting dazzle he seemed to vanish almost immediately. _A trick of the eye_ , Mat told himself. That was all it was. _A bloody trick of the eye_.

He started around the array, keeping well back, peering in in an effort to spot Rand again. “You look out what you’re bloody doing,” he shouted. “You leave me alone in the Waste with Moiraine and the bloody Aiel, and I’ll strangle you, Dragon Reborn or no!” After a minute, he added, “I’m not coming in there after you if you get yourself in trouble! You hear me?” There was no answer. _If he’s not out of there in an hour ..._ “He’s mad just going in there,” he muttered. “Well, I’ll not be the one to pull his bacon off the coals. He’s the one who can channel. If he’s put his head in a hornets’ nest, he can bloody channel his way out of it.” _I’ll give him an hour_. And then he would leave, whether Rand was back or not. Just turn around and leave. Just go. That was what he would do. He would.

The way those thin shafts of glass caught the bluish light, refracting and reflecting, merely looking too hard was enough to give him a headache. He turned away, wandering back the way he had come, uneasily eyeing the _ter’angreal_ —or whatever they were—filling the plaza. What was he doing there? Why?

Suddenly he stopped dead, staring at one of those strange objects. A large doorframe of polished redstone, twisted in some way he could not quite catch so his eye seemed to slip trying to follow it around. Slowly he made his way to it, between glittering faceted spires as tall as his head and low golden frames filled with what appeared to be sheets of glass, barely noticing them, never taking his eyes off the doorway.

It was the same. The same polished redstone, the same size, the same eye-wrenching corners. Along each upright ran three lines of triangles, points down. Had the one in Tear had those? He could not remember; he had not been trying to remember all the details last time. It _was_ the same; it had to be. Maybe he could not step through the other again, but this one ...? Another chance to get at those snake people, make them answer a few more questions.

Squinting against the glitters, he peered back toward the columns. An hour, he had given Rand. In an hour, he could be through this thing and back with time to spare. Maybe it would not even work for him, since he had used its twin. _They_ are _the same_. Then again, maybe it would. It just meant rubbing up against the Power one more time.

“Light,” he muttered. “ _Ter’angreal_. Portal Stones. Rhuidean. Even Rand. What difference can one more time make?”

He stepped through. Through a wall of blinding white light, through a roar so vast it annihilated sound.

Blinking, he looked around and bit back the vilest oath he knew. Wherever this was, it was not where he had gone before.

The twisted doorway stood in the middle of a huge chamber that appeared to be star-shaped, as near as he could make out through a forest of thick columns, each deeply fluted with eight ridges, the sharp edges yellow and glowing softly for light. Glossy black except for the glowing bits, they rose from a dull white floor into murky gloom far overhead where even the yellow stripes faded away. The columns and floor almost looked to be glass, but when he bent to rub a hand across the floor, it felt like stone. Dusty stone. He wiped his hand on his coat. The air had a musty smell, and his own footprints were the only marks in the dust. No-one had been here in a very long time.

Disappointed, he turned back to the _ter’angreal_. “A very long time.”

Mat spun back, snatching at his coatsleeve for a knife that was lying back on the mountainside. The man standing among the columns looked nothing at all like the snaky folk. He made Mat regret giving up those last blades to the Wise Ones.

The fellow was tall, taller than an Aiel, and sinewy, but with shoulders too wide for his narrow waist, and skin as white as the finest paper. Pale leather straps studded with silver crisscrossed his arms and bare chest, and a black kilt hung to his knees. His eyes were too big and almost colourless, set deep in a narrow-jawed face. His short-cut, palely reddish hair stood up like a brush, and his ears, lying flat against his head, had a hint of a point at the top. He leaned toward Mat, inhaling, opening his mouth to pull in more air, flashing sharp teeth. The impression he gave was of a fox about to leap on a cornered chicken.

“A very long time,” he said, straightening. His voice was rough, almost a growl. “Do you abide by the treaties and agreements? Do you carry iron, or instruments of music, or devices for making light?”

“I have none of those things,” Mat replied slowly. This was not the same place, but this fellow asked the same questions. And he behaved the same, with all that smelling _. Rummaging through my bloody experiences, is he? Well, let him. Maybe he’ll jog some loose so I can remember them, too_.

He wondered if he was speaking the Old Tongue again. It was uncomfortable, not knowing, not being able to tell. “If you can take me to where I can get a few questions answered, lead the way. If not, I will be going, with apologies for bothering you.”

“No!” Those big colourless eyes blinked in agitation. “You must not go. Come. I will take you where you may find what you need. Come.” He backed away, gesturing with both hands. “Come.”

Glancing at the _ter’angreal_ , Mat followed. He wished the man had not grinned at him just then. Maybe he meant to be reassuring, but those teeth ... Mat decided he would never give up all of his knives again, not for Wise Ones or the Amyrlin Seat herself.

The large five-sided doorway looked more like a tunnel mouth, for the corridor beyond was exactly the same size and shape, with those softly glowing yellow strips running along the bends, edging floor and ceiling. It seemed to stretch ahead forever, fading into a murky distance, broken at intervals by more of the great five-sided doorways. The kilted man did not turn to lead until they were both in the hallway, and even then he kept glancing over a wide shoulder as if to make certain Mat was still there. The air was no longer musty; instead it held a faint hint of something unpleasant, something tickling familiarly but not strong enough to recognize.

At the first of the doorways, Mat glanced through in passing, and sighed. Beyond star-shaped black columns, a twisted redstone doorway stood on a dull glassy white floor where dust showed the marks of one set of boots coming from the _ter’angreal_ , led toward the corridor by the prints of narrow bare feet. He looked over his shoulder. Instead of ending fifty paces back in another chamber like this, the hallway ran back as far as he could see, a mirror image of what lay ahead. His guide gave him a sharp-toothed smile; the fellow looked hungry.

He knew he should have expected something of the sort after what he had seen on the other side of the doorway in the Stone. Those spires moving from where they should be to where they could not, logically. If spires, why not rooms _? I should have stayed out there waiting for Rand, is what I should have done. I should have done a lot of things_. At least he would have no trouble finding the _ter’angreal_ again, if all of the doorways ahead were the same.

He peered into the next and saw black columns, the redstone _ter’angreal_ , his footprints and his guide’s in the dust. When the narrow-jawed man looked over his shoulder again, Mat gave him a toothy grin. “Never think you have caught a babe in your snare. If you try to cheat me, I will have your hide for a saddlecloth.”

The fellow started, pale eyes widening, then shrugged and adjusted the silver-studded straps across his chest; his mocking smile seemed tailored to draw attention to what he was doing. Suddenly Mat found himself wondering where that pale leather came from. Surely not ... _Oh, Light, I think it is_. He managed to stop himself from swallowing, but only just. “Lead, you son of a goat. Your hide is not worth silver studding. Take me where I want to go.”

With a snarl, the man hurried on, stiff-backed. Mat did not care if the fellow was offended. He did wish he had just one knife, though. _I’ll be burned if I’ll let some fox-faced goat-brain make a harness out of my hide_.

There was no way of telling how long they walked. The corridor never changed, with its bent walls and its glowing yellow strips. Every doorway showed the identical chamber, _ter’angreal_ , footprints and all. The sameness made time slip into formlessness. Mat worried about how long he had been there. Surely longer than the hour he had given himself. His clothes were only damp now; his boots no longer made squishing noises. But he walked, staring at his guide’s back, and walked.

Suddenly the corridor ended ahead in another doorway. Mat blinked. He could have sworn that a moment before the hall had stretched on as far as he could see. But he had been watching the sharp-toothed fellow more than what lay ahead. He looked back, and nearly swore. The corridor ran back until the glowing yellow strips seemed to come together in a point. And there was not an opening to be seen anywhere along it.

When he turned, he was alone in front of the big five-sided doorway. _Burn me, I wish they wouldn’t do that_. Taking a deep breath, he walked through.

It was another white-floored star-shaped chamber, not so large as the one—or ones—with columns. An eight-pointed star with a glassy black pedestal standing in each point, like a six feet slice out of one of those columns. Glowing yellow strips ran up the sharp edges of room and pedestals. The unpleasant smell was stronger here; he recognized it now. The smell of a wild animal’s lair. He hardly noticed it, though, because the chamber was empty except for him.

Turning slowly, he frowned at the pedestals. Surely someone should be up on them, whoever was supposed to answer his questions. He was being cheated. If he could come here, he should be able to get answers.

Suddenly he spun in a circle, searching not the pedestals but the smooth grey walls. The doorway was gone; there was no way out.

Yet before he completed a second turn there was someone standing on each pedestal, people like his guide, but dressed differently. Four were men, the others women, their stiff hair rising in a crest before spilling down their backs. All wore long white skirts that hid their feet. The women had on white blouses that fell below their hips, with high lace necks and pale ruffles at their wrists. The men wore even more straps than the guide, wider and studded with gold. Each harness supported a pair of bare-bladed knives on the wearer’s chest. Bronze blades, Mat judged from the colour, but he would have given all the gold in his possession for just one of them.

“Speak,” one of the women said in that growling voice. “By the ancient treaty, here is agreement made. What is your need? Speak.”

Mat hesitated. That was not what the snaky people had said. They were all staring at him like foxes staring at dinner. “Who is the Daughter of the Nine Moons and why do I have to marry her?” He hoped they would count that as one question.

No-one answered. None of them spoke. They just continued to stare at him with those big pale eyes.

“You are supposed to answer,” he said. Silence. “Burn your bones to ash, answer me! Who is the Daughter of the Nine Moons and why do I have to marry her? How will I die and live again? What does it mean that I have to give up half the light of the world? Those are my three questions. Say something!”

Dead silence. He could hear himself breathing, hear the blood throbbing in his ears.

“I have no intention of marrying. And I have no intention of dying, either, whether I am supposed to live again or not. I walk around with holes in my memory, holes in my life, and you stare at me like idiots. If I had my way, I would want those holes filled, but at least answers to my questions might fill some in my future. You have to answer—!”

“Done,” one of the men growled, and Mat blinked.

Done? What was done? What did he mean? “Burn your eyes,” he muttered. “Burn your souls. You are as bad as Aes Sedai. Well, I want a way to be free of Aes Sedai and the Power, and I want to be away from you and back to Rhuidean, if you will not answer me. Open up a door, and let me—”

“Done,” another man said, and one of the women echoed, “Done.”

Mat scanned the walls, then glared, turning to take them all in, standing up there on their pedestals staring down at him. “Done? What is done? I see no door. You lying goat-fathered—”

“Fool,” a woman said in a whispered growl, and others repeated it. Fool. Fool. Fool. “Wise to ask leavetaking, when you set no price, no terms.”

“Yet fool not to first agree on price.”

“We will set the price.”

They spoke so quickly he could not tell which said what. “What was asked will be given.”

“The price will be paid.”

“Burn you,” he shouted, “what are you talking—”

Utter darkness closed around him. There was something around his throat. He could not breathe Air. He could not ...


	54. The Road to the Spear

Not hesitating at the first row of columns, Rand made himself walk in among them. There could be no turning back now, no looking back _. Light, what is supposed to happen in here? What does it really do?_

Clear as the finest glass, perhaps a foot thick and standing three paces or more apart, the columns were a forest of dazzling light filled with cascading ripples and glares and odd rainbows. The air was cooler here, enough to make him wish he had a coat, but the same gritty dust covered the smooth white stone under his boots. Not a breeze stirred, yet something made each hair on his body shift.

Ahead and to the right he could just see another man, a naked man of Aiel build and colouring, stiff and statue-still in the changing lights. That must be Muradin, Couladin’s brother. Stiff and still; _something_ was happening. Strangely, considering the brilliance, Rand could make out the Aiel’s face clearly. Eyes wide and staring, face tight, mouth quivering on the brink of a snarl. Whatever he was seeing, he did not like it. But Muradin had survived that far, at least. If he could do it, Rand could. The man was six or seven paces ahead of him at best. Wondering why he and Mat had not seen Muradin go in, he took another step.

He rode behind a set of eyes, feeling but not controlling a body. The owner of those eyes stood at a high, rocky vantage, watching the sun set over the Three-fold Land. There was someone else nearby, moving just beyond sight but not beyond awareness. They were in a place Rand did not know, yet somehow he knew that it was home to the one whose eyes he watched through. Iron Hold was the name of the place of which that cave-like room was a part.

Janduin did not get to visit Iron Hold as often as he would like, now that he was chief of the Taardad. He had been spending a lot of time among the Shaarad and the Goshien clans of late, trying to mend the divide between them. It was a daunting task, but one he did not for a moment consider shirking. Nevertheless, he welcomed the chance to see his brothers and sisters again, even if it had obliged him to introduce them to the woman who’d come to fascinate his heart. Dana was the only one to approve of her. His brothers scorned her heritage, while Sunadai openly questioned Janduin’s sanity. How could he expect to have children with one who had just recently wed the spear? Shaiel would hardly be willing to give it up again so soon. It was much as he’d expected. Sunadai’s complaints were not without merit, of course. He wanted to have children of his own someday. But he was still a young man—the youngest Aiel clan chief in history, in fact. He could afford to wait for that blessed day.

He felt her draw near, and did not start when her arms slipped around his waist from behind. Shaiel was a tall woman, but she still had to go up on tiptoe to whisper in his ear. “It is a hard land out there. Wouldn’t you rather look at something softer?”

Janduin smiled. She was indeed soft in some ways, when compared to an Aiel woman, but that did not make her weak. It just made her fascinating. “I would,” he said, and meant it. Though it had not been long since they last joined, he was growing stiff again already.

Backed by the setting sun, he turned and cast off the blanket that had hid his nudity, and proudly showed her what he would offer. Shaiel bit her lip in that so alien way she had. It was with visible effort that she steeled herself to do as he had, and even once she had shrugged off her own blanket, she trembled to stand naked before him. He did not understand why. They were alone, so there was no need for shame. And she was, of course, as stunningly beautiful as ever. Golden hair that had once fell to her waist was now cut in the fashion of an Aiel warrior, while a body that had once shown the waterfat of a wetlander was now toned from hard training. Her hips stilled flared, though, and those bounteous breasts of hers cried out for his hands just as loudly. Blue-grey eyes twinkled as she watched him.

Shaiel went eagerly into his embrace. Her kisses were as hungry now, as they had not at first been. It taken him some time to coax her into allowing them at all, and longer to coax her into his blankets. Memory of the surprise and delight she’d shown then still made his heart skip a beat. “When I think of what I was missing all those years,” she said now as their hands explored each other’s flesh.

He knew better than to ask questions about her past. She was as stubborn about keeping her secrets as she had been about wanting to become _Far Dareis Mai_. Besides, he had other things on his mind just then. He made a sling of his arms with which to carry her to their blankets, the soft flesh of her bottom resting promisingly against his forearms. She wrapped her legs around him as they went, and kept them there when they fell atop the soft bedding.

He found her sex with his hand, and tested her eagerness with his fingers. Once satisfied, he slid his manhood inside her wondrous heat. Shaiel cried out sweetly when she received him. She urged him on with her cries and her hands as he rode her, lying supine on the bed as her full breasts bounced with the force of his desire.

That desire did not cloud Janduin’s mind so terribly that he neglected to bring his hands to bear against her weakest spots. He fondly recalled how shocked she’d been the first time he’d done that. It made him think ill of whatever wetlander men she had known before coming to the Three-fold Land, but there was an undeniable satisfaction in knowing he’d been the first to satisfy her, too. It inspired him to make sure that he always did.

He held himself above her, his arm unstrained, and played with her engorged nub as he thrust in and out of her sex. She looked even more beautiful than usual, lying there like that. Her cheeks were flushed with passion, and her nipples stiff with the same. She lay with her knees raised and her legs spread wide, while her proud young breasts shook hypnotically.

His self-control was strong enough to behold that spectacular sight but remain calm. He rode her steadily, until her hands tightened upon his forearms, and her pussy tightened around his cock. “Light! Janduin!” she called as she came. He smiled down at her in shared satisfaction, and waited for her pleasure to run its course. Only after she’d quietened in his arms, and they’d kissed their way back to awareness, did he allow himself to speed up.

Shaiel took everything he could give her, and then rolled them over so she could take some more. Her breasts shook hypnotically as she bounced and gyrated atop him, pleasuring them both with an energetic abandon he would not have thought her capable of when they’d first met. Her hands roved his chest as she fucked him. She took his cock all the way inside her and, eventually, she took the warm seed with which he filled her womb.

That seed would not find purchase, he knew. She wouldn’t allow it, though the herbs that prevented it were hard to acquire. It was a pity, in many ways. She would make a wonderful mother, and a wonderful wife, if only she was willing.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms that night, and all was well in Janduin’s world. Until his sister’s voice woke him in the dead of night.

“What did you say?” he asked sleepily.

“Bruan wishes to speak to you. It is important.” The seriousness in Sunadai’s voice banished the drowsiness from Janduin’s mind. He bid her give him time to dress, and did so in haste once she’d left his room. Bruan would not contact him at this time of night without a good reason. Once, it would have been unheard of for him to even visit Iron Hold. It had been together that they had put an end to the blood feud between their clans. He was Nakai, but a friend.

He was standing by a window in another room, blocking out many of the stars with his bulky form, when Janduin came to hear him.

“I see you, Bruan. For what reason have you run to Iron Hold this night?” he asked.

“I bring news, heard from a peddler and verified by two others. The Cairhienin chief has cut down _Avendoraldera_. She has made of it a chair on which to sit.”

Bruan was normally calm, but even he could not deliver that news without letting his anger seep into his voice. Janduin’s hand twitched towards the veil that hung down his chest. The insult of it! The dishonour!

“This news will spread fast,” he said, mind racing. The _algai’d’siswai_ would demand blood. There would be raids at the very least. And they would be right to do it, in response to an insult like this. But it was the chief herself who had the greatest _toh_ to meet, and what raid could make her meet it? A grimness settled in Janduin. And a plan took form.

“It spreads already. I ran here so that you might hear of it early, and must now run to Shiagi Hold to see that my own clan hears, too.”

“You will always find water and shade in the holds of the Taardad while I am chief, Bruan of the Nakai,” Janduin said. His friend hesitated for a moment before asking him what he meant to do next, but Janduin did not hesitate to answer. _Ji’e’toh_ made clear to him what he must do. “I will ask the Wise Ones to call the other chiefs to Alcair Dal. A blood feud now exists between the Cairhienin and all Aiel. We must decide who will go to answer this dishonour. If no other makes greater claim, I am of a mind to do it myself.”

“War in the wetlands,” Bruan said. “We have never done that before. But it is as you say. This dishonour demands an answer. If you run there, my friend, I will run with you.”

The two warriors clasped hands, while Janduin began to plan his campaign in his mind. War in the lands beyond the Dragonwall. He had never expected such a thing to happen in his lifetime, or at all. He wondered if Shaiel would go with him when he marched. It was a troubling thought. She had been born in the wetlands, after all, so who could know what would come of her returning there among an Aiel army?

Rand’s awareness shifted. He was back in his own body again, but not in control of it. Disconcerted by the injection of another man’s memories into his own, he staggered forwards between the glistening spires. Blinding white light drove him out of himself once more.

Passing through the lands of these Cairhienin had been shamefully easy so far. The gigantic hold ahead might have proven more difficult to infiltrate, had the tall wall surrounding it not been so vast and the sentries atop so few. Were it Vaclav’s decision to make, they would already be inside the wetlander hold, but it was Hugar of the Nakai who had been chosen to lead this mission. Like the representatives of all the other clans, Vaclav was only here to observe.

His eyes flickered toward the leather sack Hugar held reverently in his scarred hands. He only looked for a moment, but even that was enough to make him feel shame. Letting his attention wander to what was not deadly. What kind of Aiel would do such a thing? The Wise One Hiawafa had explained to them all what they must do and why they must do it. Vaclav did not object. A water debt was owed. _Ji’e’toh_ set their path.

“We will approach openly, and speak to them,” Hugar suddenly announced.

Vaclav was not the only Aiel to stir at that. The walls would have been easily climbed. The gates towards which Hugar now strode were better guarded. The Wise Ones had told them not to spill the blood of these people. So Vaclav stepped out of his hiding place and walked towards the gate, with his veil hanging down his chest, unraised, as it would remain, just as his spears would remain slotted through the harness on his back with his cased bow.

 _Life is a dream from which we all must wake before we dream again_ , he thought. Whatever happened would happen.

The wetlander warriors saw the Aiel coming, and gave the armcry. More men in metal shirts boiled out of the hold, spears in their hands. Some even carried swords. Vaclav kept his face smooth.

“That’s far enough, savage. Where do you think you are going?” one of the wetlanders called. From an Aiel, or even a wetlander in other circumstances, it would have been an invitation to dance the spears. But today was not a day for that.

“We are sent by our chiefs and Wise Ones to speak with the leader of your clan,” announced Hugar loudly. “We bring an offer of peace, and safe passage into the Three-fold Land for your people.”

The wetlanders looked confused. “Peace? With Aiel?” the first man said.

“But they never make peace,” a youth behind him muttered.

“What do you want in return?” asked another.

“Nothing,” said Hugar.

The wetlanders looked even more confused. “Safe passage ...” one breathed. “To Kigali, and all that can be bought there? Imagine it. There would be no chance of Cairhien sharing Caralain’s fate, then. We’d be one of the richest nations in Valgarda!” Many of his fellows nodded. Their naked greed was distasteful to Vaclav but that did not matter. Only _ji’e’toh_ mattered.

Hugar stepped close to the men, and unwrapped the gift that was sheltered in the leather sack he had carried all the way here. The Wise Ones had given it to him, and told them what it was. Throughout their journey here, the Aiel had given more water to that priceless thing than they had drunk themselves. The men only frowned when Hugar showed them what he had brought, but they gasped when he told them what it was. A cutting from the Tree of Life, _Avendesora_ , carefully cultivated into a sapling that might someday become a tree itself.

“Queen Mariha must hear of this,” the first man gasped. “I am Andrid. I will escort you to her.”

“We will follow. I offer water oath that no veils will be raised within your lands,” Hugar said. Vaclav and the other Aiel followed him inside. It was a strange thing, peace. In his experience, it was usually battle that honour called for. But today and for all the days to come it called for peace, and so that was what they would have, these Cairhienin and the Aiel.

_It’s the past. It’s showing me the Aiel’s past_ , Rand thought, as he took another uncertain step. With that step, another man’s eyes overlaid his own.

He crouched easily among boulders on a barren mountainside, beneath a sun-blasted sky, peering down at strange half-made stone structures— _No! Less than half-made. That’s Rhuidean, but without any fog, and only just begun_ —peering down contemptuously. He was Mandein, young for a sept chief at forty. Separateness faded; acceptance came. He was Mandein.

“You must agree,” Sealdre said, but for the moment he ignored her.

The Jenn had made things to draw up water and spill it into great stone basins. He had fought battles over less water than one of those tanks held, with people walking by as though water was of no consequence. A strange forest of glass rose in the centre of all their activity, glittering in the sun, and near it the tallest tree he had ever seen, at least eighteen feet high. Their stone structures looked as if each was meant to contain an entire hold, an entire sept, when done. Madness. This Rhuidean could not be defended. Not that anyone would attack the Jenn, of course. Most avoided the Jenn as they avoided the accursed Lost Ones, who wandered searching for the songs they claimed would bring back lost days.

A procession snaked out of Rhuidean toward the mountain, a few dozen Jenn and two palanquins, each carried by eight men. There was enough wood in each of those palanquins for a dozen chief’s chairs. He had heard there were still Aes Sedai among the Jenn.

“You must agree to whatever they ask, husband,” Sealdre said.

He looked at her then, wanting for a moment to run his hands through her long golden hair, seeing the laughing girl who had laid the bridal wreath at his feet and asked him to marry her. She was serious now, though, intent and worried. “Will the others come?” he asked.

“Some. Most. I have talked to my sisters in the dream, and we have all dreamed the same dream. The chiefs who do not come, and those who do not agree ... Their septs will die, Mandein. Within three generations they will be dust, and their holds and cattle belong to other septs. Their names will be lost.”

He did not like her talking to the Wise Ones of other septs, even in dreams. But the Wise Ones dreamed true. When they knew, it was true. “Stay here,” he told her. “If I do not return, help our sons and daughters to hold the sept together.”

She touched his cheek. “I will, shade of my life. But remember. You must agree.”

Mandein motioned, and a hundred veiled shapes followed him down the slope, ghosting from boulder to boulder, bows and spears ready, greys and browns blending with the barren land, vanishing even to his eyes. They were all men; he had left all the women of the sept who carried the spear with the men around Sealdre. If anything went wrong and she decided on something senseless to save him, the men would probably follow her in it; the women would see her back to the hold whatever she wanted, to protect the hold and the sept. He hoped they would. Sometimes they could be fiercer than any man, and more foolish.

The procession from Rhuidean had stopped on the cracked clay flat by the time he reached the lower slope. He motioned his men to ground and went on alone, lowering his veil. He was aware of other men moving out from the mountain to his right and left, coming across the baked ground from other directions. How many? Fifty? Maybe a hundred? Some faces he had expected to see were missing. Sealdre was right as usual; some had not listened to their Wise Ones’ dream. There were faces he had never seen before, and faces of men he had tried to kill, men who had tried to kill him. At least none were veiled. Killing in front of a Jenn was almost as bad as killing a Jenn. He hoped the others remembered that. Treachery from one, and the veils would be donned; the warriors each chief had brought would come down from the mountains, and this dry clay would be muddied with blood. He half-expected to feel a spear through his ribs any moment.

Even trying to watch a hundred possible sources of death, it was hard not to stare at the Aes Sedai as the bearers lowered their ornately carved chairs to the ground. Women with hair so white it almost seemed transparent. Ageless faces with skin that looked as if the wind might tear it. He had heard the years did not touch Aes Sedai. How old must these two be? What had they seen? Could they remember when his greatfather Comran first found Ogier _stedding_ in the Dragonwall and began to trade with them? Or maybe even when Comran’s greatfather Rhodric led the Aiel to kill the men in iron shirts who had crossed the Dragonwall? The Aes Sedai turned their eyes on him—sharp blue and dark brown, the first dark eyes he had ever seen—and seemed to see inside his skull, inside his thoughts. He knew himself chosen out, and did not know why. With an effort he pulled away from those twin gazes, which knew him better than he knew himself.

A gaunt white-haired man, tall if stooped, came forward from the Jenn flanked by two greying women who might have been sisters, with the same deep-set green eyes and the same way of tilting their heads when they looked at anything. The rest of the Jenn stared uneasily at the earth rather than at the Aiel, but not these three.

“I am Dermon,” the man said in a deep strong voice, his blue-eyed scrutiny as steady as any Aiel’s. “These are Mordaine and Narisse.” He gestured to the women beside him in turn. “We speak for Rhuidean, and the Jenn Aiel.”

A stir ran through the men around Mandein. Most of them liked the Jenn claiming to be Aiel no better than he did. “Why have you called us here?” he demanded, though it burned his tongue to admit being summoned.

Instead of answering, Dermon said, “Why do you not carry a sword?” That brought angry mutters.

“It is forbidden,” Mandein growled. “Even Jenn should know that.” He lifted his spears, touched the knife at his waist, the bow on his back. “These are weapons enough for a warrior.” The mutters became approving, including some from men who had sworn to kill him. They still would, given the chance, but they approved of what he had said. And they seemed content to let him talk, with those Aes Sedai watching.

“You do not know why,” Mordaine said, and Narisse added, “There is too much you do not know. Yet you must know.”

“What do you want?” Mandein demanded.

“You.” Dermon ran his eyes across the Aiel, making that one word fit them all. “Whoever would lead among you must come to Rhuidean and learn where we came from, and why you do not carry swords. Who cannot learn, will not live.”

“Your Wise Ones have spoken to you,” Mordaine said, “or you would not be here. You know the cost to those who refuse.”

Charendin pushed his way to the front, alternately glaring at Mandein and the Jenn. Mandein had put that long puckered scar down his face; they had nearly killed each other three times. “Just come to you?” Charendin said. “Whichever of us comes to you will lead the Aiel?”

“No.” The word came thin as a whisper, but strong enough to fill every ear. It came from the dark-eyed Aes Sedai sitting in her carved chair with a blanket across her legs as if she felt cold under the broiling sun. “That one will come later,” she said. “The stone that never falls will fall to announce his coming. Of the blood, but not raised by the blood, he will come from Rhuidean at dawn, and tie you together with bonds you cannot break. He will take you back, and he will destroy you.”

Some of the sept chiefs moved as if to leave, but none took more than a few steps. Each had listened to the Wise One of his sept. _Agree, or we will be destroyed as if we never were. Agree, or we will destroy ourselves_.

“This is some trick,” Charendin shouted. Under Aes Sedai stares he lowered his voice, but it held anger yet. “You mean to gain control of the septs. Aiel bend knee to no man or woman.” He jerked his head, avoiding the Aes Sedai’s eyes. “To no-one,” he muttered.

“We seek no control,” Narisse told them.

“Our days dwindle,” Mordaine said. “A day will come when the Jenn are no more, and only you will remain to remember the Aiel. You must remain, or all is for nothing, and lost.”

The flatness of her voice, the calm sureness, silenced Charendin, but Mandein had one more question. “Why? If you know your doom, why do this?” He gestured toward the structures rising in the distance.

“It is our purpose,” Dermon replied calmly. “For long years we searched for this place, and now we prepare it, if not for the purpose we once thought. We do what we must, and keep faith.”

Mandein studied the man’s face. There was no fear in it. “You are Aiel,” he said, and when some of the other chiefs gasped, he raised his voice. “I will go to the Jenn Aiel.”

“You may not come to Rhuidean armed,” Dermon said.

Mandein laughed aloud at the temerity of the man. Asking an Aiel to go unarmed. Shedding his weapons, he stepped forward. “Take me to Rhuidean, Aiel. I will match your courage.”

Rand blinked in the flickering lights. He had _been_ Mandein; he could still feel contempt for the Jenn fading into admiration. Were the Jenn Aiel, or were they not? They had looked the same, tall, with light-coloured eyes in sun-darkened faces, dressed in the same clothes except for lacking veils. But there had not been a weapon among them save for simple belt knives, suitable for work. There was no such thing as an Aiel without weapons.

He was farther into the columns a few steps could account for, and closer to Muradin than he had been. The Aiel’s fixed stare had become a dire frown.

Gritty dust crunched under Rand’s boots as he stepped forward.

His name was Rhodric, and he was nearly twenty. The sun was a golden blister in the sky, but he kept his veil up and his eyes alert. His spears were ready—one in his right hand, three held with his small bullhide buckler—and he was ready. Jeordam was down on the brown grass flat to the south of the hills, where most of the bushes were puny and withered. The old man’s hair was white, like that thing called snow the old ones talked of, but his eyes were sharp, and watching the welldiggers haul up filled water-bags would not occupy all of his attention.

Mountains rose to the north and east, the northern range tall and sharp and white-tipped but dwarfed by the eastern monsters. Those looked as if the world was trying to touch the heavens, and perhaps did. Maybe that white was snow? He would not find out. Faced with this, the Jenn must decide to turn west. They had trailed north along that mountainous wall for long months, painfully dragging their wagons behind them, trying to deny the Aiel that followed them. At least there had been water when they crossed a river, even if not much. It had been years since Rhodric had seen a river he could not wade across; most were only cracked dry clay away from the mountains. He hoped the rains would come again, and make things green once more. He remembered when the world was green.

He heard the horses before he saw them, three men riding across the brown hills in long leather shirts sewn all over with metal discs, two with lances. He knew the one on the lead, Garam, son of the chief of the town just out of sight back the way they came and not much older than himself. They were blind, these townsmen. They did not see the Aiel who stirred after they passed, then settled back to near invisibility in the sere land. Rhodric lowered his veil; there would be no killing unless the riders began it. He did not regret it—not exactly—but he could not make himself trust men who lived in houses and towns. There had been too many battles with that kind. The stories said it had always been so.

Garam drew rein, raising his right hand in salute. He was a slight dark-eyed man, like his two followers, but all three looked tough and competent. “Ho, Rhodric. Have your people finished filling their waterskins, yet?”

“I see you, Garam.” He kept his voice level and expressionless. It made him uneasy, seeing men on horses, even more so than their carrying swords. The Aiel had pack animals, but there was something unnatural about sitting atop a horse. A man’s legs were good enough. “We are close. Does your father withdraw his permission for us to take water on his lands?” No other town had ever given permission before. Water had to be fought for if men were near, just like everything else, and if there was water, then men were near. It would not be easy to take these three by himself. He shifted his feet in readiness to dance, and likely die.

“He does not,” Garam said. He had not even noticed Rhodric’s shift. “We have a strong spring in the town, and my father says that when you go, we will have the new wells you have dug until we go ourselves. But your grandfather seemed to want to know if the others started to move, and they have.” He leaned an elbow on the front of his saddle. “Tell me, Rhodric, are they truly the same people as yourselves?”

“They are the Jenn Aiel; we, the Aiel. We are the same, yet not. I cannot explain it further, Garam.” He did not really understand it himself.

“Which way do they move?” Jeordam asked.

Rhodric bowed to his greatfather calmly; he had heard a footfall, the sound of a soft boot, and had known it for an Aiel’s. The townsmen had not noticed Jeordam’s approach, though, and they jerked their reins in surprise. Only Garam’s upflung hand stopped the other two from lowering their lances. Rhodric and his greatfather waited.

“East,” Garam said when he had his horse under control again. “Across the Spine of the World.” He gestured to the mountains that stabbed the sky.

Rhodric winced, but Jeordam said coolly, “What lies on the other side?”

“The end of the world, for all I know,” Garam replied. “I am not sure there is a way across.” He hesitated. “The Jenn have Aes Sedai with them. Dozens, I have heard. Does it not make you uneasy, travelling close to Aes Sedai? I have heard the world was different once, but they destroyed it.”

The Aes Sedai made Rhodric very nervous, though he kept his face blank. They were only four not dozens, but enough to make him remember stories that the Aiel had failed the Aes Sedai in some way that no-one knew. The Aes Sedai must know; they had seldom left the Jenn’s wagons in the year since their arrival, but when they did, they looked at the Aiel with sad eyes. Rhodric was not the only one who tried to avoid them.

“We guard the Jenn,” Jeordam said. “It is they who travel with Aes Sedai.”

Garam nodded as if that made a difference, then leaned forward again, lowering his voice. “My father has an Aes Sedai advisor, though he tries to keep it from the town. She says we must leave these hills and move west. She says the dry rivers will run again, and we will build a great city beside one. She says many things. I hear the Aes Sedai plan to build a city—they have found Ogier to build it for them. Ogier!” He shook his head, pulling himself from legends back to reality. “Do you think they mean to rule the world once more? The Aes Sedai? I think we should kill them before they can destroy us again.”

“You must do as you think best.” Jeordam’s voice gave no hint of his own thoughts. “I must ready my people to cross those mountains.”

The dark-haired man straightened in his saddle, plainly disappointed. Rhodric suspected he had wanted Aiel help in killing Aes Sedai. “The Spine of the World,” Garam said brusquely. “It has another name. Some call it the Dragonwall.”

“A fitting name,” Jeordam replied.

Rhodric stared at the towering mountains in the distance. A fitting name for Aiel. Their own secret name, told to no-one, was People of the Dragon. He did not know why, only that it was not spoken aloud except when you received your spears. What lay beyond this Dragonwall? At least there would be people to fight. There always were. In the whole world there were only Aiel, Jenn and enemies. Only that. Aiel, Jenn and enemies.

Rand drew a deep breath that rasped as if he had not breathed for hours. Eye-splitting rings of light ran up the columns around him. The words still echoed in his mind. Aiel, Jenn, and enemies; that was the world. They had not been in the Waste, certainly. He had seen—lived—a time before the Aiel came to their Three-fold Land.

He was nearer still to Muradin. The Aiel’s eyes shifted uneasily, and he seemed to struggle against taking another step.

Rand moved forward.

Squatting easily on the white-cloaked hillside, Jeordam ignored the cold as he watched five people tramp toward him. Three cloaked men, two women in bulky dresses, making hard work of the snow. Winter should have been over long since, according to the old ones, but then they told stories of the seasons changing from what they had always been. They claimed the earth used to shake, too, and mountains rose or sank like the water in a summer pond when you threw a rock in. Jeordam did not believe it. He was eighteen, born in the tents, and this was the only life he had ever known. The snow, the tents, and the duty to protect.

He lowered his veil and stood slowly, leaning on his long spear so as not to frighten the wagon folk, but they stopped abruptly anyway, staring at the spear, at the bow slung across his back and the quiver at his waist. None appeared any older than himself. “You have need of us, Jenn?” he called.

“You name us that to mock us,” a tall, sharp-nosed fellow shouted back, “but it is true. We _are_ the only true Aiel. You have given up the Way.”

“That is a lie!” Jeordam snapped. “I have never held a sword!” He drew a deep breath to calm himself. He had not been put out here to grow angry with Jenn. “If you are lost, your wagons are that way.” He pointed southward with his spear.

One woman placed a hand on sharp-nose’s arm and spoke quietly. The others nodded, and finally sharp-nose did, too, if reluctantly. She was pretty, with yellow wisps of hair escaping the dark shawl wrapped around her head. Facing Jeordam, she said, “We are not lost.” She peered at him suddenly, seeming to see him for the first time, and tightened her shawl around her.

He nodded; he had not thought they were. The Jenn usually managed to avoid anyone from the tents even when they needed help. The few who did not came only in desperation, for the help they could not find elsewhere. “Follow me.”

It was a mile across the hills to his father’s tents, low shapes partially covered by the last snowfall, clinging to the slopes. His own people watched the new arrivals cautiously, but did not stop what they were doing, whether cooking or tending weapons or tossing snowballs with a child. He was proud of his sept, nearly two hundred people, largest of the ten camps scattered north of the wagons. The Jenn did not seem much impressed, though. It irritated him that there were so many more Jenn than Aiel.

Lewin came out of his tent, a tall, greying man with a hard face; Lewin never smiled, they said, and Jeordam had certainly never seen it. Maybe he had before Jeordam’s mother died of a fever, but Jeordam did not believe it.

The yellow-haired woman—her name was Morin—told a story much as Jeordam had expected. The Jenn had traded with a village, a place with a log wall, and then men from the village had come in the night, taking back what had been traded for, taking more. The Jenn always thought they could trust people who lived in houses, always thought the Way would protect them. The dead were listed—fathers, a mother, first-brothers. The captives—first-sisters, a sister-mother, a daughter. That last surprised Jeordam; it was Morin who spoke bitterly of a five-year-old daughter carried off to be raised by some other woman. Studying her more closely, he mentally added a few years to her age.

“We will bring them back,” Lewin promised. He took a bundle of spears handed to him and thrust them point-down into the ground. “You may stay with us if you wish, so long as you are willing to defend yourselves and the rest of us. If you stay, you will never be allowed back among the wagons.” The sharp-nosed fellow turned at that and hurried back the way they had come. Lewin went on; it was seldom that only one left at this point. “Those who wish to come with us to this village, take a spear. But remember, if you take the spear to use against men, you will have to stay with us.” His voice and eyes were stone. “You will be dead as far the Jenn are concerned.”

One of the remaining men hesitated, but each finally pulled a spear from the ground. So did Morin. Jeordam gaped at her, and even Lewin blinked.

“You do not have to take a spear just to stay,” Lewin told her, “or for us to bring back your people. Taking the spear means a willingness to fight, not just to defend yourself. You can put it down; there is no shame.”

“They have my daughter,” Morin said.

To Jeordam’s shock, Lewin barely paused before nodding. “There is a first time for all things. For all things. So be it.” He began tapping men on the shoulder, walking through the camps, naming them to visit this log-walled village. Jeordam was the first tapped; his father had always chosen him first since the day he was old enough to carry a spear. He would have had it no other way.

Morin was having problems with the spear, the haft tangling in her long skirts.

“You do not have to go,” Jeordam told her. “No woman ever has before. We will bring your daughter to you.”

“I mean to bring Kirin out of there myself,” she said fiercely. “You will not stop me.” A stubborn woman.

“In that case, you must dress like this.” He gestured to his own grey-brown coat and breeches. “You cannot walk cross-country in the night in a dress.” He took the spear away from her before she could react. “The spear is not easily learned.” The two men who had come with her, awkwardly receiving instruction and nearly falling over their own feet, were proof of that. He found a hatchet and chopped the spear shaft in half, leaving four feet, counting nearly a foot of steel point. “Stab with it. No more than that. Just stab. The haft is used for blocking, too, but I will find you something to use as a shield in your other hand.”

She looked at him strangely. “How old are you?” she asked, even more oddly. He told her, and she only nodded thoughtfully.

After a moment, he said, “Is one of those men your husband?” They were still tripping over their spears.

“My husband mourns Kirin already. He cares more for the trees than his own daughter.”

“The trees?”

“The Trees of Life.” When he still looked at her blankly, she shook her head. “Three little trees planted in barrels. They care for them almost as well as they do for themselves. When they find a place of safety, they mean to plant them; they say the old days will return, then. They. I said they. Very well. I am not Jenn anymore.” She hefted the shortened spear. “This is my husband now.” Eyeing him closely, she asked, “If someone stole your child, would you talk of the Way of the Leaf and suffering sent to test us?” He shook his head, and she said, “I thought not. You will make a fine father. Teach me to use this spear.”

An odd woman, but pretty. He took the spear back and began to show her, working out what he was doing while he did. With the short haft, it was quick and agile.

Morin was watching him with that strange smile, but the spear had caught him up. “I saw your face in the dream,” she said softly, but he did not really hear. With a spear like this, he could be quicker than a man with a sword. In his mind’s eye he could see the Aiel defeating all the men with swords. No-one would stand against them. No-one.

Lights flashed through the glass columns, half-blinding Rand. Muradin was only a pace or two ahead, staring straight in front of him, teeth bared, snarling silently. The columns were taking them back, into the time-lost history of the Aiel. Rand’s feet moved of their own accord. Forward. And back in time.

Lewin adjusted the dustveil across his face and peered down into the small camp where the coals of a dying fire still glowed beneath an iron cookpot. The wind brought him a smell of half-burned stew. Mounds of blankets surrounded the coals in the moonlight. There were no horses in sight. He wished he had brought some water, but only the children were allowed water except with meals. He vaguely remembered a time when there had been more water, when the days were not so hot and dusty and the wind had not blown all the time. Night was only a small relief, trading a dull, fiery red sun for cold. He wrapped himself tighter in the cape of wild goat-skins he used for a blanket.

His companions scrambled closer, bundled as he was, kicking rocks and muttering until he was sure they would wake the men below. He did not complain; he was no more used to this than they. Dustveils hid their faces, but he could make out who was who. Luca, with his shoulders half again as wide as anyone else’s; he liked to play tricks. Gearan, lanky as a stork and the best runner among the wagons. Charlin and Alijha, alike as reflections except for Charlin’s habit of tilting his head when he was worried, as he was now; their sister Colline was down in that camp. And Maigran, Lewin’s sister.

When the girls’ gathering bags were found on ground torn by a struggle, everyone else was ready to mourn and go on as they had done so many times before. Even Lewin’s greatfather. If Adan had known what the five of them planned, he would have stopped them. All Adan did now was mutter about keeping faith with the Aes Sedai Lewin had never seen, that and try to keep the Aiel alive. The Aiel as a people, but not any one given Aiel. Not even Maigran.

“They are four,” Lewin whispered. “The girls are this side of the fire. I will wake them—quietly—and we will sneak them away while the men sleep.” His friends looked at each other, nodded. He supposed they should have made a plan before this, but all they had been able to think of was coming to get the girls, and how to leave the wagons without being seen. He had not been certain they could follow these men, or find them before they reached the village they came from, a collection of rough huts where the Aiel had been driven away with stones and sticks. There would be nothing to be done if the takers got that far.

“What if they do wake?” Gearan asked.

“I will not leave Colline,” Charlin snapped, right on top of his brother’s quieter, “We are taking them back, Gearan.”

“We are,” Lewin agreed. Luca poked Gearan’s ribs, and Gearan nodded.

Making their way down in the darkness was no easy task. Drought-dried twigs snapped under their feet; rocks and pebbles showered down the dry slope ahead of them. The harder Lewin tried to move silently, the more noise he seemed to make. Luca fell into a thornbush that cracked loudly, but managed to extract himself with no more than heavy breathing. Charlin slipped, and slid halfway to the bottom. But nothing moved below.

Short of the camp Lewin paused, exchanging anxious looks with his friends, then tiptoed in. His own breath sounded thunderous in his ears, as loud as the snores coming from one of the four large mounds. He froze as the rough snorts stopped and one of the mounds heaved. It settled, the snoring began again, and Lewin let himself breathe.

Carefully he crouched beside one of the smaller heaps and flipped aside a rough woollen blanket stiff with dirt. Maigran stared up at him, face bruised and swollen, her dress torn to little better than rags. He clapped a hand over her mouth to keep her from crying out, but she only continued to stare blankly, not even blinking.

“I am going to carve you like a pig, boy.” One of the larger mounds tumbled aside, and a wild-bearded man in filthy clothes got to his feet, the long knife in his hand glittering dully in the moonlight, picking up the red glow of the coals. He kicked the mounds to either side of him, producing grunts and stirrings. “Just like a pig. Can you squeal, boy, or do you people just run?”

“Run,” Lewin said, but his sister only stared dully. Frantic, he seized her shoulders, pulled to try starting her toward where the others were waiting. “Run!” She came out of the blankets stiffly, almost a dead weight. Colline was awake—he could hear her whimpering—but she seemed to be drawing her dirty blankets around her even more tightly, trying to hide in them. Maigran stood there, staring at nothing, seeing nothing.

“Seems you cannot even do that.” Grinning, the man was coming around the fire, his knife held low. The others were sitting up in their blankets now, laughing, watching the fun.

Lewin did not know what to do. He could not leave his sister. All he could do was die. Maybe that would give Maigran a chance to run. “Run, Maigran! Please run!” She did not move. She did not even seem to hear him. What had they done to her?

The bearded man came closer, taking his time, chuckling, enjoying his slow advance. “Nooooooooooooooo!” Charlin came hurtling out of the night, throwing his arms around the man with the knife, carrying him to the ground. The other men bounded to their feet. One, his head shaved and shining in the pale light, raised a sword to slash at Charlin.

Lewin was not sure exactly how it happened. Somehow he had the heavy kettle by its iron handle, swinging; it struck the shaved head with a loud crunch. The man collapsed as if his bones had melted. Off balance, Lewin stumbled trying to avoid the fire, and fell beside it, losing the cook-pot. A dark man with his hair in braids lifted another sword, ready to skewer him. He scrambled away on his back like a spider, eyes on the sword’s sharp point, hands searching frenziedly for something to fend the man off, a stick, anything. His palm fell on rounded wood. He jerked it around, pushed it at the snarling man. The man’s dark eyes widened, the sword dropped from his grasp; blood poured from his mouth. Not a stick. A spear.

Lewin’s hands sprang away from the haft as soon as he realized what it was. Too late. He crawled backward to avoid the man as he fell, stared at him, trembling. A dead man. A man he had killed. The wind felt very cold.

After a time it came to him to wonder why one of the others had not killed him. He was surprised to see the rest of his friends there around the coals. Gearan and Luca and Alijha, all panting and wild-eyed above their dustveils. Colline still emitted soft sniffling sobs from beneath her blankets, and Maigran still stood staring. Charlin was huddled on his knees, holding himself. And the four men, the villagers ... Lewin stared from one motionless bloody shape to another.

“We ... killed them.” Luca’s voice shook. “We ... Mercy of the Light, be with us now.” Lewin crawled to Charlin and touched his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

Charlin fell over. Red wetness slicked his hands, gripping the hilt of the knife driven into his belly. “It hurts, Lewin,” he whispered. He shuddered once, and the light went out of his eyes.

“What are we going to do?” Gearan asked. “Charlin is dead, and we ... Light, what have we done? What do we do?”

“We will take the girls back to the wagons.” Lewin could not pull his eyes away from Charlin’s glazed stare. “We will do that.”

They gathered up everything that was useful, the cookpot and the knives, mainly. Metal things were hard to come by. “We might as well,” Alijha said roughly. “They certainly stole it from someone just like us.”

When Alijha started to pick up one of the swords, though, Lewin stopped him. “No, Alijha. That is a weapon, made to kill people. It has no other use.” Alijha said nothing, only ran his eyes over the four dead bodies, looked at the spears Luca was winding with blankets to carry Charlin’s body on. Lewin refused to look at the villagers. “A spear can put food in the pots, Alijha. A sword cannot. It is forbidden by the Way.”

Alijha was still silent, but Lewin thought he sneered behind his dustveil. Yet when they finally started away into the night, the swords remained by the dying coals and the dead men.

It was a long walk back through the darkness, carrying the makeshift stretcher bearing Charlin, the wind sometimes gusting to raise choking clouds of dust. Maigran stumbled along, staring straight ahead; she did not know where she was, or who they were. Colline seemed half-terrified, even of her own brother, jumping if anyone touched her. This was not how Lewin had imagined their return. In his mind the girls had been laughing, happy to return to the wagons; they had all been laughing. Not carrying Charlin’s corpse. Not hushed by the memory of what they had done.

The lights of the cook fires came into view, and then the wagons, harnesses already spread for men to take their places at sunrise. No-one left the shelter of the wagons after dark, so it surprised Lewin to see three shapes come hurrying toward them. Adan’s white hair stood out in the night. The other two were Nerrine, Colline’s mother, and Saralin, his and Maigran’s. Lewin lowered his dustveil with foreboding.

The women rushed to their daughters with comforting arms and soft murmurs. Colline sank into her mother’s embrace with a welcoming sigh; Maigran hardly appeared to notice Saralin who looked close to tears at the bruises on her daughter’s face.

Adan frowned at the young men, permanent creases of worry deepening in his face. “In the name of the Light, what happened? When we found you were gone, too ...” He trailed off when he saw the stretcher holding Charlin. “What happened?” he asked again, as if dreading the answer.

Lewin opened his mouth slowly, but Maigran spoke first.

“They killed them.” She was staring at something in the distance, her voice as simple as a child’s. “The bad men hurt us. They ... Then Lewin came and killed them.”

“You must not say things like that, child,” Saralin said soothingly. “You—” She stopped, peering into her daughter’s eyes, then turned to stare uncertainly at Lewin. “Is it ...? Is it true?”

“We had to,” Alijha said in a pained voice. “They tried to kill us. They did kill Charlin.”

Adan stepped back. “You ... killed? Killed _men_? What of the Covenant? We harm no-one. No-one! There is no reason good enough to justify killing another human being. None!”

“They took Maigran, greatfather,” Lewin said. “They took Maigran and Colline, and hurt them. They—”

“There is no reason!” Adan roared, shaking with rage. “We must accept what comes. Our sufferings are sent to test our faithfulness. We accept and endure! We do not murder! You have not strayed from the Way, you have abandoned it. You are Da’shain no longer. You are corrupt, and I will not have the Aiel corrupted by you. Leave us, strangers. Killers! You are not welcome in the wagons of the Aiel.” He turned his back and strode away as if they no longer existed. Saralin and Nerrine started after him, guiding the girls.

“Mother?” Lewin said, and flinched when she looked back at him with cold eyes. “Mother, please—”

“Who are you that addresses me so? Hide your face from me, stranger. I had a son, once, with a face like that. I do not wish to see it on a killer.” And she led Maigran after the others.

“I am still Aiel,” Lewin shouted, but they did not look back. He thought he heard Luca crying. The wind rose, picking up dust, and he veiled his face. “I am Aiel!”

Wildly darting lights bored into Rand’s eyes. The pain of Lewin’s loss still clung to him, and his mind tumbled furiously. Lewin had not carried a weapon. He had not known how to use a weapon. Killing terrified him. It did not make sense.

He was almost abreast of Muradin now, but the man was not aware of him. Muradin’s snarl was a rictus; sweat beaded on his face; he quivered as though wanting to run.

Rand’s feet took him forward, and back.


	55. Deceptions

Looping the embroidery basket’s handle over her arm, Min gathered her skirts with her other hand and strolled out of the dining hall after breakfast in a gliding pace, her back straight. She could have balanced a full goblet of wine on her head without spilling a drop. Partly that was because she could not take a proper stride in her dress, all pale blue silk with a snug bodice and sleeves and a full skirt that would drag its embroidered hem on the ground if she did not hold it up. It was also partly because she was sure she could feel Laras’ eyes on her.

A glance back proved her right. The Mistress of the Kitchens, a winecask on legs, was beaming after her approvingly from the dining hall doorway. Who would have thought the woman had been a beauty in her youth, or would have a place in her heart for pretty, flirtatious girls? “Lively,” she called them. After how sternly she had scolded Min during her previous stay in the Tower, who would have suspected she would decide to take “Elmindreda” under her stout wing? “A great improvement”, Laras called it, but it hardly made for a comfortable position. Laras kept a protective eye on Min, an eye that seemed to find her anywhere in the Tower grounds. An insincere claim to be embarrassed by her less girlish past had been enough to make the woman keep quiet about what she knew. Min smiled back and patted her hair, now a round black cap of curls. _Burn the woman! Doesn’t she have something to cook, or some scullion to yell at?_

Laras waved to her, and she waved in return. She could not afford to offend someone who watched her so closely, not when she had no idea how many mistakes she might be making. Laras knew every trick of “lively” women, and expected to teach Min any she did not already know.

One real mistake, Min reflected as she took a seat on a marble bench beneath a tall willow, had been the embroidery. Not from Laras’ point of view, but her own. Pulling her embroidery hoop from the basket, she ruefully examined yesterday’s work, a number of lopsided yellow oxeyes and something she had meant to be a pale yellow rosebud, though no-one would know unless she told them. With a sigh, she set to picking the stitches out. Leane was right, she supposed; a woman could sit for hours with an embroidery hoop, watching everyone and everything, and nobody thought it strange. It would have helped, though, if she had any skill at all.

At least it was a perfect morning for being out-of-doors. A golden sun had just cleared the horizon in a sky where the few fluffy white clouds seemed arrayed to emphasize the perfection. A light breeze caught the scent of roses and ruffled tall calma bushes with their big red or white blossoms. Soon enough the gravel-covered paths near the tree would be full of people on one errand or another, everyone from Aes Sedai to stablemen. A perfect morning, and a perfect place from which to watch unobserved. Perhaps today she would have a useful viewing.

“Elmindreda?”

Min jumped, and stuck her pricked finger in her mouth. Twisting ’round on the bench, she prepared to assail Gawyn for sneaking up on her, but he spoke before she could, grinning all the while.

“Stop sucking your finger. I know you are a pretty little girl; you do not need to prove it to me.”

Blushing, she hastily pulled her hand down, and barely restrained herself from a furious glare that would not have been at all in keeping with Elmindreda. He had needed no threats or commands from the Amyrlin to keep her secret, only her asking, but he did take any opportunity to tease that presented itself.

Min dropped her eyes demurely. “Oh, I would never tease you like that, my Lord Gawyn,” she said in her best foolish-girl voice. The simpering tone, and anger at her own slip, sent a tide of heat to her hairline, improving her disguise.

She did not look anything like herself, and the dress and the hair were only a part of it. Leane had acquired creams and powders and an incredible assortment of mysterious scented things in the city and drilled her until she could have used them in her sleep. She had cheekbones, now, and more colour in her lips than nature had put there. A dark cream lining her eyelids and a fine powder that emphasized her lashes made her eyes seem larger. Not at all like herself. Some of the Novices had told her admiringly how beautiful she was, and even a few Aes Sedai had called her “a very pretty child.” She hated it. The dress was quite pretty, she admitted, but she hated the rest of it. Yet there was no point in donning a disguise if she did not keep it up.

“I did not mean to interrupt you at your embroidery—swallows, are they? Yellow swallows?” Gawyn said. Min thrust the hoop back into the basket. “But I wanted to ask you to comment on this.” He pushed a small, leather-bound book, old and tattered, into her hands, and suddenly his voice was serious. “My brother left it with me, saying he hoped it would open my eyes.”

She examined the book. _The Way of the Light_ , by Lothair Mantelar. Opening it, she read at random. “Therefore abjure all pleasure, for goodness is a pure abstract, a perfect crystalline ideal which is obscured by base emotion. Pamper not the flesh. Flesh is weak but spirit is strong; flesh is useless where spirit is strong. Right thought is drowned in sensation, and right action hindered by passions. Take all joy from rightness, and rightness only”. It seemed to be dry nonsense.

“Lothair Mantelar,” Gawyn said in a tight voice, “founded the Whitecloaks. The Whitecloaks! According to Galad he was a great man. A philosopher of noble ideals. The Children of the Light’s excessive zeal, since his day, did not change that. For him, at least.”

“Oh, my. Whitecloaks,” Min said breathlessly, and added a little shudder. “They are such rough men, I hear. I cannot imagine a Whitecloak dancing. Do you think there is any chance of a dance here? Aes Sedai do not seem to care for dancing either, and I do so love to dance.” The frustration in Gawyn’s eyes was delightful. Min smiled, and even managed a titter, before continuing. “So many words. I fear I know little of books my Lord Gawyn. I always mean to read one—I do.” She sighed. “But there is so little time. Why, just fixing my hair properly takes hours. Do you think it is pretty?” The outraged startlement on his face nearly made her laugh, but she changed it to a giggle. It was a pleasure to turn the tables on him for a change; she would have to see if she could do it more often. There were possibilities in this disguise she had not considered. This stay in the Tower had turned out to be all boredom and irritation. She deserved some amusement.

Gawyn rolled his eyes, and sighed deeply. “Why has everyone gone crazy except me? Elayne disappearing, Galad running off to join the Whitecloaks, and now you acting the lightskirt. I mean, you do it quite well, I’ll admit. If I didn’t know any better, I’d be tempted to run off those two louts of yours and claim you for myself.”

That was an alarming thought. Gawyn was a likeable sort and handsome, if in a pretty boy kind of way. He wouldn’t normally have been her type, but Rand wouldn’t have been either, until ... _Burn him. Until he gave me a brief taste of joy, and then took it all away_. It would have served him right if she’d let the temptation Gawyn spoke of grow into something more. It wasn’t as if Rand would have the right to complain, given how many affairs he was having. But Gawyn was Elayne’s brother, and the last person Min was going to involve herself with.

Distracted by such thoughts, it actually took her a minute to remember what two louts he was talking about. The two men who had supposedly asked for Elmindreda’s hand in marriage, nearly fighting each other because she could not make up her mind, pressing her to the point of seeking sanctuary in the Tower because she could not stop encouraging them both. Just the entire excuse for her being there. _It’s this dress_ , she told herself. _I could think straight if I had on my proper clothes_.

“I’ve noticed the Amyrlin speaks to you every day,” Gawyn said suddenly. “Has she mentioned my sister Elayne? Has she said anything of where she is?”

Min wished she could black his eye. He did not know why she was pretending to be someone else, of course, but he had agreed to help her be accepted as Elmindreda, and now he was linking her to women too many in the Tower knew were friends of Min. “Oh, the Amyrlin Seat is such a wonderful woman,” she said sweetly, baring her teeth in a smile. “She always asks how I am passing the time, and compliments my dress. I suppose she hopes I’ll make a decision soon between Darvan and Goemal, but I just cannot.” She widened her eyes, hoping it made her look helpless and confused. “They are both so sweet. Who did you say? Your sister, my Lord Gawyn? The Daughter-Heir herself? I do not think I’ve ever heard the Amyrlin Seat mention her. What was her name?” She could hear Gawyn grinding his teeth.

He said something, but she barely heard him because suddenly she was staring at a big man with long dark hair curling around slumped shoulders, wandering aimlessly down one of the gravelled paths through the trees, under the watchful eyes of an Accepted. She had seen Logain before, a sad-faced, once-hearty man, always with an Accepted for companion. The woman was meant to keep him from killing himself as much as to prevent his escape; despite his size, he truly did not seem up to anything of the latter sort. But she had never before seen a flaring halo around his head, radiant in gold and blue. It was only there for a moment, but that was enough.

Logain had proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn, had been captured and Gentled. Whatever glory he might have had as a false Dragon was far behind him now. All that remained for him was the despair of the Gentled, like a man who had been robbed of sight and hearing and taste, wanting to die, waiting for the death that inevitably came to such men in a few years. He glanced at her, perhaps not seeing her; his eyes looked hopelessly inward. So why had he worn a halo that shouted of glory and power to come? This was something she had to tell the Amyrlin.

“Poor fellow,” Gawyn muttered. “I cannot help pitying him. Light, it would be a mercy to let him end it. Why do they make him keep on living? They put no such watch on that serving man, Mical. Him they let seek the peace of death.”

“It might have something to do with all those people he killed, and towns he burned,” Min said in a low voice.

Gawyn nodded, but reluctantly. “Yet men followed him. Some of those towns were burned after they declared for him.”

Having seen Rand be so reluctant to take up the mantle despite even the Heroes of the Horn telling him he was the real one, Min didn’t have much sympathy for a man who’d spread war all over his homeland just because he wanted to be the Dragon Reborn. “I have to go,” she said, getting to her feet. “He’s made me feel faint. Do excuse me. I really must go lie down.”

Gawyn looked extremely sceptical, but he scooped up her basket before she could touch it. “Let me see you part of the way, at least,” he said, his voice oozing false concern. “This basket must be too heavy for you, dizzy as you are. I’d not want you to swoon.”

She wanted to snatch the basket and hit him with it, but that was not how Elmindreda would react. “Oh, thank you, my Lord Gawyn. You are so kind. So kind.”

She left, though with Gawyn right beside her. Her skirts were an irritant; she wanted to pull them up to her knees and run, but Elmindreda would never run, and never expose so much of her legs except when dancing. Laras had lectured her severely on that very point; one time running, and she would nearly destroy the image of Elmindreda completely. And Gawyn ...!

“Give me that basket, you muscle-brained cretin,” she snarled as soon as they were out of anyone’s sight, and pulled it away from him before he could comply. “What do you mean by asking me about Elayne in the open? Elmindreda never met her. Elmindreda does not care about her. Elmindreda doesn’t want to be mentioned in the same sentence with her! Can’t you understand that?”

“No,” he said. “Not since you won’t explain. But I am sorry.” There was hardly enough repentance in his voice to suit her. “It is just that I am worried. Where is she? This news coming upriver about a false Dragon in Tear makes me no easier in my mind. She is out there, somewhere, the Light knows where, and I keep asking myself, what if she is in the middle of the sort of bonfire Logain made out of Ghealdan?”

“What if he isn’t a false Dragon?” she asked cautiously.

“You mean because the stories in the streets say he’s taken the Stone of Tear? Rumour has a way of magnifying events. I will believe that when I see it, and in any case, it will take more to convince me. Even the Stone could fall. Light, I don’t really believe Elayne is in Tear, but the not knowing eats at my belly like acid. If she is hurt ... ”

In spite of his teasing, her heart went out to him, but there was nothing she could do. “If you could only do as I say and—”

“I know. Trust the Amyrlin. Trust!” He exhaled a long breath. “Do you know what drove Galad to join the Whitecloaks? The not knowing. It ate him up. It’s eating me up, too.” He raised his hands. “Not that I’m planning to go out drinking in the taverns with Whitecloaks, like he did.”

“Galad?” she said incredulously. “In taverns? Drinking?”

“No more than a cup or two, I’m sure. He would not unbend more than that, not for anything. Anyone can cross the bridges if they come in peace, even Children of the bloody Light.” Gawyn frowned as if unsure whether that might be a criticism of Galad. “I think I can understand it now. If anything happens to our sister ...” He shook his head. “Do you know where she is, Min? Would you tell me if you did? Why are you hiding?”

“Because I drove two men mad with my beauty and cannot make up my mind,” she told him acidly.

He gave a bitter half-laugh, then masked it with a grin. “Well, that at least I can believe.” He chuckled, and stroked under her chin with a finger. “You are a very pretty girl, Elmindreda. A pretty, clever little girl.”

She doubled a fist and tried to punch him in the eye, but he danced back, and she stumbled over her skirts and nearly fell. “You bloody ox of a thimble-brained man!” she growled.

“Such grace of movement, Elmindreda,” he laughed. “Such a dulcet voice, as a nightingale, or a cooing dove of the evening. What man would not grow starry-eyed at the sight of Elmindreda?” The mirth slid away, and he faced her soberly. “If you learn anything, please tell me. Please? I will beg on my knees, Min.”

“I will tell you,” she said. _If I can. If it’s safe for them. Light, but I hate this place. Why can’t I just go back to Rand?_

She left Gawyn there and entered the Tower proper by herself, keeping an eye out for Aes Sedai or Accepted who might question why she was above the ground floor and where she was going. The news of Logain was too important to wait until the Amyrlin encountered her, seemingly by accident, some time in the late afternoon as usual. At least, that was what she told herself. Impatience threatened to pop out through her skin.

She only saw a few Aes Sedai, turning a corner ahead of her or entering a room in the distance, which was all to the good. No-one simply dropped in on the Amyrlin Seat. The viewings she had of those Aes Sedai she glimpsed were nothing new. Scrawny Teslyn’s reflection did not show her true face, while her fellow Red, the dark-skinned Ivone, was surrounded by male children. Neither viewing came with a meaning attached. The handful of servants she passed, all bustling about their work, did not question her, of course, or even look at her twice except to drop quick curtsies almost without pausing.

Pushing open the door to the Amyrlin’s study, she had a simpering tale ready in case anyone was with Leane, but the antechamber was empty. She hurried to the inner door and put her head in. The Amyrlin and the Keeper were seated on either side of Siuan’s table, which was littered with small strips of thin paper. Their heads swivelled toward her sharply, a stare like four nails.

“What are you doing here?” the Amyrlin snapped. “You are supposed to be a silly girl claiming sanctuary, not a friend of my childhood. There is to be no contact between us except the most casual, in passing. If necessary, I’ll name Laras to watch over you like a nurse over a child. She would enjoy that, I think, but I doubt you would.”

Min shivered at the thought. Suddenly Logain did not seem so urgent; it was hardly likely he could achieve any glory in the next few days. He was not really why she had come, though, only an excuse, and she would not turn back now. Closing the door behind her, she stammered out what she had seen and what it meant. She still felt uncomfortable doing so in front of Leane.

Siuan shook her head wearily. “Another thing to worry about. Starvation in Cairhien. A sister missing in Illian. Trolloc raids increasing in the Borderlands again. This fool who calls himself the Prophet, stirring up riots in Ghealdan. He’s apparently preaching that the Dragon has been Reborn as a Shienaran lord,” she said incredulously. “Even the small things are bad. The war in Cairhien has hurt trade with Saldaea, and the pinch is making unrest in Maradon. Tenobia may even be forced off the throne by it. The only good news I have heard is that the Blight has retreated for some reason. Two miles or more of green beyond the border-stones, without a hint of corruption or pestilence, all the way from Volsung to Shienar. The first time in memory it has done that. But I suppose good news has to be balanced by bad. When a boat has one leak it is sure to have others. I only wish it was a balance. Leane, have the watch on Logain increased. I can’t see what trouble he could cause now, but I do not want to find out.” She turned those piercing blue eyes on Min. “Why did you come flapping up here with this like a startled gull? Logain could have waited. The man is hardly likely to find power and glory before sunset.”

The near echo of her own thoughts made Min shift uncomfortably. “I know,” she said. Leane’s eyebrows rose warningly, and she added a hasty, “Mother.” The Keeper nodded approvingly.

“That does not tell me why, child,” Siuan said.

Min steeled herself. “Mother, nothing I’ve viewed since the first day has been very important. I certainly have not seen anything that points to the Black Ajah.” That name still gave her a chill. “I’ve told you everything I know about whatever disaster you Aes Sedai are going to face, and the rest of it is just useless.” She had to stop and swallow, with that penetrating gaze on her. “Mother, there is no reason I should not go. There’s reason I should. Perhaps Rand could make real use of what I can do. If he has taken the Stone ... Mother, he may need me.” _At least I need him, burn me for a fool!_

The Keeper shuddered openly at the mention of Rand’s name. Siuan, on the other hand, snorted loudly. “Your viewings have been very useful. It’s important to know about Logain. You found the groom who was stealing before suspicion could land on anyone else. And that fire-haired Novice who was going to get herself with child ...! Sheriam cut that short—the girl won’t even think of men until she’s finished her training—but we’d not have known until it was too late, without you. No, you cannot go. Sooner or later your viewings will draw me a chart to the Black Ajah, and until they do, they still more than pay their passage.”

Min sighed, and not only because the Amyrlin meant to hold on to her. The last time she had seen that redheaded Novice, the girl had been sneaking off to a wooded part of the grounds with a muscular guard. They would be married, maybe before the end of summer; Min had known that as soon as she saw them together, though the Tower never let a Novice leave until the Tower was ready, even one who could not go any further in her training. There was a farm in that pair’s future, and a swarm of children, but it was pointless to tell the Amyrlin that.

“Could you at least let Gawyn know that his sister is alright, Mother?” Asking irked her, and her tone of voice did, too. A child denied a slice of cake begging for a cookie instead. “At least tell him something besides that ridiculous tale about doing penance on a farm.”

“I have told you that is none of your concern. Do not make me tell you again.”

“He doesn’t believe it any more than I do,” Min got out before the Amyrlin’s dry smile quieted her. It was not an amused smile.

“So you suggest I change where they are supposed to be? After letting everyone think them on a farm? Do you suppose that might raise a few eyebrows? Everyone but that boy accepts it. And you. Well, Coulin Gaidin will just have to work him that much harder. Sore muscles and enough sweat will take most men’s minds off other troubles. Women’s minds, too. You ask many more questions, and I’ll see what a few days scrubbing pots will do for you. Better to lose your services for two or three days than have you poking your nose where it does not belong.”

“You don’t even know if they are in trouble, do you? Or Moiraine.” It was not Moiraine she meant.

“Girl,” Leane said warningly, but Min was not to be stopped now.

“Why haven’t we heard? Rumours reached here two days ago. Two days! Why doesn’t one of those slips on your desk contain a message from her? Doesn’t she have pigeons? I thought you Aes Sedai had people with messenger pigeons everywhere. If there isn’t one in Tear, there should be. A man on horseback could have reached Tar Valon before now. Why—?”

The flat crack of Siuan’s palm on the table cut her off. “You obey remarkably well,” she said wryly. “Child, until we hear something to the contrary, assume the young man is well. Pray that he is.” Leane shivered again. “There’s a saying in the Maule, child,” the Amyrlin went on. “ ‘Do not trouble trouble till trouble troubles you’. Mark it well, child.”

There was a timid knock at the door.

The Amyrlin and the Keeper exchanged glances; then two sets of eyes shifted to Min. Her presence was a problem. There was certainly nowhere to hide; even the balcony was clearly visible from the room in its entirety.

“A reason for you to be here,” Siuan muttered, “that doesn’t make you any more than the fool girl you’re supposed to be. Leane, stand ready at the door.” She and the Keeper were on their feet together, Siuan coming around the table while Leane moved to the door. “Take Leane’s seat, girl. Move your feet, child; move your feet. Now look sulky. Not angry, sulky! Stick your lower lip out and stare at the floor. I may make you wear ribbons in your hair, huge red bows. That’s it. Leane.” The Amyrlin put her fists on her hips and raised her voice. “And if you ever walk in on me unannounced again, child, I will ...”

Leane pulled the door open to reveal a pretty Novice with a streak of brown running through her black hair, who flinched at Siuan’s continuing tirade, then dropped a deep curtsy. “Messages for the Amyrlin, Aes Sedai,” the girl squeaked. “Two pigeons arrived at the loft.” She was one of those who had told Min she was beautiful, and she tried to stare past the Keeper with wide eyes.

“This does not concern you, child,” Leane said briskly, taking the tiny cylinders of bone out of the girl’s hand. “Back to the loft with you.” Before the Novice finished rising, Leane shut the door, then leaned against it with a sigh. “I have jumped at every unexpected sound since you told me ...” Straightening, she came back to the table. “Two more messages, Mother. Shall I ...?”

“Yes. Open them,” the Amyrlin said. “No doubt Morgase has decided to invade Valreis. Or Trollocs have overrun the Borderlands. It would be of a piece with everything else.” Min kept her seat; Siuan had sounded all too realistic with some of those threats.

Leane examined the red wax seal on the end of one of the small cylinders, no larger than her own finger joint, then broke it open with a thumbnail when she was satisfied it had not been tampered with. The rolled paper inside she extracted with a slim ivory pick. “Nearly as bad as Trollocs, Mother,” she said almost as soon as she began reading. “Mazrim Taim has escaped.”

“Light!” Siuan barked. “How?”

“This only says he was taken away by stealth in the night, Mother. Two sisters are dead.”

“The Light illumine their souls. But we’ve little time to mourn the dead while the likes of Taim are alive and unGentled. Where, Leane?”

“Rihden, Mother. A village west of Deane’s Bounty on the Maradon Road.”

“It had to be some of his followers. Fools. Why won’t they know when they are beaten? Choose out a dozen reliable sisters, Leane ...” The Amyrlin grimaced. “Reliable,” she muttered. “If I knew who was more reliable than a silverpike, I’d not have the problems I do. Do the best you can, Leane. A dozen sisters. And five hundred of the guards. No, a full thousand.”

“Mother,” the Keeper said worriedly, but the Amyrlin spoke over her, too.

“There is no telling what is going on up there, Leane. I want whoever I send to be ready for anything. And Leane ... Mazrim Taim is to be Gentled as soon as he is taken again.”

Leane’s eyes opened wide with shock. “The law.”

“I know the law as well as you, but I will not risk having him freed again unGentled. I’ll not risk another Guaire Amalasan, not on top of everything else.”

“Yes, Mother,” Leane said faintly.

The Amyrlin picked up the second bone cylinder and snapped it in two with a sharp crack to get the message out. “Good news at last,” she breathed, a smile blooming on her face. “Good news. ‘The sling has been used. The shepherd holds the sword’.”

“Rand?” Min asked, and Siuan nodded.

“Of course, girl. The Stone has fallen. Rand al’Thor, the shepherd, has _Callandor_. Now I can move. Leane, I want the Hall of the Tower convened this afternoon. No, this morning.”

“I don’t understand,” Min said. “You knew the rumours were about Rand. Why are you calling the Hall now? What can you do that you could not before?”

Siuan laughed like a girl. “What I can do now is tell them right out that I have received word from an Aes Sedai that the Stone of Tear has fallen and a man has drawn _Callandor_. Prophecy fulfilled. Enough of it for my purpose, at least. The Dragon is Reborn. They’ll flinch, they’ll argue but none can oppose my pronouncement that the Tower must guide this man. At last I can involve myself with him openly. Openly for the most part.”

“Are we doing the right thing, Mother?” Leane said abruptly. “I know ... If he has _Callandor_ , he must be the Dragon Reborn, but he can channel, Mother. A man who can channel. I only saw him once, but even then there was something strange about him. Something more than being _ta’veren_. Mother, is he so very different from Taim when it comes down to it?”

“The difference is that he _is_ the Dragon Reborn, daughter,” the Amyrlin said quietly. “Taim is a wolf, and maybe rabid. Rand al’Thor is the wolfhound we will use to defeat the Shadow. Keep his name to yourself, Leane. Best not to reveal too much too soon.”

“As you say, Mother,” the Keeper said, but she still sounded uneasy.

“Off with you now. I want the Hall assembled in an hour.” Siuan thoughtfully watched the taller woman go. “There may be more resistance than I would wish,” she said when the door clicked shut.

Min looked at her sharply. “You don’t mean ...”

“Oh, nothing serious, child. Not as long as they don’t know how long I have been involved with the al’Thor boy.” She looked at the slip of paper again, then dropped it onto the table. “I could wish Moiraine had told me more.”

“Why didn’t she say more? And why have we not heard from her before this?”

“More questions with you. That one you must ask Moiraine. She has always gone her own way. Ask Moiraine, child.”

“I wish I could,” Min muttered. So Rand really had taken the Stone. She wondered how he was coping with such a big change in his life.

“Don’t start that again, girl. And stop mooning.”

Min flushed. “I wasn’t!”

The Amyrlin gave her a hard look. “I’m getting tired of your lip, girl. When I say you are mooning, that means you are mooning.”

She wanted to argue but didn’t quite dare. The Amyrlin Seat was not very tolerant of defiance of any kind, and was used to getting her way with anyone who stepped through that door. So Min held her tongue, and sat there, meek as you please, while waiting to be dismissed.

“Well, at least you’ve gotten the hang of sulking. You look a proper Elmindreda now.”

Min flushed even hotter. “Oh, you witch,” she muttered under her breath.

Those chill blue eyes flared, and she realised she hadn’t spoken low enough. The Amyrlin rounded the table, and came to stand over her. Min looked away from her, but she gripped her by the hair and turned her face back. “Yes. Very tired of that lip. You’re not going to be much use to me if you run around doing whatever you please.” The unfairness of that took her breath away. Wasn’t she being kept in the Tower and made to take viewings of everyone instead of leaving, as she wanted? That was hardly running around doing whatever she pleased! She was wearing a dress! And rouge! And letting people call her Elmindreda without punching them! The other woman went right on talking, as if what she’d said was perfectly reasonable. “Perhaps a lesson is needed. You could even help me prepare for my meeting with the Hall.” Her grip loosened a little, her fingers combing through Min’s curls. It confused her at first, but then she saw the way the woman was looking at her. Amyrlin or not, she knew that look. Her eyes went very wide. “You are so much cuter this way ... Elmindreda. Such a dainty, naughty, and compliant girl. I like that ...”

Min was rooted to her chair by shock when the Amyrlin leaned down and kissed her lips. She was still goggling when she was pulled up out of the chair and led around the desk by the woman’s grip on her bodice. At first, all she could think was that she didn’t want her to rip the dress, but then her mind cleared enough for her to stammer out a question. “W-what do you, you think you are doing?”

“I’m getting little Elmindreda to show me if there’s anything else she can do with those lips besides sulk,” was the answer, delivered with a wolfish smile as the woman took her seat again, releasing Min. She leaned back, and stretched one leg up to rest it on the edge of the table. “Get down on your knees, Elmindreda.”

There could be little question as to what Siuan wanted her to do down there. Heart hammering, she wondered if she dared refuse. With her skirts bunched up like that, she could see the Amyrlin’s pale thighs and paler underwear. The strangest thing of all was the fact that her body was responding to the situation by heating up. Under Siuan’s forceful stare, Min, or rather, Elmindreda, found herself dropping slowly to her knees. The self-satisfied smile that caused made her blush, but didn’t stop her from reaching out and taking hold of the waistband of Siuan’s underwear.

“That’s a good girl,” Siuan told her as she bared her sex. “You’re going to be a good girl, aren’t you, Elmindreda?”

She swallowed. “Yes, Mother.”

“Then get in there, and show me what you can do with those pretty lips of yours.”

Kneeling low behind the Amyrlin Seat’s desk, Elmindreda placed her mouth between the woman’s soft thighs, and stretched out her tongue to touch her lower lips. Siuan didn’t cry out at her touch, she just rested her hand atop her cap of dark curls. “Go deeper, and harder. You know what to do,” she instructed.

So she did. She licked the Amyrlin’s pussy as hard as she could, and even slid a finger inside her, to stroke and tease. Before very long her mouth was coated in the woman’s juices, but she didn’t stop her licking for a moment. On and on she licked, while her own underwear grew surprisingly damp.

“That’s my naughty Elmindreda. Nearly there, now. Both fingers. Up and down.”

She complied, wondering at herself. She tongued the Amyrlin’s nub while she fingered her as hard as she could. The grip in her hair grew painful, but she kept licking and fingering until the older woman hissed out her satisfaction.

When she looked up, she saw the Amyrlin Seat looking more relaxed than she’d ever seen her. Instead of being chips of cold stone, her eyes were soft and glazed over with pleasure. Down on her knees behind the desk, red-faced and messy, Elmindreda tried to tell herself that she’d had no choice.

The way that Siuan smirked at her certainly helped to reinforce that idea. “You see? Elmindreda is a sweet girl. And properly compliant.” She patted Min’s cheek gently, before sitting up and starting to fix herself.

That seemed to be her cue to get up, so Min did. Then she frowned at herself, wondering why she’d needed a cue at all.

She was still standing there, frowning in silent wonder, when the Amyrlin spoke again. “Go on, girl. Off with you. I have meetings to get to.” She waited until Min’s slow, stunned steps had taken her near the door before adding, “And don’t be playing with yourself when you get back to your room. I’ll know.”

Elmindreda gasped. “I w-wasn’t going to—” That hard stare was back in place, so she ducked her eyes. “As you say, Mother.”

The Amyrlin Seat’s snorted laughter ushered her out of the room.

Leane wasn’t back yet so she had time to compose herself before leaving. Which was just as well, because she met Dynahir not far from the Amyrlin’s office, coming the other way. The dark and buxom Blue sister hesitated only briefly before greeting her. “Ah, Min. Your taste in clothing, it has changed rather a lot since we last met. You look well. What brings you back to the Tower?”

“Um ... I’m not sure how to answer that.” She could try her Elmindreda excuse. Laras had been willing enough to believe it, even though she’d met Min during her previous stay in the Tower. Dynahir might be fooled, too, but ... She had a sudden need to shake off that disguise and be herself. “Are you going to see the Amyrlin?” She couldn’t think of another reason for the Aes Sedai to be in this area of the Tower.

Dynahir’s brow rose in predictable Aes Sedai fashion at being questioned, but she didn’t rebuke her further for it. “I am. The Keeper tells me there is a task that requires my attention, one that will take me out of the Tower for a time. I would not tell you even that much, except ... You are friends with young Elayne, yes? Well, as you may or may not be aware, there was an incident with her Accepted test. A near-fatal incident, the cause of which engendered some suspicion among several sisters, myself included.”

“She wasn’t hurt was she?” Min said, fighting the mad urge to grab the Aes Sedai by the shoulders and shake some answers out of her.

“Calm yourself. She is unharmed. And passed her test. I tell you only so that, when she returns from her penance, you will know to keep a watchful eye over her. It would be a great shame for the Tower to lose such a powerful, and highly born, initiate.”

“I will,” Min said faintly. Someone in the Tower had tried to kill Elayne. Maybe. Probably. Dynahir said whatever had happened was suspicious. Not a direct attack. But the idea of a hidden assassin lurking among them took root in Min’s mind and would not be budged by such details. If it involved the Accepted test it would have to be an Aes Sedai. Black Ajah? Could she use her viewings to find out who was responsible? She could certainly try!

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she barely heard Dynahir’s farewell, and gave only a distracted wave in return. There were other Aes Sedai in the Tower, of course. Too many, all of a sudden. Siuan had forbidden her from leaving the Tower grounds, but not the White Tower itself. The library was still accessible, so it was there that she went.

The sense of being watched made her shoulders itch while she walked through the Tower, and followed her across the grounds, too, but it faded once she was admitted to the Great Library. There was no logical reason for that. The library belonged to the Aes Sedai, and was overseen by the Brown Ajah—she was in as much danger there as anywhere else in Tar Valon. But despite that logical truth, she felt much more comfortable now that she was among the books.

The library did not lack for visitors at this hour, most of whom were Aes Sedai. Min avoided them, but couldn’t avoid a continuation of the viewings she’d had when she’d first returned to the Tower. Some were fleeing, either from faceless hunters or from leather riding crops, others were covered in chains. One of those last paused on her way out to study Min, a slight confusion showing in her mismatched eyes. But Yuna didn’t seem to recognise her through her new look, so she was able to walk by her without comment.

She sought out and found a quiet corner of the library in which to relax and gather her thoughts. _I just pleasured the Amyrlin Seat. Blood and ashes! The Amyrlin!_ There had been nothing romantic about it, but it had been kind of exciting even so. What did it mean going forward? Would Siuan summon her and make her do those things again? Would she let her? Could she stop her?

She wasn’t so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the comings and goings in the library. The quiet little Arafellin, Ayako, who’d been menaced by an invisible riding crop earlier, didn’t notice the curtsy she received from the Novice she passed on her way out. Or the way said Novice’s near-black eyes flashed at being ignored. Seeing the girl’s spirit shine through her forced timidity made Min smile. It echoed her plight as “Elmindreda” and made them kindred spirits.

The Novice saw her smile and took it for welcome. It was the girl from earlier, she realised as she approached Min’s table. There was no mistaking that brown streak in her hair. She was very pretty, with a round face and a slender figure. “Hello. I’m glad to see you are still in one piece, after the Amyrlin Seat got hold of you earlier,” she said by way of greeting. “I don’t envy you that! I’ve barely seen her since signing my name in the Novice Book, but she has a fearsome reputation. I am Rinoa, by the by.”

Min didn’t want to say it, but she knew she had to keep up her disguise. “My name’s Elmindreda. I’m hiding here from all the boys I’ve made fall in love with me.”

Rinoa giggled. “And to think, Mother says _I_ am too bold! Good for you, Elmindreda.”

She didn’t need to try very hard to affect confusion. “Good? Oh, I don’t know about that, miss. It’s just so hard to decide between them.”

“Well, at least you are trying to decide. Some women just move both men into the same house,” Rinoa said. She grew serious for a moment, lips thinning, before shaking herself back to cheerfulness. “What brings you to the library? I know you don’t read much. I love a good book, personally. If you think you can hide from the Amyrlin here, I fear you may be doomed to disappointment.”

Min suppressed a grimace, and not just for Rinoa’s too accurate guess at her motive. The girl reminded her of Elayne in some ways—her Valreio accent had traces of nobility to it, but she didn’t seem very stuck up at all. And she liked books. In other circumstances, she thought she might have found a new friend ... but it was Min who liked books and was friends with Elayne. Elmindreda didn’t know Elayne from Hawkwing’s toenails, and wouldn’t read a book if you paid her.

So it was with some reluctance that she put on her affected simper and said, “You don’t think she’d really come after me, do you? Oh, I just couldn’t bear it. She was so frightening. I just want to let my poor heart calm down, lest I faint. Even if it does mean hiding among all these boring books.”

“Don’t you worry you’re poor little head about it,” Rinoa said soothingly. Her condescending smile would have put Min’s back up, if it wasn’t exactly the reaction she’d been aiming for. “If the Amyrlin had anything more to say to you, she would not have let you leave at all. You are in the clear. You can flee the books whenever you want. Not me, though. I have studying to do. Perhaps we can talk later, Elmindreda.”

_Wait. I’m really not this much of a ninny. I actually have a brain. Honest! What kind of books do you like?_ Min wanted to say to Rinoa’s departing back. She didn’t say any of it, though, just stared at her glumly.

Having played her role with Rinoa, Min had little choice but to vacate the library. It would have looked suspicious otherwise. But just as she took hold of the door handle, another hand closed on it, right beside hers, their fingers almost touching. And on one of those fingers was a golden ring in the shape of a serpent eating its own tail.

“Forgive me, Aes Sedai,” Elmindreda said. “I did—”

She found herself staring, mouth half open, at a familiar face. Juilaine would have been a very handsome man, and she was still pretty as a woman, if in an androgynous way. Her dark hair was cut even shorter than Min’s, and the plain brown dress she wore would have been a coat and breeches, such as Min usually wore, if not for the need to conform. That much she had told her, back when they’d first met in Baerlon, years ago. Juilaine’s blue eyes widened in recognition, but no flush betrayed her as it did Min.

“No apology is necessary ... Elmindreda,” she said, after only a brief hesitation. She pulled open the door, and politely stood aside to let Min out. Too politely. Unaccustomed to such treatment, Min found her flush deepening.

Once outside, she found herself crossing the grounds between the library and the Tower proper with Juilaine walking apace with her not too far away. The two women kept glancing at each other, and then looking away when they saw the other looking. Neither knew what to say until Min blurted out, “I’m sorry I was mean to you.”

Juilaine frowned. “I wouldn’t say you were very mean,” she said slowly.

Min looked away. “Back then, I meant. In Baerlon. I got nervous and confused, and I treated you like you were ... like you were a ... lesser person than you are. I’m sorry about that. It wasn’t very nice.”

A brief silence fell between them, before Juilaine broke it. “Aes Sedai have a ... certain reputation. And I am a lot older than you. Your being frightened was understandable.”

“Afterwards—years afterwards—I started to think I’d hurt your feelings. I felt guilty about that.”

“I’m fine,” the Aes Sedai said curtly. Min fell silent, and they were nearly at the door to the Tower before Juilaine spoke again. “Now. I’m fine now.” She paused, hand on the door, and eyed Min up and down. “You’ve changed, and in more ways than I’d thought. You were always pretty, but you look very different now. A proper Elmindreda.”

Min scowled. “You haven’t changed at all. You look just the way I remember.”

“That is the burden of being an Aes Sedai. The decades pass as though they were years,” Juilaine mused. Her eyes met Min’s. “And you are right. I haven’t changed.”

She let herself in. Min had to get the door herself this time, while holding up those damn skirts. She was tempted to pull them up further so she could move more easily, but if she did that then anyone who looked would be able to see her legs. And that could easily be taken for encouragement, given the challenge there had been in that look Juilaine gave her. Did she want to encourage her? She told herself that she was still excited from what had happened earlier, and wasn’t thinking straight. She should make her excuses and leave.

She followed Juilaine deeper into the Tower.

A small smile curved the Aes Sedai’s lips when Min caught up to her. “So whose future does the Sanche woman have you telling her about?”

Min grimaced. There was no point denying it, since Juilaine already knew everything there was to know about her viewings. “Everyone’s. The future is violent, and a lot of Aes Sedai will be touched by it.” Even as she spoke, an empty chair briefly appeared in the air behind Juilaine’s shoulder. “Even some of the Sitters in the Hall. You’ll have to take over for one.”

There was nothing slight about her smile this time. “Really? A lot of work has gone into that. It’s good to know it wasn’t wasted. Small wonder Sanche is keeping you to herself.”

“I wouldn’t say she’s keeping me ...” Min said, in what was definitely not a sulky manner.

Juilaine laughed. “Of course not. I remember how little you like to be kept.”

Min chewed on her lip. She definitely didn’t like being kept. No. Not at all. Not unless it was by someone she wanted to keep her. Then it might be okay. Maybe. “I’m not sure what I want,” she confessed in a small voice.

They were alone in the corridor. Juilaine stopped, considered Min carefully, and said, “Would you like me to help you find out?”

“I ... I don’t know w-what you mean,” Min lied.

Juilaine chucked. “Are you playing the sheltered princess these days? That’s okay. A lot of girls go through such a stage. I know just what to do with them.”

“W-what?”

“You’d need to come back to my rooms to find out,” Juilaine said. “None of them have had to, of course, but all of them have left smiling.” Her boasts and her promises had Min’s heart racing. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so when Juilaine stepped closer all she did was stare at her. “You know you can leave at any time. Of all people, you know you can stop me from doing ... this ...”

The Aes Sedai was taller than Min, but not by much. But somehow, when she wrapped her arms around Min’s shoulders and kissed her deep, she seemed to tower over her. Min’s knees grew weak, and she collapsed against the older woman, her arms going around her instinctually.

Juilaine kissed her only briefly, testingly, before leaning back with a satisfied smirk. “Come with me, Elmindreda,” she said, and took Min by the hand.

Surprised by her own compliance, Min let herself be led through the Tower to the quarters of the Brown Ajah. None of the few people they saw on the way knew her, or she was sure she would have pulled her hand out of Juilaine’s grip, but as it stood she was still holding on to her when they arrived at her bedroom. Juilaine shut and locked the door, and was on Min within a heartbeat of the lock clicking into place, kissing her hungrily.

They stood much as they had years before, with Min stunned by the feel of the Aes Sedai’s lips against hers. Once more, a hand stole across her hip towards her crotch, and skilled fingers rubbed against her sex through her clothes, but this time, this time Min moaned in pleasure instead of flinching away.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” Juilaine said, before she pushed Min back onto the soft bed.

Not only did Min not resist the Aes Sedai’s advances, she pulled her light blue skirts up to expose herself. She was so wet. She needed release. “Do whatever you want with me,” she heard Elmindreda say.

Her underwear was soon yanked down her slender legs, and a hand was soon probing her hot sex and making her squirm. “Burn me, you really are excited,” Juilaine said, openly surprised. “You’ve thought about this before, haven’t you?”

Min swallowed. “Sometimes,” she confessed.

“I’m glad,” Juilaine said as she started to undress. Her body was smooth and slender. The breasts she bared were small, and the hips narrow, and the smile she wore when she climbed onto the bed beside Min was as eager as her own.

Juilaine lay half atop her and captured her lips while her fingers found, probed, and then entered her sex. Min moaned against her mouth. Relief surged through her body as it finally got what it had been denied. Juilaine, too, was happy to be putting an end to that denial. Min’s skirt was bunched up around her hips, and the Aes Sedai had captured a leg between her own. She ground against it as she fingered Min.

Running her hands through Juilaine’s hair, Min spread herself wider, encouraging more. She was not disappointed. The fingers that probed her sex went deeper and faster. “Someone has awakened you already,” Juilaine said, between kisses. “I’m jealous, but I won’t ask who. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.”

Her words made Min wonder if what she was doing would count as cheating on Elayne or Rand, though why that thought made her feel guilty while being in love with both of them at once did not was a mystery she was far from being able to solve. Her guilt didn’t last long in the face of her lust, though, for Juilaine, perhaps sensing she had touched on a subject she should not, slid quickly down the bed and brought her mouth to bear against Min’s fevered sex.

She cried out as the Aes Sedai began licking her. And kept crying out as Juilaine proved her earlier boast to be born of experience. She found Min’s weakest spot with her tongue, and stimulated it expertly. Once she had her clutching the bedsheets, she added a finger again as well, and forced Min to groan out a warning.

“I’m so close!”

“Good. Come for me, Min. That’s a good girl,” Juilaine said. “Or do you prefer to be called Elmindreda these days?” Min wanted to deny that, but as soon as she finished speaking her tongue went back to work on Min’s sex, and a powerful orgasm burst inside her.

She came hard, there on the Aes Sedai’s bed, with her pretty blue skirts lifted so indecently. It was the kind of thing that fool Elmindreda from the stories probably did, and Min wanted to rail against it, but she felt too good to do much in the way of complaining just then.

It was some time before she finally felt able to say anything, and what she did say made Juilaine laugh. “So that’s what it would have been like.”

“Having regrets?” she said smugly.

Min considered. If she’d let Juilaine have her way with her back then, would things between her and Elayne have been quite as sweet and as exploratory as they’d been? Probably not. No. She had no regrets, but she was not so mean as to tell Juilaine that. “You certainly weren’t lying earlier. I’ll leave here smiling.”

The other woman laughed. “But not just yet, I hope.”

Min raised her brows, saw the weighing look in her eyes, and grinned. “Of course not. You were right about that other thing earlier, too. I’m not at all mean.” So saying, she began kissing her way down Juilaine’s body, moving ever closer to her neglected pussy. As she did, she was given cause to wonder how long she would have to stay in the White Tower, and what else she would find herself doing to keep up her guise as Elmindreda.


	56. New Discoveries

The _Wavedancer_ cut through the rough waters of the Sea of Storms like a knife through warm butter. Elayne had no experience with which to judge such things, but she suspected the Jubai sisters would make good on their boasted time. Unless, that was, they gave in to Keestis’ pleading.

“There are lots of Sea Folk islands between us and Tanchico. We wouldn’t even have to go very far out of our way. And Toram says the lenses are made and kept in stock for when needed. So we wouldn’t have to stay long either. A day maybe, no more than that.”

The way her friend pleaded smote Elayne’s heart. She’d been so excited when she saw the odd device Toram wore on his face, and realised it was meant to correct his poor eyesight. Keestis had long struggled with a similar problem. Dangling the solution before her only to snatch it away was beyond cruel. Were it up to Elayne they would make the detour, but it was Nynaeve that the Amyrlin Seat had put in charge of their Accepted band, and Nynaeve didn’t want to spend a second longer at sea than was strictly necessary. Elayne could understand that. Nynaeve’s stomach had responded poorly to river travel, and it was responding even worse to travel by sea. Yet that was a momentary discomfort. What Keestis was facing was a lifetime of struggle.

“I will speak to her again. More firmly this time,” Elayne promised.

Keestis slumped against the port rail at which they stood, watching the waves rise and fall. “Thank you. You have no idea what this means to me.”

That was true enough; Elayne’s eyesight was quite clear. She could imagine, though. “Even if Nynaeve refuses, we shall get you those lenses,” she said, resting a hand gently on the other girl’s shoulder. “Even if we have to visit the isles ourselves, just you and I, after our mission in Tanchico is complete. I am of a mind to do so anyway. Andor would benefit greatly from knowing how to make such things ourselves. I will speak to my mother of the matter when I return to Caemlyn.”

Keestis smiled warmly. “You’ll make a great queen someday.”

Elayne stood taller, and tried for a gracious nod—queenly and composed. But the dimpled grin she was not able to suppress rather spoiled the effect.

She was distracted for a moment by Jorin walking by. She balanced perfectly against the ship’s rocking, a feat that Elayne had proven unable to replicate; she got about by darting from one handhold to the next. Jorin’s fine balance didn’t prevent her breasts from swaying with the sea’s motion, though. That was distracting now, and had been during their lessons of the past few days. The woman had stretch marks on her stomach, and claimed her daughters were older than Elayne, but she looked closer to Elayne’s age than she should. Of course, knowing the Windfinder’s secret, that was not so surprising.

Keestis knew that secret now, too. “I wonder what the White Tower will do about them?”

Elayne raised a brow at her. “You are certain they will do something?”

“Valgarda’s a big place, with a long history. And not a single group of channelers other than the Aes Sedai,” Keestis said dryly. “Neither of us is naive enough to think that happened by accident.”

“Indeed.” Elayne sighed. She had said she would do what she could to protect the Windfinders, and she’d meant it. She was far from confident that what she could do would be enough, however. Of course, these were not normal times in which they lived. What had been true throughout Valgarda’s past was not necessarily true now. Rand’s rebirth would see to that. Perhaps there was hope for the Windfinders in that. They certainly seemed to regard him as a figure of hope, rather than the dark destroyer that _The Karaethon Cycle_ painted him as. Elayne had asked to hear more of their Jendai Prophecy, but Jorin had refused to speak of it.

She wondered if she should pass a message on to him through Dani, when they next met. They’d only had one of their scheduled weekly meetings so far, and there hadn’t been much news to share at the time. Dani said that they’d arrived safely in the Waste, though not without mishap. Her description of the Portal Stone worlds she’d seen matched the tales Rand had already shared with her, both for fascination and for horror. Rand himself was still in Rhuidean, doing whatever he had to do in the Aiel’s mysterious city. A forbidden city in the Waste. That was almost as surprising as Mat Cauthon having insisted on going into said city with him. And how typical of him to almost cause a fight while Rand was trying to be diplomatic!

 _Wavedancer_ had begun to slow again, so it was little surprise that the nimbus of _saidar_ flared around Jorin, up near the helm. She’d been working hard to ensure they made it to Tanchico as quickly as possible. A day or so spent visiting one of the Ailes wouldn’t hurt at all. “I have questions for the Windfinder. We shall speak again later, my friend,” she said.

“Till then.”

Acknowledging Keestis’ farewell with a small wave, she made her way haltingly across the ship’s deck. Jorin watched her come, and neither moved to help her nor expressed mockery of her struggle. She was a firm but fair teacher.

For a time, on arriving at what she’d come to think of as the command deck, she simply studied Jorin’s weaving, trying to memorise the complex way she spun her threads. Once she’d imprinted them on her memory, however, she found herself studying the woman herself. Jorin wasn’t stunningly pretty or anything, but she was striking. It was hard not to look at her breasts, which were full, round, brown, and tipped with big near-black nipples.

“My eyes are up here, Elayne,” she heard the Windfinder drawl.

Elayne flushed hot, and hastily restored her gaze to where it belonged. “My apologies. It is simply not a custom with which I am familiar.”

“Oh? Pity. I thought you liked what you were seeing,” Jorin said with a smile. The light halo disappeared when she released _saidar_. “Speaking of things we are not familiar with, what causes the paler shorebound to turn as red of skin as this?” She brushed her fingers lightly across Elayne’s cheek.

Elayne shivered. “That ... that is a result of embarrassment or exertion,” she said. It could also be a result of arousal, but she wasn’t about to admit to that.

“It is a strange thing. But cute, I must admit.”

“You think me cute?”

Jorin hesitated to answer. She looked about them, and judged the brawny, shirtless helmsman to be too close for comfort, so she led Elayne over to the ship’s rail before responding. “Of course. You are a very pretty girl. I am sure I am not the first person to tell you so. And you are a fast learner. Already you have mastered almost everything I have to teach you. Everything you did not already know, that is.”

“The student is only as good as the tutor,” Elayne said graciously. “Yet. Almost? Is there something you have been holding back? A secret not to be entrusted to any but a fellow Windfinder, perhaps?”

Jorin huffed a laugh, and looked away. “It’s not about being a Windfinder or not. Not in that way, at least. It’s just not something I’m sure you would want to learn.”

“Why not let me be the judge of that?”

When Jorin’s eyes returned to hers, there was a challenge in them. “Be careful what you wish for, Elayne. You are young still. You should be careful not to rush into things so recklessly. You might find you’ve put up more sail than your mast can hold.”

Elayne put her hands on her hips, annoyed. “Why do people keep saying that to me? I am the sensible, diplomatic one in this group. I am not at all reckless!” Jorin’s dubious expression only incensed her more. “If you are willing to teach, I am willing to learn.”

The Windfinder eyed her up and down, and then shrugged. “I’ll not turn down that offer. Come with me.” She set off, her swaying walk making the cheeks of her bottom push against the loose fabric of her pantaloons. Elayne followed more carefully. It was to the ladder that led below decks that Jorin led her. Down they went, with Elayne now moving even more carefully. There was simply no dignified way to climb a ladder in skirts.

When she reached the bottom, she found Jorin waiting for her. Once more, the Windfinder led the way, this time to a room that Elayne had never visited before. It was not the crew quarters, and it didn’t seem to be anyone’s cabin, but there was a lock on the door, a hamper of towels and a small barrel of water off to one side, and a bed bolted to the deck.

“What is this place?” she asked.

“It is where we go to be private,” Jorin answered.

Elayne’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. She was not so sheltered that she couldn’t guess at what Jorin meant. “And why are we here?”

“So I can teach you how to use the One Power to pleasure a woman, of course. What did you think we were talking about?”

Elayne’s hand snapped up to cover her smiling mouth. She certainly hadn’t expected that! Pride drove her to be less than honest, however. “I was fully aware of what you were referring to. I just wanted to hear you say it.” But what else did she want? Now that was the question. Jorin was an interesting and attractive woman it was true. She felt drawn to her by more than their shared ability to channel. But could she really do something so improper? The woman was married! But perhaps that was a good thing, for Elayne, at least. It meant there would be fewer complications for her life if she gave in to the temptation that was making her heart speed up.

“If this is a lesson too far for you, I understand,” Jorin said. “If not, you should take off that dress. It’s not fair staring if you won’t let yourself be stared at back.”

Elayne looked at the door, and considered just leaving. But she didn’t leave. She reached back to undo the catches of her green riding dress instead.

As she undressed, she was very conscious of Jorin watching her. “Pink there, too,” the Sea Folk woman whispered when she bared her breasts, and the stiffening nipples that crowned them. “And orange,” she added, when the last of Elayne’s clothes fell down over her hips to pool around her feet on the deck. “You are a beautiful girl, Elayne Trakand. This will be more than just a lesson for me; I confess it under the Light.”

“For me as well,” Elayne said.

Jorin sat on the bed to undo her sash and take off her pantaloons. Biting her lip, Elayne went and sat beside her. As soon as the older woman had stripped herself, she put her arm around Elayne’s shoulders and pulled her into a rough kiss. Elayne wasted no more time before finally taking those lovely breasts of hers in hand and testing their softness. They were just as pliant as she’d imagined. She didn’t resist when Jorin pushed her back onto the bed, and didn’t stop kneading those breasts, either. The contrast between her own pale fingers and the dark brown flesh in which she buried them was fascinating to her.

And to Jorin, whose own hands found Elayne’s breasts and began to explore them just as thoroughly as Elayne was hers. “So pretty. But all of this, any woman could do.”

“Yes. You said something about the Power.”

“I did.” Embracing _saidar_ , Jorin clambered atop her and knelt across her chest, her glistening pussy close to Elayne’s mouth. Then she reached back, took hold of her ankles, and pulled them forwards. Pinned like that, with her legs spread and her hips raised from the bed, Elayne felt completely exposed.

She soon felt more than that, when some invisible cables began writhing against her holes.

“Shh. It will be okay,” Jorin said, looking down at her. “It requires care and precision, but I have experience with both. Watch and learn. Trust.”

Elayne swallowed. “I will.”

Then she gasped as those cables, formed of Air and Water, began snaking their way inside her. Arousal had made her pussy welcoming already, but her ass proved the same, to her surprise and embarrassment. The way Jorin had spun her cables wetted Elayne’s butt enough for them to slip inside. Once in, she could feel their girth slowly expanding. Her gasps continued apace.

“How do you want it? Both at once, or one after the other? Like this ... or this?” Jorin asked. Her examples made Elayne whimper, as the cables pumped into her at the same time for a while, and then started alternating between holes. She found she liked the latter rhythm best, but was too embarrassed to say it aloud.

Jorin chuckled. “Don’t be shy, Elayne. I want to make you feel good, but you’ll need to be honest with me. Do you like this?” Being penetrated in both holes at once made Elayne throw her head back. “Or this?” In and out, in and out, driving her closer and closer to bliss.

She bit her lip, and was sure her face had to be as red as a beet, but she said the words. “The second way, Jorin. Please. Fuck me like that.”

Jorin smiled down at her. “That’s a good girl. Would you do something for me, too? Like a good girl?” With her pussy so close to Elayne’s face, there was little question as to what she meant. Elayne nodded, and Jorin shifted her hips, bringing her sex closer and closer until Elayne was swamped first in her scent, and then in her hot, tender folds.

The Sea Folk moaned when Elayne’s tongue first touched her, and moaned even louder when that questing tongue found her most sensitive spot. She held herself in place, rightly trusting Elayne to know what to do. She held Elayne in place, too, and those cables she spun began pumping in and out of her at a steady pace.

Elayne could only imagine what she would look like, with those cables, invisible to anyone who could not channel _saidar_ , working within her. If someone had walked in they would see her flesh stretching, and even be able to look inside her body, but they would not see what was causing it. If she could have moved, the thought would have made her cringe with embarrassment. But no matter how embarrassing it was to be fucked like that by the Windfinder, she could not deny that it felt really, really good.

“You have to be very careful when doing this,” Jorin said. “You could very easily hurt her otherwise. Pinch me, to let me know if I misjudge my weaving. I will dispel the weave immediately.”

Elayne shook her head against the woman’s pussy. Those cables were touching so many parts of her that the very idea of them being removed felt like a threat. She felt Jorin draw more strongly on _saidar_ , and another pair of tentacles formed, these ones swiftly seeking out and coiling around Elayne’s breasts. The felt cool and wet to the touch, but they drove her pleasure to new heights.

Pinned like that and stimulated in every way imaginable, it wasn’t long before Elayne’s pussy began fluttering around the Power-wrought intruder. She didn’t pinch Jorin, or give any other sign that she wanted her to stop. So far as she was concerned, the woman could wring her out like a washcloth. She stared up at the Windfinder, and licked and licked. She was still licking, and still coming, long after the sun had set that day.


	57. He Who Comes with the Dawn

The dawn shadows shortened and paled as Rand and Mat jogged across the barren, still-dark valley floor, leaving fog-shrouded Rhuidean behind. The dry air hinted at heat to come, but the slight breeze actually felt cold to Rand, with no clothes. That would not last; full blistering daylight would be on them soon enough. They hurried as best they could in the hope of beating it, but he did not think they would. Their best was not very fast.

Mat trotted in a pained shamble; a dark smear fanned across half his face, and his coat hung open, revealing his unlaced shirt stuck to his chest by more drying blood. Sometimes he gingerly touched the thick weal around his throat, nearly black now, growling under his breath, and he stumbled often, catching himself with the odd, black-hafted spear and clutching at his head. He did not complain, though, which was a bad sign. Mat was a great complainer at small discomforts; if he was silent now, it meant he was in real pain.

The old, half-healed wound in Rand’s side felt as though something were boring into it, the gashes on his face and head burned, and his feet were bleeding, yet lumbering along, half-hunched over his aching side, he hardly thought of his own hurts. He was all too conscious of the sun rising behind him, and the Aiel waiting on the bare mountainside ahead. There was water and shade up there, and help for Mat. The rising sun behind, and the Aiel ahead. Dawn and the Aiel.

He Who Comes With the Dawn. That Aes Sedai he had seen, or dreamed he had seen, before Rhuidean—she had spoken as if she had the Foretelling. _He will bind you together. He will take you back, and destroy you_. Words delivered like prophecy. Destroy them. Prophecy said he would Break the World again. The idea horrified him. Perhaps he could escape that part, at least, but war, death and destruction already welled up in his footsteps. Tear was the first place in what seemed a very long time where he had not left chaos behind, men dying and villages burning.

He found himself wishing he could climb on Jeade’en and run as fast as the stallion could carry him. It was not the first time. _But I can’t run_ , he thought. _I have it to do because there isn’t anybody else who can. I do it, or the Dark One wins_. A hard bargain, but the only one there was. _But why would I destroy the Aiel? How?_

That last thought chilled him. It was too much like accepting that he would, that he should. He did not want to harm the Aiel. “Light,” he said harshly, “I don’t want to destroy anybody.” His mouth felt lined with dust again.

Mat glanced at him silently. A wary look. _I am not mad yet_ , Rand thought grimly.

Upslope the Aiel were stirring in the three camps. The cold fact was, he needed them. That was why he had begun to contemplate this, back when he first discovered that the Dragon Reborn and He Who Comes With the Dawn might well be one and the same. He needed people he could trust, people who followed from something besides fear of him, or greed for power. People who did not mean to use him for their own ends. He had done what was required, and now he would use them. Because he had to. He was not mad yet—he did not think he was—but many would think so before he was done.

Full, glaring sunlight overtook them before they began to scramble up Chaendaer, heat like a club. Rand climbed the uneven slope as fast as he could manage, with its dips and rises and rough outcrops; his throat had forgotten its last drink, and the sun dried his skin as fast as sweat could moisten it. Mat needed no urging, either. There was water up there. Bair stood in front of the Wise One’s low tents, a waterbag in her hands, glistening with condensation. In other circumstances, he would have been embarrassed to be seen naked by a strange old woman, but he was beyond such concerns just then. Licking cracked lips, Rand was sure he could see the glisten.

“Where is he!? What have you done to him!?”

The roar stopped Rand in his tracks. The flame-haired man, Couladin, stood atop a thick thumb of granite jutting out from the mountain. Others of the Shaido clan clustered around its base, all looking at Rand and Mat. Some were veiled. He was surprised to see Nici among them.

“Who are you talking about?” Rand called back. His voice croaked with thirst.

Couladin’s eyes bulged in outrage. “Muradin, wetlander! He entered two days before you, yet you come out first. He could not fail where you survive! You must have murdered him!”

Rand thought he heard a shout from the Wise One’s tents, but before he could even blink, Couladin uncoiled like a snake, casting a spear straight at him. Two more streaked behind it from the Aiel at the base of the granite thumb.

Instinctively Rand snatched for _saidin_ and the flame-carved sword. The blade whirled in his hands—Whirlwind on the Mountain; aptly named—slicing a pair of spear shafts in two. Mat’s spinning black spear just barely knocked the third aside.

“Proof!” Couladin howled. “They entered Rhuidean armed! It is forbidden! Look at the blood on them! They have murdered Muradin!” Even as he spoke he hurled another spear, and this time it was one of a dozen.

Rand flung himself aside, just conscious of Mat leaping the other way, yet even before they hit the ground the spears came together where Rand had been standing, bouncing off each other. Rolling to his feet, he found the spears all stuck into the stony ground. In a perfect circle surrounding the spot he had jumped from. For a moment even Couladin seemed stunned to stillness.

“Stop!” Bair shouted, running down into the motionless instant. Her long bulky skirt impeded her no more than her age; she bounded down the slope like a girl for all her white hair, and a girl in a fury at that. “The peace of Rhuidean, Couladin!” Her thin voice was an iron rod. “Twice you have tried to break it now. Once more, and you are outlawed! My word on it! You, and anyone else who lifts a hand!” She skidded to a halt in front of Rand, facing the Shaido with the water bag raised as if she meant to bludgeon them with it. “Let who doubts me, raise a weapon! That one will be deprived of shade according to the Agreement of Rhuidean, denied hold or stand or tent. His own sept will hunt him as a wild beast.”

Some of the Shaido hastily unveiled their faces—some of them. Not Nici, he noted, for she had not veiled in the first place—but Couladin was not dissuaded. “They are armed, Bair! They went armed to Rhuidean! That is—!”

“Silence!” Bair shook a fist at him. “You dare speak of weapons? You who would break the Peace of Rhuidean, and kill with your face bare to the world? They took no weapon with them; I attest to it.” Deliberately she turned her back, but the gaze she swept across Rand and Mat was hardly softer than what she had given Couladin. She grimaced at Mat’s strange sword-bladed spear, muttering, “Did you find that in Rhuidean, boy?”

“I was given it, _old woman_ ,” Mat growled back hoarsely. “I paid for it, and I mean to keep it.”

She sniffed. “You both look as if you had rolled in knife-grass. What—? No, you can tell me later.” Eyeing Rand’s Power-wrought sword, she shivered. “Rid yourself of that. And show them the signs before that fool Couladin tries to whip them up again. With this temper on him, he would take his whole clan into outlawry without blinking. Quickly!”

For a moment he gaped at her. Signs? Then he remembered his new tattoos.

Unwilling to release the sword he thrust his offhand into the air, high so Couladin and his people could see. Mutters rose among the Shaido, and Couladin snarled wordlessly. The numbers around the granite outcrop were swelling as more Shaido came running from their tents. Rhuarc stood with Heirn and his Jindo a little upslope; they watched the Shaido warily, and Rand with an air of expectation his uplifted arm did not lessen. Lan stood halfway between the two groups, hands resting on his sword hilt, face a thunderhead. Uno and Tam came boiling out of a camp not far from the Wise Ones’, and even unarmoured the angry Shienarans who followed added to the air of imminent danger. Raine was with them, too, daggers in hand, but at least Loial and Merile had the sense to hang back.

Just as Rand began to realize the Aiel wanted something more, Dani and the other three Wise Ones reached him, scrambling down the mountain. The Aiel women looked out of countenance at having to hurry and every bit as angry as Bair had been. Amys directed her glares at Couladin, while sun-haired Melaine stared blamingly at Rand. Seana just seemed ready to chew rocks. Dani gaped at Mat and him, no doubt wondering how they’d come by their wounds.

“Fool man,” Bair muttered. “ _All_ of the signs.” Tossing the waterbag to Mat, she came around to stand at Rand’s right side, gesturing irritably for him to get rid of the sword. When he reluctantly did so, she seized his arm. Her breath caught, then came out in a long sigh. She seemed balanced on a razor edge between relief and apprehension. There was no mistaking it; she had hoped to see the second marking, yet it made her afraid. Amys and the other two Wise Ones echoed her sign almost exactly. It was odd to see Aiel fearful.

Apprehensive or not, Bair did not pause before shoving that arm above his head, too, and proclaiming loudly, “Behold what has never been seen before. A _Car’a’carn_ has been chosen, a chief of chiefs. Born of a Maiden, he has come with the dawn from Rhuidean, according to prophecy, to unite the Aiel! The fulfilment of prophecy has begun!”

The reactions of the other Aiel were nothing like what Rand envisioned. Couladin stared down at him, even more hatefully than before if that was possible, then leaped from the outcrop and stalked up the slope to vanish into the Shaido tents. The Shaido themselves began to disperse, some such as Saren and Nici glancing at Rand with unreadable faces before drifting back to their tents. Heirn and the warriors of the Jindo sept, hardly hesitating, did the same, even those like Mangin and Adelin who had helped capture the Stone. In moments only Rhuarc remained, his eyes troubled. Lan went over to the clan chief; from his face, the Warder would just as soon not have seen Rand at all. Rand was not sure what he had expected, but surely something other than this.

“Burn me!” Mat muttered. He seemed to realize for the first time that he had the waterbag in his hands. Jerking the plug free, he held the hide bag high, letting nearly as much splash over his face as into his mouth. When he finally lowered it, he looked at the markings on Rand’s arms again and shook his head, repeating, “Burn me!” as he pushed the sloshing bag at him.

Rand stared at the Aiel in consternation, but he was more than glad to drink. The first gulps hurt his throat, it was so dry.

“What happened to you?” Raine demanded. “Did Muradin attack you?” Angry mutters rose from the Shienarans with her, but it was the coat that Tam was carrying that captured Rand’s attention. His skin was so burnt that it hurt when his father draped it over his shoulders, but he still welcomed the end to nudity. He held it closed at the front with one hand while he drank with the other.

“It is forbidden to speak of what occurs in Rhuidean,” Bair said sharply.

Rand ignored that. “Not Muradin,” he said. “Where’s Moiraine? I expected her to be the first to meet us. For once, I won’t care if she asks before she Heals me.”

“Me either,” Mat said hoarsely. He swayed, holding himself up with his spear, and pressed the heel of his palm against his forehead. “My brain is spinning.”

Dani grimaced. “She is still in Rhuidean, I suppose. But if you have finally come out, maybe she will, as well. She left right after you. And Aviendha. You’ve all been gone so long.”

“Moiraine went to Rhuidean?” Rand said incredulously. “And _Aviendha_? Why did—?” Abruptly he registered what else she had said. “What do you mean, ‘so long’?”

“This is the seventh day,” she said. “The seventh day since you all went down into the valley.” The waterbag fell from his hands. Seana snatched it up again before more than a little of its contents, so precious in the Waste, could trickle away down the stony slope. Rand barely noticed. Seven days. Anything could have happened in seven days _. They could be catching up to me, figuring out what I’m planning. I have to move. Fast. I have to keep ahead of them. I haven’t come this far to fail_.

They were all staring at him, even Rhuarc and Mat, concern writ large on their faces. And caution. No wonder in that. Who could say what he might do, or how sane he still was? Only Lan did not change his stony scowl.

“I told you that was Aviendha, Rand. Bare as she was born.” Mat’s voice had a painful rasp to it, and his legs looked none too steady.

“How long before Moiraine comes back?” Rand asked. If she had gone in at the same time, she should return soon.

“If she has not returned by the tenth day,” Bair replied, “she will not. No-one has ever returned after ten days.”

Another three days, maybe. Three more days when he had already lost seven. _Let them come, now. I will not fail!_ He barely kept a snarl from his face. “You can channel. One of you can, anyway. I saw how you flung Couladin about. Will you Heal Mat?”

Amys and Melaine exchanged looks he could only call rueful.

“Our paths have gone other ways,” Amys said regretfully. “There are Wise Ones who could do what you ask, after a fashion, but we are not among them.”

“What do you mean?” he snapped angrily. “You can channel like Aes Sedai. Why can’t you Heal like them? You did not want him to go to Rhuidean in the first place. Do you think you can let him die from it?”

“I’ll survive,” Mat said, but his eyes were tight with suffering.

“Not all Aes Sedai can Heal very well,” Dani said in a soothing voice. “The best Healers are all Yellow Ajah. Sheriam, the Mistress of Novices, cannot Heal anything much more serious than a bruise or a small cut. Two of the women who came with me, Ilyena and Mayam, have that Talent, though. I can get them if you like.”

Her tone irritated him. He was not some pettish child to be smoothed down. He frowned at the Wise Ones. Could not or would not, Mat and he would have to either trust a pair of unfamiliar Accepted or wait for Moiraine. If she had not been killed by that bubble of evil, by those dust creatures. It must have dissipated by now; there had been an end to the one in Tear. _They wouldn’t have stopped her. She could channel her way through them. She knows what she’s doing; she doesn’t have to figure it out an inch at a time the way I do_. But then why was she not back? Why had she gone in the first place, and why had he not seen her? Foolish question. A hundred people could have been in Rhuidean without being seen. Too many questions, and no answer until she did return, he suspected. If then.

“There are herbs and ointments,” Seana said. “Come out of the sun, and we will tend your injuries.”

“Out of the sun,” Rand muttered. “Yes.” He was being boorish, but he did not care. Why had Moiraine gone into Rhuidean? He did not trust her to stop pushing him in the direction she thought best, and the Dark One take his opinions. If she was in there, could she have affected what he saw? Changed it some way? If she even suspected what he planned ...

“I’ll get Ilyena and Mayam,” Dani said.

“No need,” Rand said quickly, stopping her in her tracks. “The ointments will do.”

She looked back and forth between him and Mat, confused. “But you’re hurt.”

“Mat can do what he wants, but my injuries aren’t life-threatening. And you’ve met Alanna. You know why I don’t let strange women use the One Power on me. I’ll wait.”

“Think I’ll do the same, thanks,” Mat said.

Dani looked hurt, and annoyed. “You can’t think they’d—You’re going to need to trust us. Otherwise what was the point of our even coming here?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. That wasn’t my idea.” Without waiting for her response, he started toward the Jindo tents—Couladin’s people were not likely to offer him a resting place—but Amys turned him toward the flat farther up where the Wise Ones’ tents stood.

“They might not be comfortable with you among them just yet,” she said. Rhuarc, falling in beside her, nodded agreement.

Melaine glanced at Lan. “This is no business of yours, _Aan’allein_. You and Rhuarc take Matrim and—”

“No,” Rand broke in. “I want them with me. Tam as well.” Partly it was because he wanted answers from the clan chief, and partly it was sheer stubbornness. These Wise Ones were all set to guide him around on a leash, just like Moiraine. He was not about to put up with it. They looked at one another, then nodded as if acceding to a request. If they thought he would be a good boy because they gave him a sweet, they were mistaken. “I’d have thought you would be with Moiraine,” he said to Lan, ignoring the Wise Ones and their nods.

A flash of embarrassment crossed the Warder’s face. “The Wise Ones managed to hide her going until nearly sunset,” he said stiffly. “Then they ... convinced me following would serve no purpose. They said even if I did, I could not find her until she was already on her way out, and she would not need me, then. I am no longer certain I should have listened.”

“Listened!” Melaine snorted. Her gold and ivory bracelets clattered as she adjusted her shawl irritably. “Trust a man to make himself sound reasonable. You would almost certainly have died, and very likely killed her, too.”

“Melaine and I had to hold him down half the night before he would listen,” Amys said. Her small smile was a touch amused, a touch wry.

Lan’s face might as well have been carved from thunderclouds. Small wonder, if the Wise Ones had used the Power on him. What was Moiraine doing in there?

“Rhuarc,” Rand said, “how am I supposed to unite the Aiel? They don’t even want to look at me.” He raised a bared forearm for a moment; the Dragons’ scales glittered in the harsh sunlight. “These say I’m He Who Comes With the Dawn, but everybody practically melted away as soon as showed the things.”

“It is one thing to know prophecy will be fulfilled, eventually,” the clan chief said slowly, “another to see that fulfilment begun before your eyes. It is said you will make the clans one people again, as long ago, but we have fought one another almost as long as we have fought the rest of the world. And there is more, for some of us.”

 _He will bind you together, and destroy you_. Rhuarc must have heard that, too. And the other clan chiefs, and the Wise Ones, if they also had entered that forest of shining glass columns. If Moiraine had not arranged a special vision for him. “Does everyone see the same things inside those columns, Rhuarc?”

“No!” Melaine snapped, eyes like green steel. “Be silent, or send the wetlanders away.”

“It is not permitted,” Amys said in a just slightly softer voice, “to speak of what occurs within Rhuidean except with those who have been there.” A fraction softer, maybe. “Even then, few speak of it, and seldom.”

“I mean to change what is permitted and what isn’t,” Rand told them levelly. “Become used to it.”

“Change,” Rhuarc said. “You know he brings change, Amys. It is wondering what change, and how, that makes us like children alone in the dark. Since it must be, let it begin now. No two clan chiefs I have spoken with have seen through the exactly same eyes, Rand, or exactly the same things, until the sharing of water, and the meeting where the Agreement of Rhuidean was made. Whether it is the same for Wise Ones, I do not know, but I suspect it is. I think it is a matter of bloodlines. I believe I saw through the eyes of my ancestors, and you yours.”

Amys and the other Wise Ones glowered in grimly sullen silence. Most of the others wore equally confused stares. Lan alone seemed not to be listening at all; his eyes looked inward, no doubt in worry over Moiraine.

Rand felt a little strange himself. Seeing through his ancestors’ eyes. He had known for some time that Tam was not his real father, that he had been found as a newborn on the slopes of Dragonmount after the last major battle of the Aiel War. A newborn with his dead mother, a Maiden of the Spear. He had claimed Aiel blood in demanding admittance to Rhuidean, but the fact of it was just now being driven home. His ancestors. Aiel. Speaking of these things in front of Tam seemed wrong to Rand, yet there were questions he had to ask.

“Then you saw Rhuidean just begun building, too,” he said. “And the two Aes Sedai. You ... heard what the one of them said.” _He will destroy you_.

“I heard.” Rhuarc looked resigned, like a man who had learned his leg had to be cut off. “I know.”

Rand changed the subject. “What was ‘the sharing of water’?”

The clan chief’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You did not recognize it? But then, I do not see why you should; you have not grown up with the histories. According to the oldest stories, from the day the Breaking of the World began until the day we first entered the Three-fold Land, only one people did not attack us. One people allowed us water freely when it was needed. It took us long to discover who they were. That is done with, now. The pledge of peace was destroyed; the treekillers spat in our faces.”

“Cairhien,” Rand said. “You’re talking about Cairhien, and _Avendoraldera_ , and Laina cutting down the Tree.” Tam sighed softly.

“Laina is dead for her punishment,” Rhuarc said in a flat voice. “The oathbreakers are done with.” He looked at Rand sideways. “Some, such as Couladin, take it for proof we can trust no-one who is not Aiel. That is a part of why he hates you. A part of it. He will take your face and blood for lies. Or claim he does.”

Rand shook his head. Moiraine sometimes talked of the complexity of Age Lace, the Pattern of an Age, woven by the Wheel of Time from the thread of human lives. If the ancestors of the Cairhienin had not allowed the Aiel to have water three thousand years ago, then Cairhien would never have been given the right to use the Silk Path across the Waste, with a cutting from _Avendesora_ for a pledge. No pledge, and Queen Laina would have had no Tree to cut down; there would have been no Aiel War; and he could not have been born on the side of Dragonmount to be carried off and raised in the Theren. How many more points like that had there been, where a single decision one way or another affected the weave of the Pattern for thousands of years? A thousand times a thousand tiny branching points, a thousand times that many, all twitching the Pattern into a different design. He himself was a walking branching point, and maybe Mat and Perrin, too. What they did or did not do would send ripples ahead through the years, through the Ages.

He looked at Mat, hobbling up the slope with the aid of his spear, head down and eyes squinted in pain. _The Creator could not have been thinking, to set the future on the shoulders of three farmboys. I can’t drop it. I have to carry the load, whatever the cost_.

At the Wise Ones’ low, wall-less tents, the women ducked inside with murmurs about water and shade. They all but pulled Mat with them; as evidence of how his head and throat hurt, he not only obeyed, he did so silently.

Uno came to stand before Rand. He saluted and fixed his one-eyed stare on a spot somewhere beyond Rand’s shoulder. “My Lord Dragon, with your permission I will deploy the men to protect this tent.”

Rand glanced at the nearby Aiel camps. Most of the warriors had retreated to their own tents; there was no further sign of hostility. Still. “Keep a watch, Uno. But try not to be too obvious about it. I don’t want it to look like we’re kidnapping the Wise Ones, or preventing anyone from seeing them who would have a right to.”

Uno saluted again. “I understand, my Lord Dragon.”

While he busied himself with that, Loial and Merile approached. Rand was relieved to see that Merile was looking a lot calmer than she had been when he left for Rhuidean a week ago.

“How have you all been?” he asked. “I was gone longer than I’d expected.”

“It’s been quiet enough,” Merile said glumly. “Especially for me. None of the Aiel want to talk to me. Even the Wise Ones. They don’t like you either, from the looks of it. Oh, dear. Why doesn’t anyone ever want to be nice to us?”

The Aiel’s antipathy towards Merile and the rest of the _Tuatha’an_ no longer bewildered Rand. They had once followed the Way of the Leaf, too, but had abandoned it. What did that mean for the Tinkers? Were they Aiel? The relationship would have to be very distant. Other than her eyes and skintone, there was nothing about Merile that suggested Aiel blood to him. But more importantly, what did it mean for the future?

“You and Raine can come with me as well,” Rand said. “There are things we need to talk about with the Wise Ones, the three of us.”

“If you are giving out invitations, may I have one?” Loial asked. “I heard what you and Rhuarc were saying. Seeing through the eyes of your ancestors. That must have been fascinating.”

“That’s certainly one of the words that could be used to describe it. And sure, you can come.” Gesturing for the others to follow, Rand started towards the tent, but Lan laid a hand on his shoulder. It stung, but Rand forced himself not to flinch.

“Did you see her in there?” the Warder asked.

“No, Lan. I’m sorry; I did not. She’ll come out safe if anyone can.”

Lan grunted and took his hand away. “Watch out for Couladin, Rand. I have seen his kind before. Ambition burns in his belly. He would sacrifice the world to achieve it.”

“ _Aan’allein_ speaks the truth,” Rhuarc said. “The Dragons on your arms will not matter if you are dead before the clan chiefs learn of them. I will make sure some of Heirn’s Jindo are always near you until we reach Cold Rocks. Even then, Couladin will probably try to make trouble, and the Shaido, at least, will follow him. Perhaps others, too. The Prophecy of Rhuidean said you would be raised by those not of the blood, yet Couladin may not be the only one to see only a wetlander.”

“I will try to watch my back,” Rand said dryly. In the stories, when somebody fulfilled a prophecy, everyone cried “Behold!” or some such, and that was that except for dealing with the villains. Real life did not seem to work that way.

When they entered the tent, Mat was already seated on a gold-tasselled red cushion with his coat and shirt off. A woman in a cowled white robe had finished washing the blood from his face and was just beginning on his chest. Amys gripped a stone mortar between her knees, blending some ointment with a pestle, while Bair and Seana had their heads together over herbs brewing in a pot of hot water.

Melaine grimaced at the additional wetlanders then fixed Rand with cool green eyes. “Take off that coat,” she said curtly. “The cuts on your head do not seem too bad, but let me see what has you hunched over.” She struck a small brass gong, and another white-robed woman ducked in at the back of the tent, a steaming silver basin in her hands and cloths over her arm.

Rand took a seat on a cushion, making himself sit up straight. “That’s nothing to worry yourself about,” he assured her. He dragged a soft blanket across his lap before shrugging out of the coat. He’d have at least a little dignity that way; now he was only mostly naked in a tent full of people. The second woman in white knelt gracefully by his side and, resisting his efforts to take the damp cloth she wrung out in the basin, began gently washing his face. He wondered who she was. She looked Aiel, but she certainly did not act it. Her blue eyes held a determined meekness.

“I can do that,” Merile said, before trying to take the cloth from the woman in white. The two of them entered into a bizarre little competition, with neither being willing to let go of the cloth, and neither being willing to pull hard enough to take it from the other. They warred silently, while mirroring each other’s friendly smiles. Rand was about to tell Merile to just let her do it, but stopped himself when he realised that the white-clad Aiel was actually quite pretty. Pushing Merile aside in her favour could easily be taken the wrong way, so he left them to it.

While the two women continued their strange wrestling contest, Raine, Tam, Loial, Dani and Rhuarc claimed cushions to relax on, and the Wise Ones went about their work.

Mat winced as Amys began rubbing her ointment into the slashes on his chest. If it felt anything like it smelled, Rand thought he had cause to wince. Bair shoved a silver cup at Mat. “Drink, _young man_. Timsin root and silverleaf will help your headaches if anything can.”

He did not hesitate before gulping it down; a shudder and a twisted face followed. “Tastes like the inside of my boots.” But he gave her a seated bow, formal enough for a Tairen except for his being shirtless, and only spoiled a bit by his sudden grin. “I thank you, Wise One. And I won’t ask if you added anything just to give it that ... memorable ... taste.” Bair and Seana’s soft laughter might have come because they had or because they had not, but it seemed that as usual Mat had found a way to get on the good of side of the women. Even Melaine gave him a brief smile.

“Rhuarc,” Rand said, “if Couladin thinks to make difficulties, I need to jump ahead of him. How do I go about telling the other clan chiefs? About me. About these.” He shifted his Dragon-twined arms. The white-robed woman at his side deliberately avoided looking at them.

“There is no set formality,” Rhuarc said. “How could there be, for a thing that will happen only once? When there must be a meeting between clan chiefs, there are places where something like the Peace of Rhuidean holds. The closest to Cold Rocks, the closest to Rhuidean, is Alcair Dal. You could show proofs to the clan and sept chiefs there.”

“ _Al’cair Dal_?” Mat said, giving it a subtly different sound. “The Golden Bowl?”

Rhuarc nodded. “A round canyon, though there is nothing golden about it. There is a ledge at one end, and a man who stands there can be heard by anyone in the canyon without raising his voice.”

Rand frowned at the Dragons on his forearms. He was not the only one to have been marked in some way in Rhuidean. Mat no longer spoke a few words of the Old Tongue now and then without knowing what he was saying. He understood, since Rhuidean, though he did not appear to realize it.

“Rhuarc, can you send messengers out to the clan chiefs?” he said. “How long will it take to ask them all to Alcair Dal? What will it take to make sure they come?”

“Messengers will take weeks, and more weeks for everyone to gather.” Rhuarc’s gesture took in all four Wise Ones. “They can speak to every clan chief in his dreams in one night, to every sept chief. And every Wise One, to make sure no man takes it for just a dream.”

“I appreciate your confidence that we can move mountains, shade of my heart,” Amys said wryly, settling herself beside Rand with her ointment, “but that does not make it so. It would take several nights to do what you suggest, with little rest in them.”

Rand caught her hand as she started to rub the sharp-smelling mixture on his cheek. “Will you do it?”

“Are you so eager to destroy us?” she demanded, then bit her lip vexedly as the white-cowled woman on Rand’s other side started, losing her grip on the cloth in the process.

Melaine clapped her hands twice. “Leave us,” she said sharply, and the women in white bowed their way out with their basins. Looking quite satisfied with her victory, Merile started to clean Rand’s other wounds.

“You goad me like a needleburr next to the skin,” Amys told Rand bitterly. “Whatever they are told, those women will talk now of what they should not know.” She pulled her hand free, began rubbing in the ointment with perhaps more energy than was necessary. It stung worse than it smelled, and the smell was bad enough that Raine had moved to the farthest edge of the tent.

“I do not mean to goad you,” Rand said, “but there is no time. The Forsaken are loose, Amys, and if they find out where I am, or what I plan ...” The Aiel women did not seem surprised. Had they known already? “Those that don’t want to kill me think they can use me. I have no time. If I knew a way to bring all the clan chiefs here now, and make them accept me, I’d use it.”

“What is it you plan?” Amys voice was as stony as her face.

“Will you ask—tell—the chiefs to come to Alcair Dal?”

For a long moment she met his stare. When she finally nodded, it was grudging.

Begrudged or not, some of the tension went out of him. There was no way to win back seven lost days, but perhaps he could avoid losing more. Moiraine, still in Rhuidean with Aviendha, held him here yet, though. He could not simply abandon her.

Tam came to sit nearby, carrying the rest of Rand’s bundled clothes in his arms. He set his burden down and stared at Rand consideringly for a long moment. Then he smiled sadly and turned to Amys. “Did you know Rand’s parents, Wise One Amys?”

Loial leaned forward intently, notebook in hand. Mat shook his head. Rand stared at Tam, who refused to meet his eyes.

Amys’ hand paused on his face. “I knew them, Tam al’Thor. And as you are a stranger to our ways I will tell you also that blood is not the only way that someone can become a son or brother among us.”As nervous as the topic of conversation made Rand feel, he still noted that Amys knew of his relation to Tam now. She’d been asking about him while he was gone.

Tam nodded solemnly. It was hard to tell, so still was his face of a sudden, but Rand thought he looked relieved. “Tell us about them. Please.”

Amys shifted her attention to the slash above Rand’s ear; if a frown could have Healed, he would not have needed her ointment. Finally she said, “Shaiel’s story, as I know it, begins when I was still _Far Dareis Mai_ , more than a year before I gave up the spear. A number of us had ranged almost to the Dragonwall together. One day we saw a woman, a golden-haired young wetlander, in silks, with packhorses and a fine mare to ride. A man we would have killed, of course, but she had no weapon beyond a simple knife at her belt. Some wanted to run her back to the Dragonwall naked, yet she seemed to be searching determinedly for something. Curious, we followed, day by day, without letting her see. Her horses died, her food ran out, her water, but she did not turn back. She stumbled on afoot, until finally she fell and could not rise. We decided to give her water, and ask her story. She was near death, and it was a full day before she could speak.”

“Her name was Shaiel?” Rand said when she hesitated. “Where was she from? Why did she come here?” Tam had asked, given permission in a way, and Rand could not deny a hunger to know more of the woman who had given birth to him and then died on that snowy mountainside.

“Shaiel,” Bair said, “was the name she took for herself. She never gave another in the time I knew her. In the Old Tongue it would mean the Woman Who Is Dedicated.” Mat nodded agreement not seeming to realize what he had done; Lan eyed him thoughtfully over a silver cup of water. “There was a bitterness in Shaiel, in the beginning,” she finished.

Sitting back on her heels beside Rand, Amys nodded. “She spoke of a child abandoned, a son she loved. A husband she did not love. Where, she would not say. I do not think she ever forgave herself for leaving the child. She would tell little beyond what she had to. It was for us she had been searching, for Maidens of the Spear. An Aes Sedai called Gitara Moroso, who had the Foretelling, had told her that disaster would befall her land and her people, perhaps the world, unless she went to dwell among the Maidens of the Spear, telling no-one of her going. She must become a Maiden, and she could not return to her own land until the Maidens had gone to Tar Valon.”

She shook her head wonderingly. “You must understand how it sounded, then. The Maidens go to Tar Valon? No Maiden had crossed the Dragonwall since the day we first reached the Three-fold Land. It would be another four years before Laina’s crime brought us into the wetlands. And certainly no-one not Aiel had ever become a Maiden of the Spear. Some of us thought her mad from the sun. But she had a stubborn will, and somehow we found ourselves agreeing to let her try.”

Gitara Moroso. An Aes Sedai with the Foretelling. Somewhere he had heard that name, but where? And he had a brother. A half-brother. Growing up, he had wondered what it would be like to have a brother or a sister. Who, and where? But Amys was going on.

“Almost every girl dreams of becoming a Maiden, and learns at least the rudiments of bow and spear, of fighting with hands and feet. Even so, those who take the final step and wed the spear discover they know nothing. It was harder for Shaiel. The bow she knew well, but she had never run as far as a mile, or lived on what she could find. A ten-year-old girl could beat her, and she did not even know what plants indicate water. Yet she persevered. In a year she had spoken her vows to the spear, a Maiden, adopted into the Chumai sept of the Taardad.”

And eventually she had gone to Tar Valon with the Maidens, to die on the slopes of Dragonmount. Half an answer, and leaving new questions. If he could only have seen her face.

“Impressive woman,” Dani said softly. At her side, Loial was jotting down notes swiftly.

“You have something of her in your features,” Seana said as though reading his thoughts. She had settled herself cross-legged with a small silver cup of wine, and that familiar little smile was enough to confirm that she really was the woman he’d met in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , seemingly a lot older in real life than she had appeared to be in the World of Dreams. “Less of Janduin.”

Rand felt the blood drain from his face, and not due to recognising Seana. Janduin and Shaiel. It had to be a coincidence. It had to be. But Rhuarc had said the _ter’angreal_ in Rhuidean worked through bloodlines ...

“Janduin? My ...?” His voice failed and he looked to Tam once more.

“Your father by blood, lad,” said the stocky Theren man with quiet dignity. Lan was peering into the cup of water in his hand, but his slow nod had a look of respect to it.

“Yes,” Seana said. “He was clan chief of the Taardad then, the youngest in memory. Yet he had a way to him, a power. People listened to him, and would follow him, even those not of his clan. He ended the blood feud between Taardad and Nakai after two hundred years, and made alliance not only with the Nakai, but the Reyn, and the Reyn were not far short of blood feud. He very nearly ended the feud between Shaarad and Goshien, as well, and might have had Laina not cut down the Tree. Young as he was, it was he who led the Taardad and Nakai, the Reyn and Shaarad, to seek Laina’s bloodprice.”

Was. So he was dead now, too. Merile wore sympathy on her face. Rand ignored it; he did not want sympathy. How could he feel loss, for people he had never known? Yet he did. “How did Janduin die?”

The Wise Ones exchanged hesitant glances. At last Amys said, “It was the beginning of the second year of the search for Laina when Shaiel found herself with child. By the laws, she should have returned to the Three-fold Land. A Maiden is forbidden to carry the spear while she carries a child. But Janduin could forbid her nothing; had she asked the moon on a necklace, he would have tried to give it to her. So she stayed, and in the last fight, before Tar Valon, she was lost, and the child was lost. Janduin could not forgive himself for not making her obey the law.”

“He gave up his place as clan chief,” Bair said. “No-one had ever done that before. He was told it could not be done, but he simply walked away. He went north with the young men, to hunt Trollocs and Myrddraal in the Blight. It is a thing wild young men do, and Maidens with less sense than goats. Those who returned said he was killed by a man, though. They said Janduin claimed this man looked like Shaiel, and he would not raise his spear when the man ran him through.”

Dead, then. Both dead. He would never lose his love for Tam, never stop thinking of him as father, but he wished he could have known Janduin and Shaiel, as well. Well, known them as himself. He could remember “knowing” Shaiel quite well indeed, as Janduin.

“Father,” Rand said quietly. “Would you mind telling what you know of Shaiel’s death?” It seemed only fair. These women had plainly known her. They turned their attention on Tam.

“I didn’t see it happen, only the aftermath,” Tam said solemnly. “She and the Maidens with her were killed, but not before taking down their attackers. Shaiel was the last one standing. She’d taken wounds, though. I’m not sure whether it was that, or the rigours of giving birth, out on a snowy mountainside, that killed her. She held on long enough to wrap you in a cloak, but the wind blew the cloak away. That was how I found you, crying in the cold, during the Blood Snow.”

“She died with honour. I am glad to know it,” Amys said with matching solemnity.

Merile tried to comfort him, of course, the way women did. There was no use trying to make her understand that what he had lost was something he had never had. For memories of parents he had Tam al’Thor’s quiet laugh, and dimmer remembrance of Kari al’Thor’s gentle hands. That was as much as any man could want or need. She seemed disappointed, even a little upset with him, and the Wise Ones appeared to share the feeling to one degree or another, from Bair’s openly disapproving frown to Melaine’s sniff and ostentatious shifting of her shawl. Women never understood. Rhuarc and Lan and Mat did; they left him alone, as he wanted.

For some reason he did not feel like eating when Melaine had food brought, so he dressed and went to lie at the edge of the tent, with one of the cushions under his elbow, where he could watch the slope, and the fog-shrouded city. The sun blasted the valley and the surrounding mountains, burning the shadows. The air that eddied into the tent seemed to come from an open oven.

After a time Mat came over, wearing a clean shirt. He sat beside Rand without speaking, peering into the valley below, the strange spear propped on his knee. Now and again he felt at the cursive script carved into the black haft.

“How is your head?” Rand asked, and Mat jumped.

“It ... doesn’t hurt anymore.” He jerked his fingers away from the carving, folded his hands deliberately in his lap. “Not as much, anyway. Whatever that was they mixed up, it did the trick.”

He fell silent again, and Rand let him. He did not want to talk, either. He could almost feel time passing, grains of sand in an hourglass dropping one by one, ever so slowly. But everything seemed to tremble, too, the sands ready to explode in a torrent. Foolish. He was just being affected by the shimmering heat haze rising from the mountain’s bare rock. The clan chiefs could not reach Alcair Dal one day sooner if Moiraine appeared before him that instant. They were only a part anyway, and maybe the least important part. A little while later he noticed Lan squatting easily atop the same granite outcrop Couladin had used, paying no mind to the sun. The Warder was watching the valley, too. Another man who did not want to talk.

Rand refused a midday meal, too, though the Wise Ones took turns trying to make him eat. They seemed to take his refusal calmly enough, but when he suggested returning to Rhuidean to look for Moiraine—and Aviendha, for that matter—Melaine exploded.

“You fool man! No man can go twice to Rhuidean. Even you would not come back alive! Oh, starve if you want to!” She threw half a round loaf of bread at his head. Mat caught it out of the air and calmly began eating. Rand frowned uneasily; he had left some important tools back in Rhuidean. Why was it dangerous to return?

Best not to mention that to her, though. “Why do you want me to live?” he asked instead. “You know what that Aes Sedai said in front of Rhuidean. I will destroy you. Why aren’t you plotting with Couladin to kill me?” Mat choked on his food, but Rand kept his attention on Melaine. Instead of answering, she glared at him and left the tent.

It was Bair who spoke. “Everyone thinks they know the Prophecy of Rhuidean, but what they know is what Wise Ones and clan chiefs have told them for generations. Not lies, but not the whole truth. The truth might break the strongest man.”

“What is the whole truth?” Rand insisted.

She glanced at Mat, then said, “In this case, the whole truth, the truth known only to Wise Ones and clan chiefs before this, is that you are our doom. Our doom, and our salvation. Without you, not one of our people will live beyond the Last Battle. Perhaps not even until the Last Battle. That is prophecy, and truth. With you ... ‘He shall spill out the blood of those who call themselves Aiel as water on sand, and he shall break them as dried twigs, yet the remnant of a remnant shall he save, and they shall live’. A hard prophecy, but this has never been a gentle land.” She met his gaze without flinching. A hard land, and a hard woman.

“Just like _the Karaethon Cycle_ , then. Kill most, save a few,” he said morosely.

He rolled back over and returned to watching the valley. The others left him to his brooding, except for Mat. In the midafternoon he finally spotted a figure climbing the mountain, scrambling up wearily. Aviendha. Mat had been right; she _was_ bare as she was born. And showing some effects of the sun, too, Aiel or not; it was only her hands and face that were sun-darkened, and the rest of her looked decidedly red. He was glad to see her. She disliked him, but only because she thought he had mistreated Elayne. The simplest of motives. Not for prophecy or doom, not for the Dragons on his arms or because he was the Dragon Reborn. For a simple human reason. He almost looked forward to those cool, challenging stares.

He had to admit, he was glad to see her for another reason, too. Aviendha had been hiding quite a lot under her loose _cadin’sor_ , he couldn’t help but notice. Full-breasts, a narrow waist and flaring hips; she cut an impressive figure. Rand had never seen a woman whose muscles were so clearly defined. She looked lean and strong, and very attractive. But any eroticism the scene might have held for him was quickly doused when he got a good look at her face. The Aiel were, in general, a reserved people, but Aviendha’s reserve was spent; she was visibly dazed and looked on the brink of collapse. Unlike Rand, she had not had the fortune of returning to Chaendaer during the cool night, and the doubled exposure was telling. Aviendha stumbled on the craggy mountainside, barely catching herself with an outflung hand as she struggled determinedly onward. Rand was on his feet and two steps beyond the tent before his brain caught up with his body. He jerked to a halt. He doubted she would thank him for helping her, in fact it would probably be considered some kind of insult or dishonour. Besides, she had made it this far, he had no doubt she could make it the last few steps.

When she saw him, she froze, and there was nothing cool in her blue-green eyes. Her gaze made the sun seem cold; he should have been burned to ash on the spot.

“Uh ... Rand?” Mat said quietly. “I don’t think I would turn my back on her if I were you.”

A tired sigh escaped him. Of course. If she had been into those glass columns, she knew. Bair, Melaine, the others—they had all had years to grow used to it. For Aviendha, it was a fresh wound with no scab. _No wonder she hates me now_.

The Wise Ones scurried out to meet Aviendha, hurrying her away into another tent. The next time Rand saw her she wore a bulky brown skirt and loose white blouse, with a shawl looped around her arms. She did not look very happy about the clothes. She saw him watching, and the fury on her face —the sheer animal rage—was enough to make him turn away.

He settled back to watch the sun set over the Aiel Waste, a melancholy washing over him. It was a harsh land, but even here there was beauty. All of it waiting for the destruction he would bring.

Shadows were beginning to stretch to the far mountains by the time Moiraine appeared, falling and staggering back to her feet as she climbed, as sunburned as he and Aviendha. He was startled to see she had no clothes on either; he would have thought the Aes Sedai exempt from such customs. As with Aviendha, Rand could find little attractive about her nudity when she was in such obvious distress, no matter how her modest breasts flopped.

Lan leaped from the stone outcrop and ran down to her. Scooping her into his arms, he ran back upslope, perhaps faster than he had descended, cursing and shouting for the Wise Ones by turns. Moiraine’s head lolled on his shoulder. The Wise Ones came out to take her, Melaine physically barring his way when he tried to follow them into the tent. Lan was left stalking up and down outside, pounding a fist into his hand.

Rand rolled onto his back and stared up at the low tent roof. Three days saved. He should have felt glad Moiraine and Aviendha were back and safe, but his relief was all for days saved. Time was everything. He had to be able to choose his own ground. Maybe he still could.

“What are you going to do now?” Mat asked.

“Something you should like. I am going to break the rules.”

“I meant are you going to get something to eat? Me, I’m hungry.”

In spite of himself, Rand laughed. Something to eat? He did not care if he ever ate again. Mat stared at him as if he were crazy, and that only made him laugh harder. Not crazy. For the first time _somebody_ was going to learn what it meant that he was the Dragon Reborn. He was going to break the rules in a way _no-one_ expected.


	58. Sharp Lessons

Rand waited until Moiraine had recovered had been escorted to her tent before gathering Merile and Raine. He didn’t have to go very far, for the girls were staying safely under the roof of one of the Wise Ones’ tents. Neither of them was very enthusiastic about what he proposed, however, with Merile dragging her feet particularly slowly.

When he brought them to the tent where the Wise Ones were relaxing with Dani, four sets of stern and unwelcoming Aiel eyes were fixed upon them. Raine gave them a wolfish glare in return, but Merile sighed morosely.

“Everyone is staring at me,” she said quietly. “Let’s get this over with.”

They were staring, but Rand couldn’t tell if it was at her in particular or at the three of them together. Certainly, Amys and Seana had cause to mark his and Raine’s return, and guess at its reason.

“Amys, I would like to speak to you about _Tel’aran’rhiod_ and your offer of teaching,” he said.

“Tonight will be time enough,” she responded.

“But—”

“Tonight, Rand al’Thor. You may be He Who Comes With the Dawn, but here you must become a pupil. You cannot even go to sleep when you wish yet, or sleep lightly enough to tell what you see before you wake. When the sun begins to set, I will begin to teach you.”

A pupil? Rand didn’t like the sound of that, but persisted anyway. “There must be something you can tell me before then.”

Melaine frowned at him, but Bair chuckled dryly. “He is as eager and impatient as you were once you decided to learn, Amys.”

Amys nodded. “I hope he can keep his eagerness and lose the impatience, for his sake. Hear me, Rand al’Thor. Though it will be hard, you must forget that you are _Car’a’carn_ if you are to learn. You must listen, remember, and do as you are told. Above all, you must not enter _Tel’aran’rhiod_ again until one of us says you may. Can you accept this?”

Rand let out a short sigh. Learning how to control _Tel’aran’rhiod_ would have been useful, but not useful enough that he would promise to obey the Wise Ones in exchange for their teachings. “I cannot accept it,” he replied solemnly.

Bair, sitting cross-legged on the pillows, leaned forwards and fixed him with a stern look. “It is the price you must pay for our knowledge. The price any apprentice must pay. Do not expect us to treat you differently because of what you are.”

Rand met her hard stare. “Were I not what I am I might accept your terms. But I can’t promise to obey you, or anyone else, and still expect to succeed at the tasks ahead of me. I might as well not have come here if it was just to hand any authority I might have over to someone else.”

“Obedience would only be required in the dream, and in preparing to enter the dream. Not in the dance of the spears.” Amys’ voice had the patient tone of one explaining what she thought should have been obvious.

Rand smiled a small, sharp smile. “And then a day comes when I decide to do something you all disapprove of, and suddenly I find myself obliged to spend that whole day running laps around the camp, to build up dream fitness, or some such.” He snorted softly. “I may be young, Amys, but I’m not completely naive; not anymore.”

“You would refuse our offer, then?” Amys said flatly. The four Wise Ones may have had very disparate appearances, but they still managed to perfectly mirror each other’s disapproval.

He drummed his fingers lightly on his thigh, wondering how badly he would offend these women by turning down their help, and how much offending them would hurt his standing with the rest of the Aiel. But the inescapable truth was that he didn’t know enough of these people to be sure he wasn’t giving offense, no matter what he said or did. Honest truth, then.

“Regretfully, yes. I thank you for the offer, and do not doubt that what you could teach me would be valuable, but the terms you set, while fair, are ones I cannot and will not agree to.” Rand shrugged. “I’ll take my chances with _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , and try to figure out how it works by myself.”

Melaine shook her fair head. “Foolish. The World of Dreams is more dangerous than you know.”

Rand gave her a sardonic half-smile. “They tell me I’m supposed to fight the Dark One someday. The Forsaken all seem to bear personal grudges against me for things I don’t even remember doing. And I’m currently wandering around the Aiel Waste, waiting to see if someone stabs me before I get charbroiled in my own skin. It’s looking pretty certain that my days of not being in danger ended for good when that first Trolloc kicked down our door. What are a few deadly nightmares, on top of the rest?”

Dani, who had been quietly watching the exchange, laughed softly, but the Wise Ones were not amused. They exchanged guarded looks. Amys frowned at Rand worriedly for a time. Then she rose from her seat in a rattle of bracelets and necklaces; turning her back to him, she walked deeper into the tent. The others soon rose to follow her, also showing Rand their backs. He supposed that was as clear a dismissal as you could ask for.

He got to his own feet, the low roof of the tent forcing him to keep his back bent, and let out a light groan as the fabric of his shirt rubbed against his tender skin. As they parted company, he wondered if he could still plead Merile and Raine’s cases. Perhaps he should have led with that, but he’d thought, given what he’d now proven himself to be, his part of this would have been the easy bit.

“Stop.” Bair’s reedy voice could hold a surprisingly amount of command when she wanted it to. He glanced back over his shoulder, his hand resting lightly upon the flaps at the tent’s edge. The four Wise Ones were looking at him. Their expressions were hard to read, but he thought resignation was foremost upon them.

“We will teach you,” Bair announced with a small sigh.

“We will not require you to promise to obey,” added Amys. “But we will ask that you promise to heed our words carefully before you act.”

“For your own good, as much as that of the Aiel,” said Seana grimly.

Melaine tossed her head angrily. “If you were not the _Car’a’carn_ we would leave you to face the consequences of your stubbornness. But if you died in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ then all Aiel would pay the price of your pride, and ours. Heed us well, Rand al’Thor, if you have even a slight care for a life beyond your own.”

Rand turned back towards the cushions, walking slowly. “I will listen attentively. And, thank you.”

Amys grunted. She and the others moved to resume their places in solemn silence.

“Good,” Bair said when they were all seated, with Merile and Raine at Rand’s sides. “I will now tell you about dreamwalking and _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , in a very general way. When I am done, you will repeat back to me what I have said. Attend.” He did, though he noticed that Raine and Dani were listening almost as intently as he was. “Almost anyone can touch _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , but few can truly enter it. There are few Wise Ones beyond we four who can dreamwalk, and the White Tower has not produced a dreamwalker in nearly five hundred years. It is not a thing of the One Power, though Aes Sedai believe it is. I cannot channel, nor can Seana, yet we dreamwalk as well as Amys or Melaine.”

“We aren’t so rare. There are more wolfkin than that,” Raine muttered.

Bair frowned over the interruption, but curiosity overcame her annoyance. “I do not know this term, ‘wolfkin’. Is it a thing of the wetlands? Are you saying there are more dreamwalkers besides yourself?”

Dani was shaking her head. “I’ve never heard that term, either. What do you mean, Raine?”

Despite their relationship, and her evident discomfort, Rand held his silence. Raine had broached the topic, and it was for her to decide how to deal with their questions.

Her yellow eyes darted back and forth between Bair and Dani, but it was on the Accepted that they came to rest. “Aes Sedai can’t be trusted. Long Tooth said so.”

Dani recoiled as if slapped, while Bair sighed in vexation. “More defiance. We have set a bad precedent by giving in to you, Rand al’Thor,” the Wise One said.

“She’s just trying to keep her private business private,” he said. “There is no insult intended.” Not to the Wise Ones, at least. Dani’s wince said she felt otherwise. “This probably isn’t the best time to bring it up, but I was kind of hoping you would let Raine learn alongside me.” He saw the refusal form on their faces, and hastened to finish. “It would save me the trouble of showing her what you show me later. Time is precious, and I don’t want to waste too much of mine.”

“You are greedy, I see,” Seana said dryly.

He shrugged. “In some ways.”

“Can this girl even touch the dream strongly enough to be worth teaching?” Melaine asked. She gave Raine a hard look. “Have you ever dreamed of something that had not happened, only to see it come to pass days later?”

“No ... Sometimes I see things, like framed pictures in the sky,” Raine said slowly. “But the images are broken, blurry, I can barely understand them!”

“Hmph. That is still more than most can do,” Melaine said. “We should refuse just on the principal of it ... but since she is here, and we are teaching ... I say yes.”

“I also say yes,” Seana said with a small smile.

Bair gave her assent, as well, leaving Amys as the last to speak. “My husband was right in this. You bring change. Too much of it, too soon is a dangerous thing. I think we are making a mistake by allowing this ... but I will abide by the others’ decision.”

Raine wriggled like a little puppy. “Thank you. Will I have to follow the rules that Rand got out of?”

“Yes,” the Wise Ones said in unison, their voices more than firm. Rand winced. He hoped Raine wasn’t going to get a double dose of the discipline he’d managed to avoid.

“I wouldn’t get too excited,” Dani said, smiling at Raine. “They claimed earlier that girls are coddled in the White Tower. And let me tell you, if that is coddling in comparison to their training, you are in for a world of hurt.”

Raine’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

“Do not exaggerate. She is not trying to become a Wise One, and could not even if she wished it,” said Bair. “But we have wandered from my lesson on _Tel’aran’rhiod_. To continue. Many people brush the World of Dreams in their sleep. Because they only brush against it, they wake with aches or pains where they should have broken bones or mortal hurts. A dreamwalker enters the dream fully, therefore her injuries are real on waking. For one who is fully in the dream, dreamwalker or not, death there is death here. To enter the dream too completely, though, is to lose touch with the flesh; there is no way back, and the flesh dies. It is said that once there were those who could enter the dream in the flesh, and no longer be in this world at all. This was an evil thing, for they did evil; it must never be attempted, even if you believe it possible for you, for each time you will lose some part of what makes you human. You must learn to enter _Tel’aran’rhiod_ when you wish, to the degree you wish. You must learn to find what you need to find and read what you see, to enter the dreams of another close by in order to aid healing, to recognize those who are in the dream fully enough to harm you, to …”

Rand listened attentively for what seemed a long time. When she was done, she asked him to repeat all that she had said. He didn’t even attempt to quote her verbatim, but thought he’d covered all the most salient points. It didn’t stop her from criticising his lack of understanding, though. Whether that was deserved or not, he couldn’t judge. She didn’t remind him of anything he’d forgotten, just said that he needed to think more carefully about it. Feeling that she was just getting back at him for escaping their rules, he decided to change the subject.

“There was another thing I wanted to ask you about. It has nothing to do with _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , but it’s still about teaching,” he said.

Dani tsked in annoyance. She’d been surprisingly interested in Bair’s lesson, for a woman who was not herself a dreamwalker. Raine, who was one, nodded at Rand encouragingly and shot a hopeful smile Merile’s way.

“You have asked much already, yet would ask more?” Melaine said.

Rand hesitated in a way he would not have, before Rhuidean. If Merile was anything other than a Tinker, this would have been a lot easier. As it was, he feared he was about to give more offense than the Wise Ones would tolerate. He said it anyway. She was too precious to him for him to hold his tongue. “Merile can channel the One Power, and has been looking for someone who’d be willing to teach her how to control it. Since some of you can channel, I was hoping you might help her.”

The Wise Ones had not spoken to Merile once since she entered the tent, and did not do so even now. “Absolutely not! You go too far!” Melaine said angrily.

Amys looked disappointed. “Even Shaiel did not understand the fifth when I explained it to her. Not at first. Wetlanders take and take, and force you to make them stop. Melaine is right. Knowing our history as you do, you would ask this? You go too far.”

“The Lost One will remain lost. She will not be harmed, but none will teach her,” Bair said firmly.

Rand made himself be calm. “That isn’t very fair. She hasn’t done anything to you. Neither did her ancestors. They didn’t do anything to anybody, as a matter of fact. Whether that’s a good or a bad thing, I make no comment on, but it’s hardly cause to shun her.”

Bair gathered her shawl about herself like a cloak. “We will not speak of this.”

“Is there a reason you do not take her to Moiraine Sedai?” Seana asked.

Merile had gotten smaller and smaller as the refusals piled up. When she spoke, her voice was plaintive. “You have no idea. The Aes Sedai ... I can’t talk to her. We argue or talk circles around each other. She has a disappointed frown that turns your bones to jelly! Please help me? You will, won’t you? I want to learn so I can help protect Rand.”

Seana didn’t even look at her. “We have given you our decision, Rand al’Thor.”

Raine reached past Rand, found Merile’s hand, and squeezed it tightly. “They aren’t pack. We are. Do not despair.”

Dani’s gaze travelled from the girls’ clasped hands, to Raine’s golden eyes, which looked anything but savage just then. The Accepted bit her lip, and her attention turned inward.

Rand ignored her. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed, but I realise it is a difficult situation for you,” he told the Wise Ones. “Raine’s right, though, Merile. There has to be someone out there who’s willing to help you. We’ll find them.”

“You already have. I’ll do it,” Dani said. She sighed heavily, and a look of dread marred her striking face, but she managed a wry smile even so.

“You will?” Rand and Merile said in unison, the one as surprised as the other.

“Nynaeve asked me to help you, and I told her I would. I keep my word. If that means disobeying Alanna ... Well, she’s already spent all her moral authority; she has no right to judge me. I’ll teach the girl what I can, and I’ll try to get one of the others to teach her Healing.”

Merile rose up on her knees, and clapped her hands. “Oh, thank you! I’ll find some way to repay you, I promise!”

“You can start by not shouting so loudly. I’d prefer it if we kept this quiet. I don’t want to get in trouble with the White Tower. Or, at least, I want to be in as little trouble as I can be,” Dani said, smiling kindly.

“I was wrong about you. You are pretty awesome,” Raine said, and got a much warmer smile in return. Rand looked away. He might have been wrong about her, too. Risking the White Tower’s wrath to help Merile was a pretty, well, awesome thing to do. Assuming she was genuine about it, of course. She could be pretending in order to lull him into trusting her. No. That was madness. Was it?

Merile certainly didn’t doubt Dani’s sincerity. “I’ll be the best student ever, I promise. Thank you so much! Do you want me to call you a special name? Teacher Dani, maybe? I would, if you want. As thanks. You have no idea what this means to me. That Trolloc ...” She shook her head fiercely, almost violently. “Thank you. Oh, I’m thanking you too much, aren’t I? I mean it, though.”

Dani’s laugh was surprisingly rich for such a stern-looking woman. “You’re welcome, Merile.”

What the Wise Ones thought of the way things had gone, he couldn’t tell. They were exchanging those unreadable looks again, leaving Dani to bask in the regard of the two girls. Rand kept himself more under control, but he couldn’t help but share their new appraisal. Maybe Nynaeve had picked a good one, after all.

* * *

The Heart of the Stone in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ was as Dani remembered it in the real world, huge polished redstone columns rising to a distant ceiling, and, beneath the great central dome, _Callandor_ driven into the pale floorstones. Only people were missing. The golden lamps were not lit, yet there was a sort of light, somehow dim and sharp at the same time, that seemed to come from everywhere at once, or nowhere. It seemed it was often like that, indoors in _Tel’aran’rhiod_.

What she did not expect was the woman standing beyond the glittering crystal sword and peering off into the pallid shadows among the columns. The way she was dressed startled Dani. Bare feet and wide trousers of brocaded yellow silk. Above a darker yellow sash, she was quite bare except for golden chains hanging around her neck. Tiny gold rings decorated her ears in sparkling rows, and most startling of all, another pierced her nose, with a thin, medallion-lined chain running from nose ring to one of the rings in her left ear.

“Elayne?” Dani gasped, gathering her shawl around her as though she were the one with no blouse. She herself was garbed as an Aes Sedai of the Blue Ajah this time, for no particular reason.

The Daughter-Heir leaped, and when she came down facing Dani she was wearing a demure gown of pale green with a high, embroidered neck and long sleeves that dangled points over her hands. No earrings. No nose ring. Her pretty breasts safely hidden from view. “It is how the Sea Folk women dress at sea,” she said hurriedly with a furious blush. “I wanted to see how it felt, and this seemed the best place. I couldn’t do it on the ship, after all.”

“How does it feel?” Dani asked curiously.

“Cold, actually.” Elayne looked around at the surrounding columns. “And it makes you feel people are staring at you, even when there’s no-one there.” Abruptly she laughed. “The poor Shienarans. And Juilin. They do not know where to look most of the time. Half the crew are women.”

Studying the columns herself, Dani shrugged uncomfortably. It did feel as if they were being watched. That was another thing that seemed to be constant here. Her lone previous visit, on Sunday, had been intended simply to commence these weekly meetings, but Dani had spent most of it just familiarising herself with this strange world. Blundering about hadn’t done her much good, so she’d been very thankful for the chance to listen in on the Wise Ones’ lesson to Rand and Raine earlier.

That hadn’t been why she’d volunteered to teach Merile, though. She didn’t think it had been, anyway. In truth, she was a little surprised by her own decision, but Nynaeve had said she should look after him, and she could hardly do that if he didn’t trust her. Besides, Merile was a nice girl and the Aes Sedai’s refusal to teach her was a bit on the spiteful side. And there was sweet little Raine to consider, who loved them both and arrayed herself against anyone who was not, as she put it, “their pack”. It all added up. It was just a pity that it would all add up to trouble with the Aes Sedai if anyone found out what she was doing. She was so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t really paid attention to what Elayne had said, but something rang a bell in her mind and made her frown.

“Wait. Did you say Juilin? Do you mean Juilin Sandar? Is _he_ with you?”

“Oh, Dani, Rand sent him. Rand and Lan. To help us. Nynaeve is quite set up about it, about Lan, though of course she won’t let on.”

Dani smothered a small smile. _Nynaeve_ was set up? Elayne’s face was beaming, and her dress had changed again, to a much lower neckline, apparently without her realizing it. The _ter’angreal_ , the twisted stone ring, helped the Daughter-Heir reach the World of Dreams just like the amber plaque that Dani’s sleeping body was clutching back in the real world, but they did not confer control. That had to be learned, according to the Wise Ones. Stray thoughts—such as how she might like to look for Rand—could still alter things for Elayne.

Dani still thought it very strange. Elayne knew that Rand was involved with other women, yet was still infatuated with him. He was a handsome man, and watching his story play out with the Aiel had been fascinating, but none of that should have been enough to inspire such blind love. She’d asked Raine about it earlier, since she was similarly afflicted, but hadn’t gotten a satisfying answer. They’d been in the Wise Ones’ open tent. Rand was over at the edge, hugging a beaming Merile, and telling her he needed to go speak to his armsmen about something, when Dani pulled Raine aside and asked her why she would let him touch another woman like that right in front of her.

Those lovely golden eyes had looked at her plaintively for a moment, before the girl shrugged her narrow shoulders. “What am I to do? He’s so handsome and makes me feel so strange, I—” She’d seen al’Thor leaving then, and forgot about Dani altogether. “Wait! Please wait!” she’d called as she ran after him. It was all very confusing.

Tam al’Thor hadn’t looked very approving of his son’s lecherous antics. He’d stayed behind, his lips twisting bitterly as he watched him walk off with a girl on either arm. “Just the way I raised him,” he’d sighed.

Dani shook her head, then as now. Thinking of such things in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ turned out to be a bad idea, however, for, without intending it, Dani’s dress changed from a Tar Valoni style to the clinging fashion of her homeland. She tsked in annoyance. She’d never cared for that fashion.

“How is he?” Elayne’s voice was a strange blend of forced casualness and apprehension.

“Well enough,” Dani said. She made it a full report. Rhuidean—as much as she knew from what she had heard; what she had managed to infer from talk of seeing through ancestors’ eyes—the strange creature from the Dragon banner marked on Rand’s forearms, Bair’s revelation that he was the Aiel’s doom, the summons of the clan chiefs to Alcair Dal. Amys and the other Wise Ones should be doing that even now. She even told the strange story of Rand’s true parents, in a shorter form. “I don’t know what he’s up to, though. He is as hard as Rhuarc or Lan, in some ways at least; maybe harder. He’s planning something, I think—something he doesn’t mean anybody to know—and he is in a rush to get to it. It is worrying.”

Elayne did not look worried, or not about that, at any rate. “He is what he is, Dani. A king, or a general, cannot always afford to be kind. When a ruler has to do what is right for a nation, there are times when some will be hurt by what is best for the whole. Rand is a king, Dani, even if without a nation unless you count Tear, and if he won’t do anything that will hurt anyone, he will end by hurting everyone.”

Dani sniffed. It might make sense, but she did not have to like it. People were people, and they had to be seen as people. “There is more. I already told you that some of the Wise Ones can channel. But I suspect there are a lot more than a few. From what Amys tells me, they find every last woman who has the spark born in her.” No Aiel women died trying to teach themselves to channel while not even knowing what they were trying to do; there was no such thing as a wilder among the Aiel. Men who learned they could channel faced a grimmer fate; they went north, to the Great Blight and maybe beyond, to the Blasted Lands and Shayol Ghul. “Going to kill the Dark One”, they called it. None survived long enough to face madness. “Aviendha is one with the spark, it turns out. She’ll be very strong, I think. Amys thinks so, too.”

“Aviendha,” Elayne said wonderingly. “Of course. I should have known. I felt the same kinship for Jorin on first sight that I did for her. And for you, for that matter.”

“Jorin?”

Elayne grimaced. “I promised I would keep her secret, and the first chance I get, I let my tongue run wild. Well, I don’t suppose you will harm her or her sisters. Jorin is Windfinder on _Wavedancer_ , Dani. She can channel, and so can some of the other Windfinders.” She glanced at the columns around them, and her neckline was suddenly back up under her chin. She adjusted a dark lace shawl that had not been there a moment before, covering her hair and shadowing her face. “Dani, you mustn’t tell anyone. Jorin is afraid the Tower will try to force them to become Aes Sedai, or try to control them in some fashion. I promised I would do what I can not to let that happen.”

“I won’t tell,” Dani said slowly. Wise Ones and Windfinders. Women able to channel among both, and none who had taken the Three Oaths, bound by the Oath Rod. The Oaths were supposed to make people trust Aes Sedai, or at least not fear their power, but Aes Sedai still had to move in secret as often as not. Wise Ones—and Windfinders, she was willing to wager—had honoured places in their societies. Without being bound to supposedly make them safe. It was something to think on.

“Nynaeve and I are on schedule, too, Dani, despite taking a detour to purchase some lenses for Keestis that will help her see. Jorin has been teaching me to work the weather—you would not believe the size of the flows of Air she can weave!—and between us, we’ve had _Wavedancer_ moving as fast as he ever has, and that is _fast_. We should be in Tanchico tomorrow, or maybe the day after, according to Coine. She’s the Sailmistress, the captain. Twelve days from Tear to Tanchico, perhaps. That is with stopping to talk with every Atha’an Miere ship we see. Dani, the Sea Folk think Rand is their _Coramoor_.”

“They do?”

“Coine has some of what happened in Tear wrong—she assumes the Aes Sedai serve Rand now, for one thing; Nynaeve and I thought it best not to put her straight about that—but as soon as she tells another Sailmistress, they’re all ready to spread the word and serve Rand. I believe they will do anything he asks of them.”

“That’s ... something. The Aiel aren’t so accepting. Rhuarc thinks some of them might refuse to acknowledge him, Rhuidean Dragons or no. One fellow, a man called Couladin, I’m sure would kill him in a minute given half a chance.”

Elayne took a step forward. “You will see that doesn’t happen.” It was not a question or a request. There was a sharp light in her blue eyes, and a bared dagger in her hand.

“I will do the best I can. Rhuarc is giving him bodyguards.”

Elayne seemed to see the dagger for the first time, and gave a start. The blade vanished. “I could wish I had the leisure to take Amys up on her offer of training. It is disconcerting to have things appear and disappear, or suddenly realize I’m wearing different clothes. It just happens.”

“She’s started teaching Rand and Raine. I was able to listen in, and will try to do keep doing it. I can pass on what I learn from them at our meetings.” She had been in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ too long already. This place was dangerous. “Elayne, if I am not here when we are supposed to meet next, don’t worry. I will try, but we’ll be marching so I may not be able to come. Be sure to tell Nynaeve. If I do not come, check every night thereafter. I won’t be more than one or two late, I’m sure.”

“If you say so,” Elayne said doubtfully. “It will surely take weeks to find out if Liandrin and the others are in Tanchico or not. Juilin seems to think the city will be very confused.” Her eyes went to _Callandor_ , driven half its length into the floor. “Why did he do that, do you think?”

“He said it will hold the Tairens to him. As long as they know it’s there, they have to know he is coming back. Maybe he knows what he is talking about. I hope so.”

“Oh. I thought ... perhaps he ... was angry about ... something.”

Dani frowned at her. This sudden diffidence was not like Elayne at all. “Angry about what?”

“Oh, nothing. It was just a thought. Dani, I gave him two letters before leaving Tear. Do you know how he took them?”

“No, I don’t. Did you say something you think might have angered him?”

“Of course not.” Elayne laughed gaily; it sounded forced. Her dress was suddenly dark wool, stout enough for a hard winter. “I would have to be a fool to write things to make him angry.” Her hair sprang up in all directions, like a crazed crown. She was not aware of it. “I am trying to make him love me, after all. Just trying to make him love me. Oh, why can’t men be simple? Why do they have to cause such difficulties? At least he’s away from Berelain.” The wool became silk again, cut even lower than before; her hair made shimmers on her shoulders to shame the gown’s sheen. She hesitated, nibbling her lower lip. “Dani? If you find the chance, would you tell him I meant what said in—Dani? Dani!”

Something snatched Dani. The Heart of the Stone dwindled into blackness as if she were being hauled away by the scruff of her neck.

With a gasp, she started awake, heart pounding, staring up the low roof of the night-darkened tent over her head. Only a little moonlight crept in at the open sides. She lay under her blankets—the Waste was as cold at night as it was hot during the day, and the brazier that exuded the sweetish smell of dried dung burning gave little warmth—beneath her blankets right where she had lain down to sleep, with Ilyena snoring softly at her side. But what had pulled her back?

Abruptly she became aware of Amys, sitting cross-legged beside her, cloaked in shadows. The Wise One’s murk-shrouded face seemed as dark and foreboding as the night.

“Did you do that, Amys?” she said angrily. “You have no right to just haul me about. I am Aes Sedai of the ...” What Ajah had she claimed to be of again? It would have been Blue or Green, for those were the two Dani liked best. “I am Aes Sedai, and you have no right—”

Amys cut her off with a grim voice. “Beyond the Dragonwall, in the White Tower, you are Aes Sedai. Here, you are an ignorant fool, a child crawling through a den of vipers. How is it that I find you in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , when you are not a dreamwalker? And why would you go there after listening to us explain how dangerous it is?”

“I have a _ter’angreal_. Nynaeve, Elayne and I all have one. We arranged to meet there weekly,” Dani bit out. “I don’t know why I’m explaining it to you, though. I’m not your student.”

“No. You are just a woman who sits in on a lesson she pretends does not benefit her. One who takes, and does not pay. A thief.”

Something seized her ankles, hauled her feet into the air; blankets tumbled away, her shift dropped to bunch in her armpits. Upside down with her naked body on display once again, though thankfully without any candles lodged in obscene places, she hung with her face level with that of Amys. Furious and fighting back tears, she opened herself to _saidar_ —and found herself blocked.

“You wanted to go off alone,” Amys hissed softly. “You were warned, but you had to go.” Her eyes seemed to glow in the dark, brighter and brighter. “Never a care for what might be waiting. There are things in dreams to shatter the bravest heart.” Around eyes like blue coals, her face melted, stretched. Scales sprouted where skin had been; her jaws thrust out, lined with sharp teeth. “Things to _eat_ the bravest heart,” she growled.

Screaming, Dani battered vainly at the shield holding her from the True Source. She tried to beat at that horrible face, at the thing that could not be Amys, but something gripped her wrists, stretched her taut and quivering in midair. All she could do was shriek for Ilyena to save her as those jaws closed around her face, but her love slept on, unknowing or uncaring.

Screaming, Dani sat up, clutching at her blankets. With an effort she managed to snap her mouth shut, but she could do nothing about the shudders that racked her. She was in the tent—or was she? Ilyena came awake with a snort, and demanded to know what was wrong—or did she? There was Amys, cross-legged in the shadows, glowing with _saidar_ —or was it she? Desperately, she opened herself to the Source, and nearly howled when she found the barrier again. Tossing the blankets aside, she scrambled over Ilyena and across the layered rugs on hands and knees, scattered her neatly folded clothes with both hands. She had a belt knife. Where was it? Where? There!

“Sit down,” Amys said acerbically, “before I dose you for vapours and fidgets. You will not like the taste.”

Dani twisted around on her knees, the short knife held in both hands; they would have trembled if not clutched together around the hilt. “Is it really you this time?”

“I am myself, now and also then. Sharp lessons are the best lessons. Do you mean to stab me?”

“I might stab both of you if someone doesn’t explain what’s going on!” Ilyena snapped. She was sitting up in bed, her hair a mess for once, and the glow of _saidar_ surrounded her ominously.

Dani sheathed the knife hastily. Ilyena was perfectly capable of lashing out at Amys, Wise One or not, even in the best of circumstances. And these were not that. She was always grumpy in the mornings, and worse if she didn’t get a full sleep. “I had a bad dream. Of the kind Elayne spoke of,” she said.

Ilyena was suddenly all concern. “Are you hurt? She said it could affect the real world, too.”

“She spoke truly,” said Amys. “You can die, in the dream. If you, or another dreamer, lacks control. I do not lack control.”

Though admittedly devoid of any teeth marks, Dani still scowled at the woman. “You have no right to—”

“I have every right! _Tel’aran’rhiod_ has been the domain of my people for thousands of years. You are meddling in things you do not understand, and using my hospitality to do it. I would have been willing to teach you, but I will not be deceived.”

Dani ground her teeth. So much for her plan to listen in on the lessons. She really did need to learn, though. Maybe Amys was not as furious as she appeared. “I would like to learn,” Dani ventured.

The Wise One sniffed loudly. “And why should I teach after this?”

“You already have two new students. A third would be no extra trouble,” Dani pointed out, essaying her most charming smile. It didn’t work.

“Do not think to face me down as Rand al’Thor did. You are not the _Car’a’carn_. If I am to allow you to learn I must have your word that you will obey.”

“I’m not very good at obeying,” she growled.

“That is good. Sometimes it is good. But I must know you will do as I say. I will not watch a pupil of mine cut her own throat!” Amys sighed; the glow around her vanished, and so did the barrier between Dani and _saidar_. “If you will not give, or cannot keep your word, I do not know that I want to instruct you.”

Dani ground her teeth. She’d been quite honest just now. She’d always hated following orders. It had made her time in the White Tower difficult, to put it lightly. Being out of the Tower now was a welcome relief, and one that she was very reluctant to have ruined by yet more stringent rules and bossy teachers. But the opportunity to learn this new skill was hard to just turn her back on. “I would keep my word if I gave it, Amys. But there are things we’d need to agree on first. I have to meet with my friends, in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. I promised them I would.”

Amys’ face was not easy to make out in the darkness, but Dani did not see any softening. “Very well. I will accompany you when you must meet your friends. If you give me your word to obey.”

Dani sighed. “Then I promise that, while I am among your people and learning from you, I will do as you say.”

“Idiot,” Ilyena said, before lying back down again and pulling the blankets over herself. “And a noisy idiot, too.”

“You have already deceived me once. I must have proof. Braid your hair,” Amys said in a flat tone.

“What?”

“One over each ear.” Amys’ voice was still like a flat rock. “If you have no ribbon to twine in the braids, I will give you some. That is how little girls wear their hair among us. Girls too young to be held to their word. When you prove to me that you can keep yours, you can stop wearing it so. But if you lie to me, I will make you cut your skirts off short, like little girls’ dresses, and find you a doll to carry. When you decide to behave as a woman, you will be treated as a woman. Agree to it, or I will teach you nothing.”

Dani smiled wryly. What the Aiel thought of that look was their business, and didn’t affect her. She’d worn her hair in braids before and quite liked it that way, so going back to them would be no great inconvenience. “I will agree if you will accompany me once a week to—”

“Agree, _Aes Sedai_! I do not bargain with children, or those who cannot keep their word. You will do as I say, accept what I choose to give, and no more. Or else go off and get yourself killed on your own. I—will—not—aid it!”

Dani was glad of the dark; it hid her scowl. “I agree,” she said reluctantly. “I will do as you say, accept what you give, and no more.”

“Good.” After a long pause, as if waiting to see whether Dani wanted to say more—she wisely held her tongue—Amys added, “In case you did not listen when I spoke to Raine Cinclare, learning will be neither easy nor short. You think you have worked in the White Tower. Prepare to give real time and effort now.”

She grimaced. “Amys, I will learn as much as you can teach me, and I will work as hard as you want, but between Rand and the Darkfriends ... Time to learn may turn out to be a luxury, and my purse empty.”

“I know,” Amys said wearily. “He troubles us already. Come. You have wasted enough time tonight. There is women’s business to be discussed. Come.”

Dani reached for her dress, but Amys said, “That will not be needed. We only go a short way. Throw a blanket around your shoulders and come. I have done a great deal of work for Rand al’Thor already, and I must do more when we are finished.”

Dani glanced at the mound of blankets Ilyena had hidden herself under. “I’ll be right out,” she said. Amys nodded her understanding before parting the tentflap and stepping out into the night.

“I thought you hated being a student,” Ilyena said once they were alone.

“I do. But I hate being helpless more.” Dani sighed. “It would be nice if, just for once, we could get what we want without having to compromise something else.”

“I know. That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” Ilyena said bitterly. “It’s a rotten situation, Dani. And we’re stuck with it. We can’t give up our power or change the world.”

“We can’t. Maybe al’Thor can. You should have heard him talk to the Aiel earlier. He was all, ‘I mean to change what is allowed and what isn’t. Become used to it’. Must be nice having three thousand years worth of prophecies backing you up.”

“All I need to know about him is that he turned his nose up at my Healing.”

Dani grinned. “You’re going to need to learn how to forgive one of these days, love.”

“Some things are unforgiveable,” Ilyena said bitterly. “Go see to your new boss. She sounds like she’s itching for an excuse to slap you. Best not give her one. I know you’re not into that stuff.”

Sparing a brief moment to thump the soft mound of blankets, and the girl under them, Dani shrugging a blanket around her shoulders, and made her way out into the night. It was _cold_. Skin turning to tight goose bumps, she hopped from bare foot to bare foot over stony ground that seemed little short of ice. After the heat of day, the night seemed as frigid as the heart of winter. Her breath turned to thin mist in front of her mouth, absorbed immediately by the air. Cold or not, the air was still dry.

At the rear of the Wise Ones’ camp stood a small tent she had not seen before, low like the others, but staked tightly down all around. To her surprise, Amys began stripping off her clothes, and motioned her to do the same. Clenching her teeth to keep them from chattering, she followed Amys’ example slowly. When the Aiel woman had shed down to her skin, revealing a leanly muscular body, the hair on which was as pale as that on her head, she stood there just as if the night were not freezing, taking deep breaths and flailing herself with her arms before finally ducking inside. Dani darted after her with alacrity.

Damp heat hit her like a stick between the eyes. Sweat popped out of every pore.

Moiraine was already there, and the other Wise Ones, and Aviendha, all bare-skinned and sweating, sitting around a large iron kettle full to the brim with sooty stones. Kettle and stones alike radiated heat. The Aes Sedai looked mostly recovered from her ordeal, though there was a tightness around her eyes that had not been there before. Sweat coated her body, but she gave no true sign of discomfort. None of the other women did either, not even the thin and wrinkled Bair. Pride drove Dani to try to do the same, but Light! The heat!

As she was gingerly finding a place to sit—no layered rugs here; only rocky ground— Aviendha scooped a handful of water from a smaller kettle at her side and tossed it into the larger one. The water hissed to steam, leaving not even a damp spot on the stones. Aviendha had a sour look on her face. Dani knew how she felt. Novices in the Tower were also given chores; she was not sure if she had hated scrubbing floors more than pots or the other way around. This task did not look nearly so onerous. Dani was secretly glad of it, for Aviendha’s closeness to the fire was making her muscles and curves glisten rather spectacularly.

“We must discuss what to do about Rand al’Thor,” Bair said when Amys was seated, too.

“What do you mean?” Dani asked. “Isn’t he is the one you’ve been looking for.”

“He is the one,” Melaine said grimly, brushing long strands of red-gold hair from her damp face. She was another fine sight, not quite as pretty as Elayne but with the same colouring. “We must try to see that as many of our people as possible survive his coming.”

“Just as importantly,” grey Seana said, “we must assure that he survives to fulfil the rest of the prophecy.” Melaine glared at her, and Seana added in a patient tone, “Else none of us will survive.”

“Rhuarc said he would set some of the Jindo for bodyguards,” Dani said. “Has he changed his mind?”

Amys shook her head. “He has not. Rand al’Thor sleeps in the Jindo tents, with a hundred men awake to see he wakes as well. But men often see things differently than we. Rhuarc will follow him, perhaps oppose him in decisions he thinks are wrong, but he will not try to guide him.”

“Do you think he needs guiding?” Moiraine arched an eyebrow at that, but Dani ignored it. “He’s been ignoring any attempts to guide him, from what I’ve seen, and hasn’t exactly met with disaster. He rules the Stone of Tear. He killed Moridin. And you just acknowledged him as the king of the Aiel.”

“Aiel have no kings. You do not know our ways, and neither does Rand al’Thor,” Amys replied. “There are a hundred mistakes he could make to turn a chief or clan against him, to make them see a wetlander instead of He Who Comes With the Dawn. My husband is a good man and a fine chief, but he is no peacetalker, trained to guide angry men to ground their spears. We must have someone close to Rand al’Thor who can whisper in his ear when he seems ready to step wrongly.” She motioned Aviendha to throw more water on the hot rocks; the younger woman complied with a sullen grace.

“And we must watch him,” Melaine put in sharply. “We must have some idea of what he means to do before he does it. The fulfilment of the Prophecy of Rhuidean has begun—it cannot be halted short of its end, one way or another—but I mean to see that as many of our people survive as is possible. How that can be managed depends on what Rand al’Thor intends.”

Bair leaned toward Dani. She seemed to be all bone and sinew. “Who does he confide in most among those who came with him? The Lost One? Raine Cinclare? One of the younger Aes Sedai? You perhaps?”

She couldn’t help but notice that his male companions were not mentioned. It seemed they did not have the desired perspective, whatever that might be. “Definitely not me or the others. I don’t think he even wants us here.” She hesitated, frowning, before going on. “I’m not sure he even confides in the girls, for that matter. Despite how close they are. There were others, back in Tear. Including a woman who’d known him since he was a child. She was as surprised as any of us by the things he was doing. I don’t think he shares his plans with anyone.”

“Would she tell us if he did confide?” Melaine demanded. “I raise no anger here, but Dani and Moiraine are Aes Sedai. What they seek may not be what we seek.”

“We served Aes Sedai once,” Bair said simply. “We failed them then. Perhaps we are meant to serve again.” Melaine flushed with obvious embarrassment.

Moiraine gave no sign that she saw, or that she had heard the woman’s earlier words, for that matter. Except for that tightness around her eyes she looked as calm as ice. “I will help as I can,” she said coolly, “but I have little influence with Rand. For the present, he weaves the Pattern to his own design.”

“Then we must watch him closely and hope.” Bair sighed. “Aviendha, you will meet Rand al’Thor when he wakes each day and do not leave him until he goes to his blankets at night. You will stay as close to him as the hair on his head. Your training must come as we can manage, I fear; it will be a burden on you, doing both things, but it cannot be avoided. If you talk to him—and especially listen—you should have no trouble remaining near him. Few men will send away a pretty young woman who listens to them. Perhaps he will let something slip.”

Aviendha grew stiffer by the word. When Bair finished, she spat, “I will not!” Dead silence fell and every eye swung to her, but she stared back defiantly.

“Will not?” Bair said softly. “Will not.” She seemed to be tasting words strange in her mouth.

“Aviendha,” Dani said gently, “no-one is asking you to betray Elayne, only to talk to him.” If anything, the former Maiden of the Spear looked even more eager to find herself a weapon.

“Is this the discipline Maidens learn now?” Amys said sharply. “If it is, you will find we teach a harder. If there is some reason you cannot stay near to Rand al’Thor, speak it.” Aviendha’s defiance wilted a trifle, and she mumbled inaudibly. Amys’ voice took on a knife edge. “I said, speak it!”

“I do not like him!” Aviendha burst out. “I hate him! Hate him!” Had Dani not known better, she would have thought her close to tears.

“We are not asking you to love him, or take him to your bed,” Seana said acidly. “We are _telling_ you to _listen_ to the man, and you will obey!”

“Childishness!” Amys snorted. “What kind of young women is the world producing now? Do _none_ of you grow up?”

Bair and Melaine were even sharper, with the older woman threatening to tie Aviendha on Rand’s horse in place of his saddle—she sounded as if she meant it precisely—and Melaine suggesting that instead of sleep Aviendha should perhaps spend the night digging holes and filling them in to clear her head. The threats were not intended to coerce her, Dani realized; these women expected and intended to be obeyed. Any useless labour Aviendha earned herself would be for being stubborn. That stubbornness seemed to be shrinking, with four sets of Wise Ones’ eyes boring at her —she settled into more of a defensive crouch, on her knees—but she was holding on.

Dani leaned over to put a hand on Aviendha’s shoulder. “Think of it as looking after him for Elayne. You can tell him she says she meant what she said in her letters. He will like hearing that.”

Aviendha’s face spasmed. “I will do it,” she said, slumping. “I will watch him for Elayne. For Elayne.”

Amys shook herself. “Foolishness. You will watch him because we told you to, girl. If you think you have another reason, you will find you are painfully mistaken. More water. The steam is fading.”

Aviendha hurled another handful onto the rocks as though hurling a spear. Dani was glad to see her spirit returning, but she thought she would caution her when they were alone. Spirit was all very well, but there were some women—these four Wise Ones, for example, and Siuan Sanche—with whom it was common sense to keep a check on your spirit. Otherwise, they would make it their business to stamp said spirit down. She’d met her fair share of such women in the Tower.

“Now that that is settled,” Bair said, “let us enjoy the steam in silence while we can. There is much for some of us yet to do tonight, and for nights to come, if we are to bring a gathering to Alcair Dal for Rand al’Thor.”

“Men always find ways to make work for women,” Amys said. “Why should Rand al’Thor be different?”

Quiet settled over the tent except for the hiss when Aviendha tossed more water on the hot rocks. The Wise Ones sat with hands on knees, breathing deeply. It was really quite pleasant once you got used to it, even relaxing, the damp heat, the slick, cleansing feel of sweat on the skin. Dani thought it was worth missing a little sleep.

Moiraine did not look relaxed, though. She stared at the steaming kettle as if seeing something else, far off.

“Was it bad?” Dani said softly so as not to disturb the Wise Ones. “Rhuidean, I mean?” Aviendha looked up quickly, but said nothing.

“The memories fade,” Moiraine said, just as quietly. She did not look away from her distant vision, and her voice was almost chill enough to take away the heat in the air. “Most are already gone. Some, I knew already. Others ... The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and we are only the thread of the Pattern. I have given my life to finding the Dragon Reborn, finding Rand, and seeing him ready to face the Last Battle. I will see that done, whatever it requires. Nothing and no-one can be more important than that.”

Shivering despite her sweat, Dani closed her eyes. The Aes Sedai did not want comforting. She was a lump of ice, not a woman. Dani settled herself to trying to recapture that pleasant feeling. She suspected such would be few and far between in the days to come.


	59. Misdirections

The Aiel broke camp early and were away from Rhuidean while the not-yet-risen sun still sharply silhouetted the far mountains. In three parties they wound around Chaendaer, down onto rough flats broken by hills and tall stone spires and flat-topped buttes, grey and brown and every hue between, some streaked with long swirls in shades of red and ochre. Occasionally a great natural arch loomed as they moved north and west, or strange, huge slabs of rock balanced improbably, forever on the brink of falling. Every way Rand looked, jagged mountains reared in the distance. All the wreckage of the Breaking of the World seemed gathered here in the place called the Aiel Waste. Where the hard ground was not cracked clay, yellow or brown or something between, it was stony and stark, and everywhere split by dry gulleys and hollows. The scattered vegetation was sparse and low, thorny bushes and leafless things with spines; the few blossoms, white or red or yellow, were startling in their isolation. Occasionally stretches of tough grass covered the ground, and rarely, there was a stunted tree also likely to have thorns or spines. Compared to Chaendaer and the valley of Rhuidean, it almost looked lush. The air was so clear, the land so barren, it seemed Rand could see for miles and miles.

That air was no less dry, though, the heat no less relentless, with the sun a lump of molten gold high in a cloudless sky. Rand had wrapped a _shoufa_ around his head in an effort to keep the sun off, and drank from the waterbag on Jeade’en’s saddle frequently. Oddly, wearing his coat seemed to help; he did not sweat any less, but his shirt stayed damp beneath the red wool, cooling him somewhat. Mat used a strip of cloth to tie a large white kerchief atop his head, like some odd cap that hung down the back of his neck, and he kept shading his eyes against the glare. He carried the raven-marked sword-spear like a lance, the butt tucked into his stirrup.

Four hundred or so Taardad, mostly Jindo, comprised their party, with several familiar faces from his time in the Stone tagging along. He wondered if it was a coincidence that the clan he found himself travelling with was the same clan that his blood father had been a member of, or that it was their chief that had led the force that took the Stone. He felt no more or less kinship towards Branwen, Mangin, Harilin and the rest on finding they were part of Janduin’s clan, but he dared to think it might make it easier to get them on his side.

Rand and Mat rode at the front alongside Rhuarc and Heirn, with Tam and the rest following just behind. The Aiel walked, of course, their tents and some of the booty from Tear on packmules and horses. He was hoping to find a quiet moment in which to ask Mat about what had happened in Rhuidean and what it meant for their relationship but, not long after they were underway, Merile heeled her white mare and came to join them at the front.

“Isn’t she pretty? I called her Hala,” she said, smiling.

“She’s alright. Her owner is prettier.”

Merile giggled. “Uh oh. I’m getting flirted at by a big bad Aiel chief. I’m in trouble now.”

“Is that what I am? Of all the things I thought I’d become in my life, that was definitely not one of them.” But what other choice was there? He had to win this war, and war was something at which the Aiel excelled.

Merile was watching him closely. “If you could do anything—just anything at all—what would you do?” she asked abruptly.

“That’s easy. Be normal. No channelling, just ... normal,” Rand said without hesitation.

“Really? You wouldn’t eat a cake the size of Tear, or fly across Valgarda on a winged horse?”

Rand laughed softly. “Well, now that you say it, having a winged horse might not be so bad.”

She nodded knowingly. “I’d name mine ‘Feathers’.”

As they rode away from Rhuidean—on their sadly normal horses—a number of the Jindo Maidens fanned ahead as scouts, and Stone Dogs trailed behind as a rear guard, with the main column hedged by watchful eyes, ready spears, and bows with arrows nocked. Supposedly the Peace of Rhuidean extended until those who had gone to Chaendaer returned to their own holds, but as Rhuarc explained to Rand, mistakes had been known to happen, and apologies and blood-price did not bring the dead out of their graves. Rhuarc seemed to think a mistake especially likely this time, certainly in part because of the Shaido party.

The lands of the Shaido clan lay beyond those of the Taardad, in the same direction from Chaendaer, and they paralleled the other clan some quarter of a mile distant. According to Rhuarc, Couladin should have waited another day for his brother to return. That Rand had seen Muradin after he had plucked out his own eyes made no difference; ten days was the time allotted. To leave sooner was to abandon whoever had entered Rhuidean. Yet Couladin had set the Shaido to folding their tents as soon as he saw the Jindo pack animals being loaded. The Shaido moved along now with their own scouts and rear guard, seemingly ignoring the Jindo, but the space between never widened much. It was usual to have witnesses from perhaps half a dozen of the larger septs when a man sought the marking of a clan chief, and Couladin’s people outnumbered the Jindo by at least two to one. The few Taardad who had been among those who returned from Tear were not enough to make up the numbers. Rand suspected that the third party, halfway between Shaido and Taardad, was the reason the interval did not narrow suddenly and violently.

The Wise Ones walked just like all the other Aiel, including those strange, white-robed men and women Rhuarc called _gai’shain_ , who led their packhorses. Not servants, exactly, but Rand was unsure he really understood Rhuarc’s explanation about honour and obligation and captives; Heirn had been even more confusing, as though making an effort to explain why water was wet. Moiraine, Lan, and the Accepted rode with the Wise Ones, or at least the women did. The Warder had his warhorse a little off on the side of the Shaido, watching them as closely as he did the rugged landscape. Sometimes Moiraine or Dani or both got down to walk awhile, talking with the Wise Ones. Rand would have given his last penny to hear what they said. They looked in his direction often, quick glances that he was doubtless not supposed to notice. For some reason, Dani was wearing her hair in two braids, plaited with lengths of red ribbon, like a bride’s.

“Elayne is the woman for you.”

He looked down at Aviendha in confusion. The challenging look was back in her blue-green eyes, but still layered atop stark dislike. She had been waiting outside the tent when he awoke that morning—still sore from a rather energetic night with Merile and Raine, both of whom were excited by the change in their circumstances, and neither of whom realised how bad Rand’s sunburn was. Aviendha had been waiting for him that morning and had not strayed more than three paces from him since. Clearly the Wise Ones had set her to spy, and clearly he was not supposed to realize it. She was pretty, and he was assumed to be fool enough not to see beyond that. No doubt that was the real reason she wore skirts now, and carried no weapon beyond a small beltknife. Women seemed to think men were simple-minded. Come to think of it, none of the other Aiel had commented at her change of clothing, but even Rhuarc avoided looking at her for too long. Probably they knew why she was there, or had some inkling of the Wise Ones’ plan, and did not want to speak of it.

Rhuidean. He still did not know why she had gone; Rhuarc muttered about “women’s business”, plainly reluctant to discuss it around her. Considering the way she clung to Rand’s side, that meant not discussing it at all. The clan chief was certainly listening now, and Heirn, and every Jindo in earshot. It was hard to tell with Aiel, sometimes, but he thought they looked amused. Mat was whistling softly, ostentatiously looking at anything but the two of them. Even so, this was the first time all day she had spoken to him.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Yes. What _do_ you mean?” said Merile testily.

Like the rest of the Aiel, Aviendha ignored her as if she was not there. Her bulky skirts did not hinder her, walking along beside Jeade’en. No, not walking. Stalking. If she were a cat, she would be lashing her tail. “Elayne is a wetlander, your own kind.” She tossed her head arrogantly. The short tail that Aiel warriors wore at the nape of the neck was missing. The folded scarf around her temples nearly enveloped her hair. “Exactly the woman for you. Is she not beautiful? Her back is straight, her limbs supple and strong, her lips like plump loveapples. Her hair is spun gold, her eyes blue sapphires. Her skin is smoother than the finest silk, her bosom fine and well-rounded. Her hips are—”

He cut her off frantically, his cheeks heating. “I know she’s pretty. What are you doing?”

“I am describing her.” Aviendha frowned up at him. “Have you seen her in her bath? There is no need for me to describe her if you have seen—”

“It doesn’t matter what I’ve seen!” He wished he did not sound strangled. Rhuarc and the others were listening, faces too blank for anything but amusement. Mat rolled his eyes with an open, roguish grin.

The woman only shrugged and rearranged her shawl. “She should have arranged it. But I have seen her, and I will act as _her_ near sister.” The emphasis seemed to say _his_ “near sister” might have done the same; Aiel customs were strange, but this was mad! “Her hips—”

“Stop that!”

She gave him a sideways glare. “She is the woman for you. Elayne has laid her heart at your feet for a bridal wreath. Do you think there was anyone in the Stone of Tear who does not know?”

“I do not want to talk about Elayne,” he told her firmly. Certainly not if she meant to go on as she had begun. The thought made his face go hot again. The woman did not seem to care what she said, or who heard! Elayne would probably tear her hair out if she knew she was describing her like that in front of so many people. Well. Try to.

“You do well to blush, putting her aside when she has bared her heart to you.” Aviendha’s voice was hard and contemptuous. “Two letters she wrote, baring all as if she had stripped herself beneath your mother’s roof. You entice her into corners for kisses, then reject her. She meant every word of those letters, Rand al’Thor! Daniele Rulonir told me so. She meant every word. What do you mean toward her, wetlander?”

Rand scrubbed a hand through his hair, and had to rearrange his _shoufa_. Elayne meant every word? In both letters? That was flat impossible. One contradicted the other nearly point for point. Suddenly he gave a start. _Dani_ had told her? About Elayne’s letters? Did women discuss these things among themselves? Did they plan out between them how best to confuse a man?

He found himself missing Min. Min had never made him look a fool. Well, not more than once or twice. And she had never insulted him. Well, she had called him “sheepherder” a few times. But he felt comfortable around her. She never made him feel a complete idiot, like Elayne, and Aviendha. But he’d ruined that.

His silence seemed to irritate the Aiel woman more, if such was possible. Muttering to herself, striding along as though she wanted to trample something, she adjusted and readjusted her shawl half a dozen times. Finally her grumbling faded away. Instead, she began staring at him. Like a vulture. He could not see how she did not trip and fall on her face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded.

“I am listening, Rand al’Thor, since you wish me to be silent.” She smiled around gritted teeth. “Do you not enjoy having me listen to you?”

He glanced beyond her at Mat, who shook his head. There was just no understanding this woman. Rand tried to set himself to considering what lay ahead, but it was difficult with the woman’s eyes on him. Pretty eyes, if they had not been full of spite, but he did wish she would look at something else.

* * *

Shading his eyes against the sun’s glare, Mat did his best to avoid looking at Rand and the Aiel woman striding along between their horses. He could not understand why Rand put up with her. Aviendha was pretty enough, to be sure—more than just pretty, especially now she wore a semblance of proper clothes—but with a viper for a tongue and a temper to make Nynaeve look meek. He was just glad Rand was stuck with her and not him.

He pulled the kerchief from his head and wiped the sweat off of his face, then tied it back. The heat and the eternal sun in his eyes were beginning to get to him. Was there no such thing as shade in this whole land? Sweat stung his wounds. He had refused Healing the night before, when Moiraine wakened him after he had finally gotten to sleep. A few cuts were a small price to avoid having the Power used on you, and the Wise Ones’ filthy-tasting tea had settled his headache. Well, after a fashion, anyway. What else ailed him, he did not think Moiraine could do anything about, and he had no intention of telling her until he understood it himself. If then. He did not even want to think of it.

Moiraine and the Wise Ones were watching him. Watching Rand actually, he supposed, but it felt the same. Surprisingly, the sun-haired one, Melaine, had climbed up on Aldieb behind the Aes Sedai, riding awkwardly and holding Moiraine around the waist as they talked. He had not known Aiel would ride at all. A very pretty woman, Melaine, with those fiery green eyes. Except, of course, that she could channel. A man would have to be an utter fool to tangle himself with one of those. Shifting in Pips’ saddle, he reminded himself that it did not matter to him what Aiel did.

Some of those other Mats—and Mattis—had had been the utter fools that he was determined not to be. It had always ended badly. Always. He put his hands to his temples and squeezed. The headache was gone, but his head was packed full of things that shouldn’t be there. He could remembering people you had looked like him but who had not _been_ him doing things with Rand or Raye or other channelers, just as if he had done it himself. That was the sort of thing that happened to a man when he stayed with the Dragon Reborn for too long. He could remember others things, as well, things even stranger still ...

 _I’ve been to Rhuidean. I’ve done what those snake folk said I had to_. And what did he have to show for it? _This bloody spear, a silver medallion, and ... I could go now. If I have any sense, I will_.

He could go. Try to find his own way out of the Waste—before he died of thirst or sunstroke. He could if Rand was not still pulling at him, holding him. The easiest manner of finding out was just to try leaving. Looking at the bleak landscape, he grimaced. A wind picked up—it felt as if it blew across an overheated cookstove—and small whirlwinds spun funnels of yellow dust across the cracked ground. Heat-haze made the distant mountains shimmer. Maybe it was best to stay around a while longer.

Rand drew Jeade’en close to Pips. “Mat. About what happened in Rhuidean,” he said in a near whisper.

“I told you already, I’m not telling you what happened with the foxy people,” Mat said firmly.

Rand’s mouth twitched. “We’ll need to talk about that sooner or later. I’m thinking of going through that door, as well, and I’ll need to know how to deal with them if I do.”

“Don’t. That’s how you deal with them. You don’t. Burn me, Rand. Do you not have enough problems already? Why would you want to go looking for more?”

“I might be a touch greedy in that regard. And in some others. It wasn’t actually the doorway I wanted to talk about you see ...” Rand confessed.

Looking hastily about to make sure no-one was close enough to overhear, Mat whispered a fierce response. “Don’t bloody start with that. It was a mistake, Rand. I think maybe _Avendesora_ did something to us. I felt as if I was drunk, and you acted as if you were, too. It doesn’t change things. We’re still done.”

“Oh. I thought you might have changed your mind about me. It was ... nice. Being together. Like old times.” Rand lowered his head, looking sad.

Mat ground his teeth. He hated this. He hated that he felt bad about it, and he hated that he had to do it anyway. Truthfully, it had felt good being with Rand again, but that hadn’t been the reason he’d distanced himself from him in the first place. And the same reasons that applied then applied now. The two of them rode on in an awkward silence, unsaid words hanging heavy in the air between them.

A while later, one of the Maidens who had been scouting ahead came trotting back and fell in beside Rhuarc speaking for his ear alone. She flashed Mat a grin when she was done, and he busied himself picking a sharp burr out of Pips’ mane. He remembered her all too well, a red-haired woman named Dorindha. Dorindha was one of those who had talked him into trying Maidens’ Kiss. It was not that he did not want to meet her eyes, certainly not that he could not; keeping your horse free of burrs and the like was important.

“Peddlers,” Rhuarc announced when Dorindha sprinted off the way she had come. “Peddlers wagons, heading in this direction.” He did not sound pleased.

Mat brightened considerably, though. A peddler might be just the thing. If the fellow knew the way in, he knew the way out. He wondered if Rand suspected what he was thinking; the man had gone as blank-faced as any of the Aiel.

The Aiel picked up their pace a little—Couladin’s people imitated the Jindo and the Wise Ones’ party with hardly a hesitation; their own scouts had probably brought word, too—a quick enough step that the horses had to maintain a brisk walk. The sun did not bother the Aiel at all, not even the _gai’shain_ in their white robes. They flowed over the broken ground.

Less than two miles brought the wagons in sight, a dozen and a half of them, strung out in a line. All showed the wear of hard travel, with spare wheels lashed everywhere. Despite a coat of yellow dust, the first two looked like white-painted boxes on wheels, or little houses, complete with wooden steps at the back and a metal stove-chimney sticking through the roof. The last three, drawn by twenty-mule hitches, appeared no more than huge barrels, also white, doubtless full of water. Those in between could have done for peddlers’ wagons in the Theren, with high stout-spoked wheels and clanking clusters of pots and things in big net bags tied all along the tall round canvas covers.

The wagondrivers drew rein as soon as they spotted the Aiel, waiting for the columns to come to them. A heavy man in a pale grey coat and dark, wide-brimmed hat climbed down from the back of the lead wagon and stood watching, now and then taking off his flat-crowned hat to wipe his forehead with a large white handkerchief. If he was nervous, looking at maybe fifteen hundred Aiel sweeping toward him, Mat could not blame him. The strange thing was the expressions on the Aiel nearest Mat. Rhuarc, trotting ahead of Rand’s horse, looked grim, and Heirn wore a face that could break rocks.

“I don’t understand,” Mat said. “You look like you’re going to kill somebody.” That would certainly put paid to his hopes. “I thought there were three kinds of people you Aiel let come out here in the Waste; peddlers, gleemen, and the Travelling People.”

“Peddlers and gleemen are welcome,” Heirn replied curtly. If this was a welcome, Mat did not want to see Aiel being unwelcoming.

“What about the Travelling People?” he asked curiously. When Heirn kept silent, he added “Tinkers? The _Tuatha’an_? Like Merile here?” A pretty glum looking Merile, now. The sept chief’s face grew even harder before he turned his eyes back to the wagons. Aviendha shot Mat a look as if he were a fool.

“I’d not mention Tinkers to the Aiel if I were you,” Rand said in a low voice. “They are ... a touchy subject.”

“If you say so.” Why would Tinkers be a touchy subject? “Looks to me like they’re being touchy enough about this peddler. Peddler! I can remember merchants who came to Emond’s Field with fewer wagons.”

“He came into the Waste,” Rand chuckled. Jeade’en tossed his head and danced a few steps. “I wonder if he will leave it again?” Rand’s twisted grin did not reach his eyes. Sometimes Mat almost wished Rand would decide whether he was mad or not and get it over with. Almost.

Three hundred paces short of the wagons, Rhuarc signalled a halt, and he and Heirn went on alone. At least, that seemed to have been his intention, but Rand heeled his dapple stallion after them, and the inevitable bodyguard of a hundred Jindo followed. And Aviendha, of course, keeping close as though tied to Rand’s horse. Mat rode right with them. If Rhuarc sent this fellow packing, he did not mean to miss his chance to go along.

Couladin came trotting out from the Shaido. Alone. Perhaps he meant to do as Rhuarc and Heirn had intended, but Mat suspected the man was pointing out that he went alone where Rand needed a hundred guards. At first it seemed Moiraine was coming, too, but words passed between the Wise Ones and her, and they all stayed where they were. Watching, though. The Aes Sedai dismounted, playing with something small that sparkled, and the Wise Ones clustered around her.

Despite his face mopping, the big, grey-coated fellow did not appear uneasy up close, although he jumped when Maidens suddenly rose out of the ground, encircling his wagons. The wagon drivers, hard-faced men with more than enough scars and broken noses to go around, looked ready to crawl under their seats; they were tough alley dogs compared to Aiel wolves. The peddler recovered right away. He was not fat for all his size; that heaviness was muscle. Rand and Mat on their horses earned his curious glances, but he singled out Rhuarc at once. His hooked beak of a nose and dark, tilted eyes gave his square swarthy face a predatory look not lessened when he put on a wide smile and swept his broad-brimmed hat off in a bow. “I am Hadnan Kadere,” he said, “peddler. I seek Cold Rocks Hold, good sirs, but I will trade with one and all. I have many fine—”

Rhuarc cut him off like an icy knife. “You head well away from Cold Rocks, or any hold. How is it you have come this far from the Dragonwall without acquiring a guide?”

“I do not really know, good sir.” Kadere did not lose his smile, but the corners of his mouth tightened a trifle. “I have travelled openly. This is my first visit to the Three-fold Land so far south. I thought perhaps here there are no guides.” Couladin snorted loudly, twirled one of his spears lazily. Kadere hunched his shoulders as if he felt steel sliding into his thick body already.

“There are always guides,” Rhuarc said coldly. “You have luck to have come so far without one. Luck that you are not dead, or walking back to the Dragonwall in your skin.” Kadere flashed an uneasy, toothy smile, and the clan chief went on. “Luck to meet us. Had you continued this way another day or two, you would have reached Rhuidean.”

The peddler’s face went grey. “I have heard ...” He stopped to swallow. “I did not know, good sirs. You must believe, I would not do such a thing deliberately. Nor by accident,” he added hastily. “The Light illumine my words for truth, good sirs, I would not!”

“That is well,” Rhuarc told him. “The penalties are severe. You may travel with me to Cold Rocks. It would not do for you to become lost again. The Three-fold Land can be a dangerous place for those who do not know it.”

Couladin’s head came up defiantly. “Why not with me?” he said in a sharp voice. “The Shaido are the more numerous here, Rhuarc. By custom, he travels with me.”

“Have you become a clan chief when I did not see?” The fire-haired Shaido flushed, but Rhuarc showed no hint of satisfaction, only went on in that level voice. “The peddler seeks Cold Rocks. He will journey with me. The Shaido with you may trade with him as we travel. The Taardad are not so starved for peddlers that we try to keep them to ourselves.”

Couladin’s face went even darker, yet he moderated his tone, even if it did creak with the effort. “I will camp near Cold Rocks, Rhuarc. He Who Comes With the Dawn concerns all Aiel, not only the Taardad. The Shaido will have their proper place. The Shaido, too, will follow He Who Comes With the Dawn.” He had not, Mat realized, acknowledged that that was Rand. Peering at the wagons, Rand did not seem to be listening.

Rhuarc was silent a moment. “The Shaido will be welcome guests in the lands of the Taardad, if they come to follow He Who Comes With the Dawn.” And that could be taken two ways, as well.

Kadere had been mopping his face all this time, likely seeing himself in the middle of a battle between Aiel. He punctuated Rhuarc’s invitation with a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you, good sirs. Thank you.” Probably for not killing him. “Perhaps you would care to see what my wagons have to offer? Some special thing you might like?”

“Later,” Rhuarc said. “We will stop at Imre Stand for the night, and you may show your wares then.” Couladin was already striding away, having heard the name of Imre Stand, whatever that was. Kadere started to put his hat back on.

“A hat,” Mat said, reining Pips closer to the peddler. If he had to remain in the Waste a bit longer, at least he could keep that bloody sun out of his eyes. “I’ll give a gold mark for a hat like that.”

“Done!” called a woman’s huskily melodious voice.

Mat looked around, and gave a start. The only woman in sight beside Aviendha and the Maidens was walking up from the second wagon, but she certainly did not match that voice, one of the loveliest he had ever heard. Rand frowned at her and shook his head, and he had cause. A foot shorter than Kadere, she must have weighed as much or more. Rolls of fat nearly hid her dark eyes, disguising whether they were tilted or not, but her nose was a hatchet that dwarfed the peddler’s. In a dress of pale-cream silk stretched tight around her bulk, with a white lace shawl held above her head on elaborate ivory combs thrust into long, coarse black hair, she moved with incongruous lightness, almost like one of the Maidens.

“A good offer,” she said in those musical tones. “I am Keille Shaogi, peddler.” She snatched the hat away from Kadere and thrust it up at Mat. “Stout, good sir, and nearly new. You will need its like to survive the Three-fold Land. Here, a man can die ...” Fat fingers made a whip-crack. “... like so.” Her sudden laugh had the same throaty, caressing quality as her voice. “Or a woman. A gold mark, you said.” When he hesitated, her half-buried eyes glittered raven black. “I seldom offer any man a bargain twice.”

A peculiar woman to say the least. Kadere made no protest beyond the slightest grimace. If Keille was his partner, there was no doubt who was the senior. And if the hat kept Mat’s head from broiling, it really was worth the price so far as he was concerned. She bit the Tairen mark he handed her before releasing the hat. For a wonder, it fit. And if it was no cooler under that wide brim, at least it was blessedly shady. The kerchief went into his coat pocket.

“Anything for the rest of you?” The stout woman ran her eye over the Aiel, murmuring, “What a pretty child” to Aviendha with a baring of teeth that might have been a smile. To Rand, she said sweetly, “And you, good sir?” That voice coming out of that face was truly jarring, especially when it took on this honeyed tone. “Something to shelter you from this desperate land?” Turning Jeade’en so he could peer at the wagon drivers, Rand only shook his head. With that _shoufa_ around his face, he really did look like an Aiel.

“Tonight, Keille,” Kadere said. “We open trade tonight, at a place called Imre Stand.”

“Do we, now.” For a long moment she peered at the Shaido column, and at the Wise Ones’ party for a longer. Abruptly she turned for her own wagon, saying over her shoulder to the other peddler, “Then why are you keeping these good sirs standing here? Move, Kadere. Move.” Rand stared after her, shaking his head again.

There was a gleeman back by her wagon. Mat blinked, thinking the heat had gotten to him, but the fellow did not vanish, a dark-haired man in his middle years wearing a patch-covered cloak. He watched the gathering apprehensively until Keille shoved him up the wagon’s step ahead of her. Kadere looked at her white wagon with less expression than one of the Aiel before stalking off to his own. Truly an odd lot.

“Did you see the gleeman?” Mat asked Rand, who nodded vaguely, eyeing the line of wagons as if he had never seen a wagon before. Rhuarc and Heirn were already on their way back to the rest of the Jindo. The hundred surrounding Rand waited patiently, dividing their gaze between him and anything that might hide even a mouse. The drivers began gathering their reins, but Rand did not move. “Strange people these peddlers, wouldn’t you say, Rand? But I suppose you have to be strange to come to the Waste. Look at us.” That brought a grimace from Aviendha, but Rand seemed not to have heard. Mat wanted him to say something. Anything. This silence was unnerving. “Would you have thought escorting a peddler would be such an honour Rhuarc and Couladin would argue over it? Do you understand any of this _ji’e’toh_?”

“You _are_ a fool,” Aviendha muttered. “It had nothing to do with _ji’e’toh_. Couladin tries to behave as a clan chief. Rhuarc cannot allow that until—unless—he has gone to Rhuidean. The Shaido would steal bones from a dog—they would steal the bones and the dog—yet even they deserve a true chief. And because of Rand al’Thor we must allow a thousand of them to pitch their tents in our lands.”

“His eyes,” Rand said without looking away from the wagons. “A dangerous man.”

Mat frowned at him. “Whose eyes? Couladin’s?”

“Kadere’s eyes. All that sweating, going white in the face. Yet his eyes never changed. You always have to watch the eyes. Not what he seems.”

“Sure, Rand.” Mat shifted in his saddle, half lifted his reins as if to ride on. Maybe silence had not been so bad. “You have to watch the eyes.”

Rand changed his study to the tops of the nearest spires and buttes, twisting his head this way and that. “Time is the risk,” he murmured. “Time sets snares. I have to avoid theirs while setting mine.”

There was nothing up there that Mat could make out beyond an occasional scattering of brush and now and then a stunted tree. Aviendha frowned at the heights, then at Rand, adjusting her shawl. “Snares?” Mat said. _Light, let him give me an answer that isn’t crazy_. “Who’s setting snares?”

For a moment Rand looked at him as if he did not understand the question. The peddlers’ wagons were starting off with an escort of Maidens loping alongside, turning to follow the Jindo as they trotted past, mirrored by the Shaido. More Maidens sped ahead to scout. Only the Aiel around Rand stood still, though the Wise Ones’ party dawdled and watched.

“You can’t see it, or feel it,” Rand said finally. Leaning a little toward Mat, he whispered loudly, as though pretending. “We ride with evil now, Mat. Watch yourself.” He wore that twisted grin again, as he watched the wagons lumber by.

“You think this Kadere is _evil_?”

“A dangerous man, Mat—the eyes always give it away—yet who can say? But what cause have I to worry, with Moiraine and the Wise Ones watching out for me? And we mustn’t forget Lanfear. Has any man ever been under so many watchful eyes?” Abruptly Rand straightened in his saddle. “It has begun,” he said quietly. “Wish that I have your luck, Mat. It has begun, and there is no turning back, now, however the blade falls.” Nodding to himself, he started his dapple after Rhuarc, Aviendha trotting alongside, the hundred Jindo following.

Mat was glad enough to follow, too. Better than being left there, certainly. The sun burned high in a stark blue sky. There was a lot of travelling yet to be done before sunset. It had begun? What did he mean, it had begun? It had begun in Rhuidean; or better, in Emond’s Field on Winternight a year gone. “Riding with evil” and “no turning back”? And Lanfear? Rand was walking the razor’s edge, now. No doubt about it. There had to be a way out of the Waste before it was too late. From time to time Mat studied the peddlers’ wagons. Before it was too late. If it was not already.

* * *

“Do you ever wonder if Cauthon might secretly be the smart one?” Dani asked.

Her fellow Accepted looked at her scornfully, all four of them. A chorus of “No”, “Of course not!” and “Have you met him?” greeted her question but Dani stood firm.

“He’s the first of us to hit on the idea of wearing a hat to keep the sun off,” she said. “And neither al’Thor nor Merile look to be jumping to buy one for themselves, like I plan to. I’m just saying, maybe he gets underestimated a bit.”

The five of them stood holding their horses’ reins a little apart from Moiraine and the older women, having been excluded from whatever they were currently discussing. Raine crouched alone not far away, having been similarly excluded. Though they were all still part of the same group, if the Maidens who’d been marching with the Wise Ones were anything to go by. The warriors did not form a true perimeter, they’d just happened to be strolling casually along in the spaces between the Wise Ones and the two other Aiel groups. That Dani’s little party was within their protective not-sphere instead of without was promising.

“Having one good idea does not make him any less of a fool, not when he’s still walking around with the cuts he won’t let me Heal,” Ilyena said. She stood with her arms crossed, making a solid attempt at being stern, but a few hours of travel in this heat had had a visible effect on her. She was looked pretty frazzled, and she was far from the only one. Pedra was a little basket of misery, Theodrin had wilted like a flower, and even Mayam looked discomforted.

Dani was feeling the heat herself, for all that she’d been such an outdoorsy girl before going to the Tower. Perhaps, as the leader, she should have hid her hurts. Nynaeve certainly would have. But Dani decided to take a different approach. “I ... sure feel beat—I doubt I can move another step. I never dreamed a body could be so tired.”

“I will welcome the sight of this Imre Stand, I must admit,” Ilyena said right away.

The others hesitated only briefly before added their voices to hers.

“I didn’t think it would affect me like this,” Theodrin confessed. “Bandar Eban is a hot city. I thought that the Waste would be little different, just with less water. But it is like standing next to a lit fire in a Bandar Eban summer. What madness inspires them to live in this place? I mean, they conquered Cairhien but didn’t stay? They actually came back here instead?” She shook her head, dark locks flying loose as Dani’s now could not. “Madness.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” Dani said slowly. “Another might be to say that it was virtuous. Not to take what wasn’t theirs, I mean.”

Pedra sniffed. “Tell that to all the dead Cairhienin they left behind. Miena Sedai said that when they left, the population of Cairhien was less than three quarters what it had been before they came.”

“I’m not saying they were nice, I’m just saying that the stories of them being mindless savages were not very fair, in my opinion.”

“It’s a mistake to try to label things as good and evil,” Mayam said solemnly. “Everything, and everyone, is usually a mixture of them both. Except the Shadow, of course.”

Ilyena scowled at her. “What is with you lately? You are so dour now. I am the deadly serious one, remember? Stop trying to muscle in on my territory.”

Instead of bantering with her, Mayam stared off at the peddler’s wagons, mouth downturned.

“She has a point,” said Dani. “You’ve been in a bad mood since we got here. If it was from before, I’d understand, but you seemed to be coming out of that. What happened?”

Mayam’s face twisted in pain. “You know. You just don’t want to think about it. About the Portal Stones.” They looked away from her then, every last woman of them, Dani included. “Exactly,” Mayam continued. “Some of the things that happened there, some of the things I did, they weren’t anything close to good. Blood and ashes, sometimes I wasn’t even me ... I was ... I was ... His name was Mani.”

Theodrin bit her lip, cheeks colouring. “It does ... It does rather change your perspective, doesn’t it?”

“In more ways than one. I hurt people. More than hurt. There was a woman named Raye, and I helped ... helped to ...” Mayam swallowed audibly. “What they did to us in that dungeon, that other me did to her.”

Dani stared at her. _Light. How am I supposed to respond to that?_ she thought. Pedra answered instead, though not in the way Dani would have.

“It was just because you’d been afflicted with masculinity in that life. It doesn’t mean your soul is any less pure. Don’t let it get to you.” Dani winced, imagining how someone like Rand would respond to hearing that.

Mayam looked at her uncertainly. “I guess that’s true. Maybe. I still ... No. I suppose it’s so. Thanks, Pedra.”

“I hate to contradict that bit of ‘comfort’,” Theodrin said, with an uncharacteristically stiff set to her face, “but as someone who has been raped by a fellow woman, and who ... Well, let’s just say I disagree with your explanation.”

Pedra gave her a scornful look. “Tell me you are not going to be one of those bleeding hearts that try to claim we are the same, just because a few women do what most men do habitually.”

“If the alternative is saying that being male makes you do it, then yes,” said Theodrin angrily. Pedra rolled her eyes at the merciless sky.

Mayam sighed heavily. “I didn’t want to start a fight. She has a point, though, Pedra. Asne took part with me, too. But it would have been nice to think it was just Mani being Mani, and not Mani being me.”

An uncomfortable silence fell, one that was only broken when one of the Maidens approached Pedra and lowered her _shoufa_ to reveal a handsome face framed by golden hair.

“I see you. I am Branwen, of the Jindo sept of the Taardad Aiel,” she said formally. “Whose lands you currently travel through. I have heard your words and feel I must respond. Pedra Sedai, while I found your valour in the face of the enemy most admirable during the battle in the Stone of Tear, I must confess I find the disdain with which you view the men of our clan ... less than pleasant. Are not all who fight well and bravely worthy of honour and respect, regardless of chances of birth?”

Pedra frowned at her. “They get enough respect already. A soldier gets paid for his fighting, doesn’t he? That’s all they are good for, and the rewards given are all they deserve.”

Branwen smiled. “Oh, I really must disagree ... I find a man can have quite delightful uses.”

“No wonder you’d disapprove, if that’s your attitude,” Pedra said. She turned her shoulder away from Branwen, but Dani could see how red her face had gotten. Privately, she agreed with Theodrin. The sheer strangeness of what they’d experience while using the Portal Stone was enough to change anyone’s perspective. Well, almost anyone’s. “I don’t need to listen to this,” Pedra declared. She fitted actions to words, and marched off in a huff, leading her horse behind her. Surprisingly, Mayam trotted off after her, and the two women put their heads together.

Ilyena gave the intruding Maiden an Aes Sedai stare, even though she would not have been a true Aes Sedai even if she didn’t look half cooked. Branwen was unmoved by it, to Dani’s amusement. The Aiel didn’t really do deference. She’d seen how little respect they gave their prophesised leader, and didn’t expect to get much simply because she’d told them she was Aes Sedai, but Ilyena hadn’t been spending as much time with them as Dani was and kept on staring, as though she expected Branwen to start shuffling her feet at any moment.

The burly Maiden shook her head slightly, a bigger cat amused by the antics of smaller ones. “This reminds me of something my spearsisters and I have been discussing. Have any of you considered sharpening your battle skills somewhat? Truly, if it were not for your One Power, there have been times when you would have been sliced near to shreds, and surely the Moridin incident is not beyond your recall.”

“Battle skills? Like, with a sword? No thank you,” Theodrin said, her expression making plain how ridiculous she found the suggestion to be.

“Aes Sedai have Warders for that sort of thing,” Ilyena added.

“I intend no insult, Aes Sedai, but I truly think it would be best if you spent just a little more time working on your archery, at least. You cannot always depend on the One Power, or on your Warder, stalwart though he be. Every woman should know how to defend herself with her hands and feet, or with a knife. Every Aiel woman already does.”

Neither of the others looked very moved by her words, but Dani spoke before they could, and not only out of fear Ilyena would give her tongue free reign again. “I might take you up on that offer. Assuming it is an offer. I like the idea of being able to break someone’s nose for them, if it needs breaking.”

Branwen nodded solemnly. “The spearsisters stand ready. Should you decide to ask training of us, we will not turn you away.” Without bowing, she turned and walked back to the other Maidens, leaving Dani to face Theodrin’s incredulity and Ilyena’s bemusement.

“And to think, that stableboy once said that _I_ was the man in our relationship,” Dani’s pillow-friend said with an exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes I wonder why I’m willing to sacrifice so much for you, Rulonir.”

Dani thumped her on the shoulder. “Take that back if you know what’s good for you, Volnicoliev. Or it’ll be that cute little nose of yours that gets broken,” she said with a grin.

Far from being threatened, Ilyena just gave her a soft, sad smile. “And sometimes I know exactly why,” she whispered.

“Dani?” Busy sharing a private smile with Ilyena, she didn’t register the voice at first and when she did finally look, it was only to wonder at Raine’s flushed face. “I don’t feel so good ...” she said as she tottered forwards. Her eyes fluttered shut, her knees crumpled, and suddenly she was falling. Instinctively, Dani took a long step and caught her.

“You’re soaked with sweat!” she gasped at the limp girl in her arms. “It’s the heat—you’re not used to it. And standing around with no shade only makes things worse. I’ve got to get you into a tent.”

“Don’t need it. Wolves are tough,” Raine mumbled. “I’m a wolf, too, so ... You don’t want to take me to your tent. Not proper. I’m a bad girl.”

Ilyena and Theodrin had gathered around them, bent over and looking concerned, but Ilyena’s concern vanished fast. She narrowed her eyes, first at Raine and then at Dani.

“She’s feverish and delirious. She doesn’t know what she’s saying,” Dani hastily explained. Ilyena just raised one eyebrow coolly. Dani refused to apologise. She hadn’t done anything wrong. All she’d done was look. Besides, there was something else she needed to focus on. “It’s got to be sunstroke! We’ve got to lower her body temperature.”

Embracing _saidar_ , Dani wove Air and Water together in an elaborate net. It didn’t require much strength to create a small flurry of snow in the immediate area around them, and the intense heat didn’t hinder her weaving—the One Power was everywhere, and worked independently of the environment a channeler found herself in. Once the weave was made and the effect created, it became a different story, unfortunately. The snow Dani generated lasted only a few heartbeats before evaporating in the heat of the Waste, leaving barely even any vapour behind. But at least it was blessedly cool while it lasted, for Raine’s sake and everyone else’s. Ilyena and Theodrin sighed in relief, and the girl in Dani’s arms shuddered in gratitude.

“Oh ... Oh that feels so good ...” she groaned.

Dani had been enjoying the change in temperature as much as everyone else. It was just a pity that it wasn’t enough to stop her cheeks from colouring.

“Well, aren’t you two cosy,” Ilyena said in a flat voice.

She winced. “It’s not like that. Raine brings out the mother in me. I want to take care of her.”

Ilyena studied her carefully, her face hardening. “It is only natural to want to take care of the people you care about. And to do whatever you can for them. Even if that means trying to make snowflakes in the Aiel Waste.”

Dani smiled for her. “You are my favourite snowflake.”

But her pillow-friend’s mouth only twisted bitterly. “There are no snowflakes in this hell,” she said, and walked away.


	60. Imre Stand

The sun still stood more than its own height above the jagged western horizon when Rhuarc said that Imre Stand, where he intended to stay for the night, lay only a mile or so ahead. “Why are we stopping already?” Rand asked. “There are hours more daylight left.”

It was Aviendha, walking along on the other side of Jeade’en from the clan chief, who answered, in the scornful tone he had come to expect. “There is water at Imre Stand. It is best to camp near water when the chance presents itself.”

“And the peddlers’ wagons cannot go much farther,” Rhuarc added. “When the shadows lengthen, they must stop or begin breaking wheels and mules’ legs. I do not want to leave them behind. I cannot spare anyone to watch over them, and Couladin can.”

Rand twisted in his saddle. Flanked now by Jindo _Duadhe Mahdi’in_ , Water Seekers, the wagons were making heavy going a few hundred paces off to the side, lurching along, raising a tall plume of yellow dust. Most gullies were too deep or too steep-walled, forcing the drivers to go around, so the train twisted like a drunken snake. Loud curses floated from the wavering line, most blaming the mules for it all. Kadere and Keille were still inside their white-painted wagons.

“No,” Rand said, “you don’t want to do that.” He laughed softly in spite of himself.

Mat was looking at him oddly from under the broad brim of his new hat. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring way, but Mat’s expression did not change. _He’s going to have to take care of himself_ , Rand thought. _Too much is riding on this_.

Speaking of taking care, he became aware of Aviendha studying him, her shawl wrapped around her head much like a _shoufa_. He straightened himself again. Moiraine might have told her off to nurse him, but he had the impression the woman was waiting to see him fall. Doubtless she would find that funny, Aiel humour being what it was. He would have liked to think she simply resented being stuffed into a dress and set to watch him, but the glitter in her eyes seemed too personal for that.

The more pleasant company he might have enjoyed was all too preoccupied with Raine’s turn. She rode among the Shienarans now, sheltered by a cloak that had become an impromptu tent, held up by Loial’s huge arm. Merile, Tam and the rest were fittingly concerned, and clustered around her. Rand was concerned, too, and not just because of Raine’s health. The thought that he might suffer a similar malady had lodged itself in his mind. He could not afford that. He could not afford to look—or be!—weak. So he made his face stern, and rode at the head of the column.

For once Moiraine and the Wise Ones were not watching him. Halfway between the Jindo and the Shaido, Moiraine was walking with Amys and the others, all five women looking at something in the Aes Sedai’s hands. It caught the light of the falling sun, sparkling like a gem; they certainly seemed as intent as any girl on a pretty. Lan rode back among the _gai’shain_ and packhorses, as though they had sent him away.

The scene made Rand uneasy. He was used to being the centre of attention for that lot. What had they found more interesting? Surely nothing he could be happy about, not with Moiraine, likely not with Amys or the others. They all had their plans for him. The only one he could really trust was himself. _When the boar breaks cover, there’s only you and your spear_. His laugh was a touch bitter this time.

“You find the Three-fold Land amusing, Rand al’Thor?” Aviendha’s smile was the merest flash of white teeth. “Laugh while you can, wetlander. When this land begins to break you, it will be a fitting punishment for your treatment of Elayne.”

Why would the woman not let up? “You didn’t show any respect for the Dragon Reborn,” he snapped, “but you could try finding a little for the _Car’a’carn_.”

Rhuarc chuckled. “A clan chief is not a wetlander king, Rand, nor is the _Car’a’carn_. There is respect—though women generally show as little as they can get away with—but anyone can speak to a chief.” Even so, he sent a frown in the direction of the woman on the other side of Rand’s horse. “Some do push the bounds of honour.”

Aviendha must have known that last was meant for her ears; her face went stony. But she strode along without saying another word, fists clenched at her sides.

A pair of the scouting Maidens appeared, coming back at a dead run. They were plainly not together; one headed straight for the Shaido, the other for the Jindo. Rand recognized her, a yellow-haired woman named Adelin, handsome but hard-faced, with a scar making a fine white line across her sun-dark cheek. She was one of those who had been in the Stone, though older than most of the Maidens there, perhaps ten years more than he. The quick look she gave Aviendha before falling in beside Rhuarc, an equal blend of curiosity and sympathy, made Rand bristle. If Aviendha had agreed to do the Wise Ones’ spying, she certainly did not deserve sympathy. His company was not so onerous as that. Him, Adelin ignored altogether.

“There is trouble at Imre Stand,” she told Rhuarc, her speech quick and clipped. “There is no-one to be seen. We have kept hidden and not gone close.”

“Good,” Rhuarc replied. “Inform the Wise Ones.” Unconsciously hefting his spears, he dropped back to the main body of Jindo. Aviendha muttered to herself, plucking at her skirts, obviously wanting to join him.

“I think they already know,” Mat said as Adelin sped toward the Wise Ones’ party.

From the agitation among the women around Moiraine, Rand thought he was right. They all appeared to be talking at once. How they knew had to be a question for later.

“What kind of trouble might it be?” he asked Aviendha. Still muttering to herself, she did not answer. “Aviendha? What kind of trouble?” Nothing. “Burn you, woman, you can answer a simple question! What kind of trouble?”

She flushed, but her reply came in a level tone. “It is most likely to be a raid, for goats or sheep; either could be herded at Imre for pasture, but most likely goats, because of the water. Probably it was the Chareen, the White Mountain sept or the Jarra. They are closest. Or it might be a sept from the Goshien. The Tomanelle are too far, I think.”

“Will there be fighting?” He reached out for _saidin_ ; the sweet rush of the Power flooded him. The rancid taint oozed through him, and fresh sweat burst from every pore. “Aviendha?”

“No. Adelin would have said if the raiders were still there. The herd and the _gai’shain_ are miles gone by now. We cannot recover the herd because we must accompany you.”

He wondered why she did not mention recovering the captives, the _gai’shain_ , but he did not wonder long. The effort of staying upright while holding on to _saidin_ , of not folding up and being swept away, left little room for thought.

Rhuarc and the Jindo swept ahead at a run, already veiling their faces, and Rand followed more slowly. Aviendha shot him impatient frowns, but he kept Jeade’en to a brisk walk. He would not go galloping into someone else’s trap. At least Mat was in no hurry; he hesitated, looking at the peddlers’ wagons, before cantering Pips up. Rand never glanced at the wagons.

The Shaido fell behind, slowing until the Wise Ones began to move again. Of course. This was Taardad land. Couladin would not care if someone raided here. Rand hoped the clan chiefs could be gathered at Alcair Dal quickly. How could he unite a people who seemed to fight each other all the time? The least of his worries, now.

When Imre Stand finally came in sight, it was something of a surprise. A few widely scattered clumps of long-haired white goats browsed on patches of tough grass and even the leaves of thorny bushes. At first he did not see the crude stone building set against the base of a tall butte; the rough stonework blended in perfectly, and several thornbushes had taken root on the dirt-covered roof. Not very big, it had arrowslits for windows and only one door that he could see. After a moment he spotted another building, no larger, tucked onto a ledge some twenty paces higher. A deep crevice ran up to the ledge and beyond from behind the stone house at the base; there was no other evident way to reach the ledge.

Rhuarc, standing openly four hundred or so paces from the butte with his veil lowered, was the only Jindo in sight. That did not mean the others were not there, of course. Rand reined in beside him and dismounted. The clan chief continued to study the stone buildings.

“The goats,” Aviendha said, sounding troubled. “Raiders would not have left any goats behind. Most are gone, but it almost looks as if the herd has just been allowed to wander.”

“For days,” Rhuarc agreed, not taking his eyes from the buildings, “or more would remain. Why does no-one come out? They should be able to see my face, and know me.” He started forward, and made no objection when Rand joined him leading Jeade’en. Aviendha had one hand on her belt knife, and Mat, riding behind, carried that black-hafted spear as if he expected to need it.

The door was rough wood, pieced together from short, narrow planks. Some of the stout bracing was broken, hacked by axes. Rhuarc hesitated a moment before pushing it open. He hardly glanced inside before turning to run his eyes over the surrounding country.

Rand put his head in. There was no-one there. The interior, light streaming in bars through the arrowslits, was all one room and plainly not a dwelling, just a place for herdsmen to shelter, and defend themselves if attacked. There were no furnishings, no tables or chairs. A raised open hearth stood beneath a sooty smoke hole in the roof. The wide crevice at the back had steps chiselled into the grey rock. The place had been ransacked. Bedding, blankets, pots, all lay scattered across the stone floor amid slashed cushions and pillows. Some liquid had been splashed over everything, the walls, even the ceiling, and had dried black.

When he realized what it was, he jerked back, the Power-wrought sword coming into his hands before he even thought. Blood. So much blood. There had been slaughter done here, as savage as anything he could imagine. Nothing moved out there except the goats.

Aviendha backed out as fast as she went in. “Who?” she demanded incredulously, her large blue-green eyes filled with outrage. “Who would do this? Where are the dead?”

“Trollocs,” Mat muttered. “It looks like Trolloc work to me.”

She snorted contemptuously. “Trollocs do not come into the Three-fold Land, wetlander. No more than a few miles below the Blight, at least, and then seldom. I have heard they call the Three-fold Land the Dying Ground. We hunt Trollocs, wetlander; they do not hunt us.”

Nothing moved. Rand let the sword go, pushed _saidin_ away. It was hard. The sweetness of the Power was nearly enough to overcome the feel of filth from the taint, the sheer exhilaration almost enough to make him not care. Mat was right whatever Aviendha said, but this was old, the Trollocs gone. Trollocs in the Waste, at a place he had come to. He was not fool enough to think it coincidence. _But if they think I am, maybe they’ll grow careless_.

Rhuarc signalled the Jindo to come in—they seemed to rise out of the ground—and some time later the others appeared, the Shaido and the peddlers’ wagons and the Wise Ones’ party. Word spread quickly of what had been found, and among the Aiel, tension became palpable. They moved as if they expected momentary attack, perhaps from each other. Scouts fanned out in every direction. Unharnessing their mules, the wagon drivers looked around jerkily, and seemed ready to dive under their wagons at the first shout.

For a time all was a stirred hive of ants. Rhuarc made sure the peddlers lined their wagons up on the edge of the Jindo camp. Couladin glowered, since it meant any Shaido who wanted to trade had to go to the Jindo, but he did not argue. Perhaps even he could see that might lead to dancing the spears, now. The Shaido tents went up a scant quarter-mile away, with the Wise Ones, as usual, in between. The Wise Ones examined the inside of the building, and Moiraine and Lan did, as well, but if they reached any conclusions, they told no-one.

Most of the Shaido stayed away from Imre Stand, save for the Maidens who had scouted the place earlier. Rand watched them warily. He supposed there was no reason to assume them hostile just because of Couladin, but Couladin hadn’t been the only one to try to skewer Rand on Chaendaer. Besides, he only recognised one of them, and she hadn’t exactly been the friendliest of the Aiel in Tear.

The girl in question, Nici, saw him watching. She pushed back her _shoufa_ and came strutting over. “You should not stare,” she said. “It is rude. Do wetlanders not even know that much?”

Rand looked between her and Aviendha sourly. “And what are you, exactly?” he muttered.

She looked confused. “What do you think I am, you smooth-skinned wetlander? I am Shaido. A woman. You better not insult my clan or I will get my father to split your face. And I have brothers, too.”

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Rand said tightly. _Why am I apologising after she walked right up to me and called me rude for doing nothing more than looking?_ He shook his head, annoyed at himself, but still tried to smooth things over despite that. “You spotted the danger here, right? Did you notice anything when you were scouting? Any sign of where those responsible might have gone?”

She put her hand on her hip, and stood taller. “I was one the first to realise it had been raided. Learned from my aunt, so you are real lucky I am here. Real lucky, that is all I have to say.” She deflated slightly before adding, “We didn’t find any tracks, though, not for anyone coming or going.”

“Then it definitely could not have been Trollocs,” said Aviendha.

Rand held his peace, but he was, if anything, even more convinced now. Those strange doorways in mid air that he’d seen the Forsaken use so often. Those could have brought Trollocs into the heart of the Waste without needing to get past all the Aiel between here and the Blight. If one had been opened nearby, and recently enough that the ... the echo of it still lingered ...

The water at Imre Stand turned out to be a tiny spring at the back of the crevice, feeding a deep roughly round pool—what Rhuarc called a tank—less than two paces across. Enough for herdsmen, enough for the Jindo to fill some of their waterskins. No Shaido went near; in Taardad land, the Jindo had first claim on water. It seemed the goats got their moisture purely from the thick leaves of the thorny bushes. Rhuarc assured Rand there would be much more water at the next night’s stop.

Kadere produced a surprise while the wagon drivers were unhitching their teams and fetching buckets from the waterwagons. When he came out of his wagon, a dark-haired young woman accompanied him, in a red silk gown and red velvet slippers more suited to a palace than to the Waste. A filmy red scarf wound almost like _shoufa_ and veil provided no protection from the sun, and certainly did nothing to hide a palely beautiful heart-shaped face. Clinging to the peddler’s thick arm, she swayed enticingly as he took her to see the blood-splashed room; Moiraine and the others had gone off to where the _gai’shain_ were erecting the Wise Ones’ camp, and where Raine was already sitting slumped beneath one of the tent roofs. When the pair came back out, the young woman shuddered delicately. Rand was sure it was pretence, just as he was sure she had asked to view that butcher’s workroom. Her show of revulsion lasted all of two seconds, and then she was peering about interestedly at the Aiel.

It appeared that Rand himself was one of the sights she wanted to see. Kadere seemed ready to take her back to the wagon, but she guided him to Rand instead, the alluring smile on her full lips plain behind her diaphanous veil. “Hadnan has been telling me of you,” she said in a smoky voice. She might have been hanging on the peddler, but her dark eyes traced Rand boldly. “You are the one the Aiel talk of. He Who Comes With the Dawn.” Keille and the gleeman came out of the second wagon and stood together at a distance, watching.

“It seems I am,” he said.

“Strange.” Her smile became wickedly mischievous. “I thought you would be handsomer.” Patting Kadere on the cheek, she sighed. “This dreadful heat is so wearing. Do not be too long.”

Kadere did not speak until she had climbed the steps back inside. His hat had been replaced by a long white scarf tied atop his head, the ends handing down his neck. “You must forgive Isendre, good sir. She is ... too forward, sometimes.” His voice was mollifying, but his eyes belonged on a bird of prey. He hesitated, then went on. “I have heard other things. I have heard that you took _Callandor_ out of the Heart of the Stone.”

The man’s eyed never changed. If he knew about _Callandor_ , he knew Rand was the Dragon Reborn, knew he could wield the One Power. And his eyes never changed. A dangerous man. “I have heard it said,” Rand told him, “that you should believe nothing you hear, and only half of what you see.”

“A wise rule,” Kadere said after a moment. “Yet to achieve greatly, a man must believe something. Belief and knowledge pave the road to greatness. Knowledge is perhaps the most valuable of all. We all seek the coin of knowledge. Your pardon, good sir. Isendre is not a patient woman. Perhaps we will have another opportunity to talk.”

Before the man had taken three steps, Aviendha said in a low, hard voice, “You belong to Elayne, Rand al’Thor. Do you stare so at every woman who comes in front of your eyes, or only those who go half-naked? If I strip off my clothes, will you stare so at me? You belong to Elayne!”

He had forgotten she was there. “I don’t belong to anyone, Aviendha, and I was more than honest with Elayne about my lack of fidelity. Besides, she cannot seem to make up her mind what she thinks.”

“Elayne laid her heart bare to you, Rand al’Thor. If she did not show you in the Stone of Tear, did her two letters not tell you what she feels? You are hers, and no other’s.”

Rand threw up his hands and stalked away from her. At least, he tried. She followed on his heels, a disapproving shadow in the sun’s glare.

Swords. The Aiel might have forgotten why they did not carry swords, but they had kept the contempt for them. Swords might make her leave him alone. Seeking out Lan in the Wise Ones’ camp, he asked the Warder to watch him work the forms. Bair was the only one of the four in view, and a scowl surely deepened the creases on her face. Moiraine wore calm like a mask, dark eyes cool; he could not say whether she approved.

He was not out to offend the Aiel, so he set up with Lan between the Wise Ones’ tents and the Jindo’s. Tam, Uno and Izana gathered with them. Rand was surprised to see his father wearing a _shoufa_ , and wondered what he thought of seeing Rand in one. He hadn’t meant any offense, but it was needed to keep the sun off. Izana glanced at them both from time to time, as if he was tempted to get one of his own, but Uno contented himself with trying to glare the sun into shining less brightly. All told, Rand thought Izana the more sensible one.

He used one of the practice swords Lan carried in his baggage, a bundle of loosely tied lathes in place of a blade. The weight and balance were right, though, and he could forget himself in the dancelike flow from form to form, the practice sword alive in his hands, a part of him. Usually it was that way. Today the sun was a furnace in the sky baking out moisture and strength. Aviendha squatted off to one side, hugging her knees to her chest and staring at him.

Finally, panting, he let his arms drop.

“You lost concentration,” Lan told him. “You must hold on to that even when your muscles turn to water. Lose it, and that is the day you die. And it will probably be a farmboy who has his hands on a sword for the first time who does it.” His smile was sudden, odd on that stony face.

“Yes. Well, I’m not a farmboy any longer, am I?” They had gained an audience, if at a distance. Aiel lined the edge of both the Shaido and Jindo camps. Keille’s cream-wrapped bulk stood out among the Jindo, the gleeman beside her in his cloak of coloured patches. Which one did he choose? He did not want them to see him watching them. “How do Aiel fight, Lan?”

“Hard,” the Warder said dryly. “They never lose concentration. Look here.” With his sword he drew on the hard, cracked clay, a circle and arrows. “Aiel change tactics according to circumstances, but here is one they favour. They move in a column, divided into quarters. When they meet an enemy, the first quarter rushes in to pin them. The second and third sweep wide to either side, hitting the flanks and rear. The last quarter waits in reserve, often not even watching the battle, except for their leader. When a weakness opens—a hole, anything—the reserve strikes there. Finish!” His sword stabbed into a circle already pierced with arrows.

“How do you beat that?” Rand asked.

“With difficulty. When you make first contact—you’ll not spot Aiel before they strike unless you are lucky—immediately send out horsemen to break up, or at least delay, their flanking attacks. If you keep most of your strength back and defeat the holding attack, then you can wheel on the others in turn and defeat them, too.”

“Why do you want to learn how to fight Aiel?” Aviendha burst out. “Are you not He Who Comes With the Dawn, meant to bind us together and return us all to old glories? Besides, if you want to know how to fight Aiel, ask Aiel, not a wetlander. His way will not work.”

“It has worked well enough with Bordermen from time to time.” Rhuarc’s soft boots made very little sound on the hard ground. He had a waterskin under his arm. Uno had no more seen him coming than Rand did, but his acknowledgement won a grudging nod from the one-eyed old soldier. Rhuarc returned it in kind, before turning his attention to the Aiel girl. “Allowances are always made when someone suffers a disappointment, Aviendha, but there is a limit to sulking. You gave up the spear for your obligation to the people and the blood. One day no doubt you will be making a clan chief do what you want instead of what he wants, but if instead you are Wise One to the smallest hold of the smallest sept of the Taardad, the obligation remains, and it cannot be met by tantrums.”

A Wise One. Rand felt a fool. Of course that was why she had gone to Rhuidean. But he would never have thought Aviendha would choose to give up the spear. It certainly explained why she had been chosen to spy on him, though. Suddenly he found himself wondering if she could channel.

Rhuarc tossed him the sloshing waterskin. The lukewarm water slid down his throat like chilled wine. He tried not to splash any over his face, not to waste it, but it was hard.

“I thought you might like to learn the spear,” Rhuarc said when Rand finally lowered the half-empty skin. For the first time Rand realized the clan chief was carrying only two spears, and a pair of bucklers. Not practice spears if there were any such, a foot of sharp steel tipped each.

Steel or wood, his muscles cried out for rest. His legs wanted him to sit down, and his head wanted to lie down. Keille and the gleeman were gone, but Aiel were still watching from both camps. They had seen him practicing with a despised sword, if a wooden one. They were his people. He did not know them, but they were his, in more senses than one. Aviendha was still watching him, too, glowering as though blaming him for Rhuarc having set her down. Not that she had anything to do with his decision, of course. The Jindo and Shaido were watching; that was it.

“That mountain can grow awfully heavy sometimes,” he sighed, taking a spear and buckler from Rhuarc. “When do you find a chance to put it down awhile?”

“When you die,” Lan said simply.

Forcing his legs to move—and trying to ignore Aviendha—Rand squared off with Rhuarc. He did not mean to die just yet. No, not for a long time yet.

* * *

Leaning against a tall wheel in the shade of one of the peddlers’ wagons, Mat glanced at the line of Jindo watching Rand. All he could see now was their backs. The man was a pure fool, leaping about in this heat. Any sensible man would find a bit of protection from the sun, something to drink. Shifting his seat in the shade, he peered into the mug of ale he had bought from one of the drivers and grimaced. Ale just did not taste right when it was as warm as soup. At least it was wet. The only other thing he had bought, aside from the hat, was a short-stemmed pipe with a silver-worked bowl, snuggled now in his coat pocket with his tabac pouch. Trading was not on his mind. Unless it was for passage out of the Waste, a commodity the peddlers’ wagons did not seem to be offering at the moment.

They were doing a steady business, if not for ale. The Aiel did not mind the temperature, but they seemed to think it too weak. Most were Jindo, but there was a steady stream of Shaido from the other camp. Couladin and Kadere had their heads together for a long time, though they came to no agreement, since Couladin left empty-handed. Kadere must not have liked losing the trade; he stared after Couladin with those hawk’s eyes, and a Jindo who wanted his attention had to speak three times before he was heard.

He saw some of Nynaeve’s Accepted shopping around but they didn’t buy much. Everything the peddlers were carrying could have been found much easier, and for less money, on the other side of the Dragonwall. Dani did get herself a hat, though, a brown one much like his own. That was smart of her. She looked cute in it, too, and he started to wonder if she perhaps she wasn’t as frigid as he’d thought her back in the Tower. Her friend Ilyena had proven to be surprisingly open-minded; why not her? But Dani ignored his smile as surely as Ilyena had been ignoring him ever since their surprisingly sudden tumble. Still, being ignored was better than the glare that Kadere got from her. From what Mat had been able to hear, the fool had tried to sell Ilyena a sword of all things. He was lucky she didn’t buy it, for that glare said she was ready to use one on him.

Harilin ignored Mat, too, but Dorindha looked like she might be up for another round. Those were the only two still around from the group that had tricked him into playing Maiden’s Kiss. Taardad or Shaido, presumably. The rest of the Aiel from the Stone had dispersed to their own clans, or attached themselves to the Wise Ones. Bad for Rand, that. Keeping proven men—and women—around would have been better. Not that it was any of Mat’s business. _I told him it was over. And why. He shouldn’t be trying to make me feel bad about it. Bah! Let him work himself to death out there in the heat. I’ll be gone soon. I will_.

The Aiel who came to trade did not show much in the way of coin, but the peddlers and their people were quick to accept silver bowls or gold figurines or fine wall hangings looted from Tear, and Aiel pouches produced raw nuggets of gold and silver that made Mat sit up. But an Aiel who lost at dice might well reach for his spears. He wondered where the mines were. Where one man could find gold, another could. It was probably a lot of work, though, mining gold. Taking a long drink of warm ale, he settled back against the wagon wheel.

What sold and what did not, and at what price, was interesting. The Aiel were no simple fools to hand over a gold saltcellar, say, for a bolt of cloth. They knew the value of things and bargained hard, though they had their own wants. Books went immediately; not everyone wanted them, but those who did took every last one the wagons held. Laces and velvets vanished as soon as they were brought out, for astonishing quantities of silver and gold, and ribbons for not much less, but the finest silks just lay there. Silk was cheaper in trade to the east, he overheard a Shaido tell Kadere. A heavy-set, broken-nosed driver tried to talk a Jindo Maiden into a carved ivory bracelet. She pulled one wider, thicker and more ornate from her pouch and offered to wrestle him for the pair. He hesitated before refusing, which showed Mat he was even dumber than he looked. Needles and pins were snapped up, but the pots, and most of the knives, earned sneers; Aiel smiths did better work. Everything changed hands, from vials of perfumes and bath salts to kegs of brandy. Wine and brandy fetched good prices. He was startled to hear Heirn ask for Theren tabac. The peddlers had none.

One driver kept trying to interest the Aiel in a heavy, gold-worked crossbow with no success. The crossbow caught Mat’s eye, all those inlaid gold lions with what seemed to be rubies for eyes. Small, but still rubies. Of course, a good Theren longbow could shoot six arrows while a crossbowman was still cranking back the bowstring for his second shot. A longer range for a crossbow that size, though, by a hundred paces. With two men doing nothing but keeping a crossbow with bolt in place in the hands of each crossbowman, and stout pikemen to hold the cavalry off ...

Wincing, Mat let his head fall back against the spokes. It had happened again. He had to get out of the Waste, away from Moiraine, away from any Aes Sedai. Maybe back home for a while. That would not solve his problems, though. For one thing, there were no answers in Emond’s Field to what those snaky folk had meant about marrying the Daughter of the Nine Moons, or dying and living again. Or Rhuidean.

Through his coat he rubbed the silver foxhead medallion, hung around his neck again. The pupil of the fox’s eye was a tiny circle split by a sinuous line, one side polished bright, the other shaded in some way. The ancient symbol of Aes Sedai, before the Breaking. The black-hafted spear, sword-blade point marked with two ravens, he took from where it was leaning beside him and laid it across his knees. More Aes Sedai work. Rhuidean had provided no answers, only more questions, and ...

Before Rhuidean his memory had been full of holes. Casting back in his mind then, he would be able to remember walking up to a door in the morning and leaving in the evening, but nothing between. Now there was something in between, filling all those holes. Waking dreams, or something very like. It was as if he could remember dances and battles and streets and cities, none of which he had ever really seen, none of which he was sure had ever existed, like a hundred pieces of memory from a hundred different men. Better to think of them as dreams, maybe—a little better—yet he was as sure in them as in any of his own remembrances. Battles numbered the most, and sometimes they crept up on him in a way, as with the crossbow. He would find himself looking at a piece of ground and planning how to set an ambush there, or defend against one, or how to set an army for battle. It was madness.

Without looking, he traced the flowing script carved into the black spear shaft. He could read it as easily as any book now, though it had taken him the whole trip back to Chaendaer to realize it. Rand had not said anything, but he suspected he had given himself away, there in Rhuidean. He knew the Old Tongue now, sifted whole out of those dreams. _Light, what did they do to me?_

“ _Sa souvraya niende misain ye_ ,” he said aloud. “I am lost in my own mind.”

“A scholar, for this day and Age.”

Mat looked up to find the gleeman looking at him with dark, deep-set eyes. The fellow was taller than most, somewhere in his middle years and good looking, but with an oddly apprehensive way of holding his head cocked as if trying to look at you sideways.

“Just something I heard once,” Mat said. He had to be more careful. If Moiraine decided to pack him off to the White Tower for study, they would never let him out of there again. “You hear scraps of things and remember them. I know a few phrases.” That should cover any slips he was stupid enough to make.

“I am Jasin Natael. A gleeman.” Natael did not flourish his cloak the way Thom would; he could have been saying he was a carpenter or a wheelwright. “Do you mind if I join you?” Mat nodded to the ground next to him, and the gleeman folded his legs, tucking his cloak under to sit on. He seemed fascinated by the Jindo and Shaido milling around the wagons, most still carrying their spears and bucklers. “Aiel,” he murmured. “Not what I would have expected. I can still hardly credit it.”

“I’ve been with them for weeks now,” Mat said, “and I don’t know that I believe them myself. Odd people. If any of the Maidens ask you to play Maiden’s Kiss, my advice is to refuse. Politely.”

Natael frowned at him questioningly. “You lead an intriguing life, it seems.”

“What do you mean?” Mat asked cautiously.

“Surely you do not think it is a secret? Not many men travel in company with ... an Aes Sedai. The woman Moiraine Damodred. And then there is Rand al’Thor. The Dragon Reborn. He Who Comes With the Dawn. Who can say how many prophecies he is supposed to fulfil? An unusual travelling companion, certainly.”

The Aiel had talked, of course. Anyone would. Still, it was a little unsettling to have a stranger calmly talk about Rand this way. “He suits well enough for now. If he interests you, talk to him. Myself, I’d just as soon not be reminded.”

“Perhaps I will. Later, perhaps. Let us talk of you. I understand you went into Rhuidean, where none save Aiel have gone in three thousand years. You got that there?” He reached for the spear on Mat’s knees, but let his hand fall when Mat drew it away slightly. “Very well. Tell me what you saw.”

“Why?”

“I am a gleeman, Matrim.” Natael had his head cocked to one side in that uneasy manner, but his voice held irritation at having to explain. He lifted a corner of his cloak with its colourful patches as though for proof. “You have seen what none have, save a handful of Aiel. What stories can I make with the sights your eyes have seen? I will even make you the hero, if you wish.”

Mat snorted. “I don’t want to be any bloody hero.”

Yet there was no reason to keep silent. Amys and that lot could chatter about not speaking of Rhuidean, but he was no Aiel. Besides, it might pay to have somebody with the peddlers who had a little goodwill toward him, somebody who could put in a word when it was needed.

He told the story from reaching the wall of fog to coming out, leaving out selected bits. He had no intention of telling anyone else about that twisted-doorway _ter’angreal_ , and he would rather forget the dust gathering into creatures that tried to kill him. That strange city of huge palaces was surely enough, and _Avendesora_.

The Tree of Life Natael passed over quickly, but he took Mat through the rest again and again asking more and more detail, from exactly what it felt like walking through that fog and how long it took to the colour of the shadowless light inside, to descriptions of every last thing Mat could remember seeing in the great square in the heart of the city. Those Mat gave reluctantly; a slip, and he would find himself talking about _ter’angreal_ , and who knew where that might lead? Even so he drained the last of the warm ale, and still talked until his throat was dry. It sounded rather dull the way he told it, as though he had just walked in and waited while Rand went off, then walked out again, but Natael seemed intent on digging out every last scrap. He did remind Mat of Thom then; sometimes Thom concentrated on you as though he meant to wring you dry.

“Is this what you are meant to be doing?”

Mat jumped in spite of himself at the sound of Keille’s voice, hard under its mellifluous tones. The woman put him on edge, and now she looked ready to rip his heart out, and the gleeman’s as well.

Natael scrambled to his feet. “This young man has just been telling me the most fascinating things about Rhuidean. You will not believe it.”

“We are not here for Rhuidean.” The words came out as sharp as her hatchet of a nose. At least she was only glaring at Natael now.

“I tell you—”

“You tell me nothing.”

“Do not try to silence me!”

Ignoring Mat, they moved off down the wagons, arguing in low voices, gesticulating fiercely. Keille seemed to have been browbeaten into a grim silence by the time they disappeared into her wagon.

Mat shivered. He could not imagine sharing living quarters with that woman. It would be like sharing with a bear with a sore tooth. Isendre, now ... That face, those lips, that swaying walk. If he could get her away from Kadere, maybe she would find a young hero—the dust creatures could be ten feet tall, for her; he would give her every detail he could remember or invent—a handsome young hero more to her liking than a stuffy old peddler. It was worth thinking about.

The sun slid below the horizon, and small fires of thorny branches made pools of yellow light among the tents. The smells of cooking filled the camp; goat, roasting with dried peppers. Cold filled the camp, too, the cold of night in the Waste. It was as if the sun had taken all the heat with it. Mat had never expected he would wish for a stout cloak when he packed to leave the Stone. Maybe the peddlers had one. Maybe Natael would dice for his.

He ate at Rhuarc’s fire with Heirn and Rand. And Aviendha, of course. He was surprised that Tam wasn’t there, and wondered if Rand had asked him to stay away on account of how complicated his parentage was, or if Tam had isolated himself. The peddlers _were_ there, and Natael close by Keille, and Isendre all but wrapped around Kadere. It might be harder separating Isendre from the hook-nosed man than he had hoped—or easier. Twined around the fellow or not, she had smoky eyes for Rand and no-one else. You would have thought she already had his ears clipped, a sheep marked for its owner’s flock. Neither Rand nor Kadere seemed to notice; the peddler hardly took his eyes off Rand. Aviendha noticed, and glared at Rand. At least the fire gave off some warmth.

It was the weirdest thing. Aviendha, who Rand didn’t know at all, was angry with him because another woman kept eyeing him up, while Merile, who was bloody sleeping with him, just sat there with a dippy smile on her face, oblivious or disinterested. Women were bloody strange sometimes.

The cold didn’t seem to bother the little Tinker very much, cuddled up against Rand’s side as she was, though it turned out it wasn’t the extra heat he was giving off that had her in a good mood. “I like it better here at night,” he heard her tell Rand while they were polishing off the last of their supper. “You can’t see the large scary men as clearly.”

“The scary men that you can’t see are more dangerous than the ones you can’t, Merile,” Rand said, his voice as quiet and as grim as death.

“I suppose ...” she said uncertainly, her smile gone. Mat shook his head but said nothing. If Rand’s constantly shifting moods and suspicion of everything around weren’t proof enough that he needed to be avoided, then what was? But if Merile didn’t want to see it, then what could he do?

When the roast goat was finished—and some sort of flecked yellow mush that was spicier than it looked—Rhuarc and Heirn filled short-stemmed pipes, and the clan chief asked Natael for a song.

Merile perked right up. “Yes please! Do you think there’s time for you to tell us a story while we’re here, as well?”

The Aiel ignored her, leaving the gleeman blinking. “Why, of course. Of course. Let me bring a harp.” His cloak billowed on the dry, cold breeze as he vanished toward Keille’s wagon.

The fellow certainly was different from Thom Merrilin. Thom hardly got out of bed without flute or harp or both. Mat thumbed his silver-worked pipe full of tabac, and was puffing contentedly by the time Natael returned and struck a pose suitable for a king, the golden medallion around his neck catching the light so that it almost seemed to be glowing. That was like Thom. With a strummed cord, the gleeman began.

“ _Soft, the winds, like springtime’s fingers._

_Soft, the rains, like heaven’s tears._

_Soft, the years roll by in gladness,_

_never hinting storms to come,_

_never hinting whirlwinds’ ravage,_

_rain of steel and battle thunder,_

_war to tear the heart asunder_.”

It was “Midean’s Ford”. An old song; of Manetheren, oddly enough, and war before the Trolloc Wars. Natael did a fair job of it; nothing like Thom’s sonorous recitals, of course, but the rolling words drew a crowd of Aiel thick around the edge of the fire’s light, and not just Aiel; Uno and his men were there, too, with Loial towering at their backs. They listened as villainous Aedomon led the Saferi down on unsuspecting Manetheren, pillaging and burning, driving all before them until King Buiryn gathered Manetheren’s strength, and the men of Manetheren met the Saferi at Midean’s Ford, holding, though heavily outnumbered, through three days of unrelenting battle, while the river ran red and vultures blacked the sky. On the third day, numbers dwindling, hope fading, Buiryn and his men fought their way across the ford in a desperate sortie, driving deep into Aedomon’s horde, seeking to turn the enemy back by killing Aedomon himself. But forces too great to overpower swept in around them, trapping them, driving them ever in on themselves. Surrounding their king and the Red Eagle banner, they fought on, refusing surrender even when their doom became clear.

Natael sang how their courage touched even Aedomon’s heart, and how at last he allowed the remnant to go free, turning his army back to Safer in honour of them.

“ _Back across the blood-red water,_

_marching back with heads held high._

_No surrender, arm or sword,_

_no surrender, heart or soul._

_Honour be theirs, ever after,_

_honour all the Age shall know_.”

He plucked the final chord, and the Aiel whistled their approval, drumming spears on their hide bucklers, some raising ululating cries.

It had not been that way, of course. Mat could remember— _Light, I don’t want to!_ But it came anyway—he remembered counselling Buiryn not to accept the offer, being told in return that the smallest chance was better than none. Aedomon, glossy black beard hanging below the steel mesh that veiled his face, drew his spearmen back, waited until they were strung out and nearly to the ford before the hidden archers rose and the cavalry charged in. As for turning back to Safer ... Mat did not think so. His last memory at the ford was trying to keep his feet, waist-deep in the river with three arrows in him, but there was something later, a fragment. Seeing Aedomon, grey-bearded now, go down in a sharp fight in a forest, toppling from his rearing horse, the spear in his back put there by an unarmoured, beardless boy. This was worse than the holes had been.

“You did not like the song?” Natael said.

It took Mat a moment to realize the man was speaking to Rand, not him. Rand rubbed his hands together, peering into the small fire, before answering. “I’m not certain how wise it is, depending on an enemy’s generosity. What do you think, Kadere?”

The peddler hesitated, glancing at the woman clinging to his arm. “I do not think of such things,” he said at last. “I think of profits, not battles.” Keille laughed coarsely. At least, until she saw Isendre’s smile, condescending to a woman who could make three of her; then her dark eyes glittered dangerously behind those rolls of fat.

Suddenly warning cries rose in the dark beyond the tents. Aiel snatched veils across their faces, and a moment later Trollocs poured in out of the night, snouted faces and horned heads, towering over the humans, howling and swinging scythe-curved swords, stabbing with hooked spears and barbed tridents, hacking with spiked axes. Myrddraal flowed with them, like deadly eyeless snakes. A heartbeat it took, but the Aiel fought as if they had had an hour’s warning, meeting the charge with their own flickering spears.

Mat was vaguely aware of Rand with that fiery sword suddenly in hand, but then he was sucked into the maelstrom himself, wielding his spear as spear and quarterstaff both, slash and thrust, haft whirling. For once he was glad of those dream memories; the way of this weapon seemed familiar, and he needed every scrap of skill he could find. It was all chaotic madness.

Trollocs rose up in front of him and went down to his spear, or an Aiel spear, or spun away into the confusion of shouts and howls and clanging steel. Myrddraal faced him, black blades meeting his raven-marked steel with flashes of blue light like sheet lightning, faced him and were gone in the tumult. Twice a short spear streaking by his head took Trollocs about to run him through the back. Once, while engaged with two Trollocs at once, a running Shienaran carrying sword and shield bowled one of his opponents to the ground and stabbed it viciously to death. There was no time to look and see which one he should thank later, if there was a later.

He saw Tam al’Thor, of all people, wielding a two-handed sword similar to Lan’s, and doing a surprisingly good job of cutting down the Trollocs who fought him. He saw Merile, too, standing with her hands outthrust, her screams silent among the cacophony of battle. Mat was trying to fight his way over to her, to protect her, when he saw a stream of fire burst from her hands to engulf a nearby Trolloc. He shivered and turned away. So much for the Way of the Leaf.

Later, he thrust the short-sword blade into a Myrddraal’s chest and knew he was going to die when it did not fall, but grinned with those bloodless lips, eyeless stare shivering fear into his bones, and drew back its black sword. An instant later the Halfman jerked as Aiel arrows pincushioned it, jerked for the moment Mat needed to leap back from the thing as it fell still trying to stab at him, stab at anything.

A dozen times the spear’s iron-hard black haft barely deflected a Trolloc thrust. It was Aes Sedai work, and he was glad of it. The silver foxhead on his chest seemed to pulse with cold as if to remind him that it, too, bore the mark of Aes Sedai. Right then, he did not care; if it took Aes Sedai work to keep him alive, he was ready to follow Moiraine like a puppy.

He could not have said if it went on for minutes or hours, but suddenly there was not a Myrddraal or Trolloc still standing in sight, though cries and howls from the darkness spoke of pursuit. Dead and dying littered the ground, Aiel and Shadowspawn, the Halfmen still thrashing. Groans filled the air with pain. Suddenly he realized his muscles felt like water, and his lungs were afire. Panting, he slid down to his knees, leaning on his spear. Flames made bonfires of three of the peddlers’ canvas-topped wagons, one with a driver pinned to the side by a Trolloc spear, and some of the tents were burning. Shouts from the direction of the Shaido camp, and glows too large for campfires, said they had been attacked, too.

Fiery sword still in hand, Rand came to where Mat knelt. “Are you all right?” Aviendha shadowed him. Somewhere she had found a spear and buckler, had tucked up a corner of her shawl to veil her face. Even in skirts she looked deadly.

“Oh, I am fine,” Mat muttered, struggling to his feet. “Nothing like a little dance with Trollocs to ready you for sleep. Right, Aviendha?” Uncovering her face, she gave him a tight smile. The woman had probably enjoyed it. He was sweat all over; he thought it might freeze on him.

Rand just nodded, and went on about his rounds, looking for those he knew, numbering the dead. For lack of anything better to do, Mat trailed along after him. They found Merile sitting on the cold ground with Loial and Izana hovering over her. She looked pale, but she got to her feet when she saw Rand, and made herself as tall as she could. Not that that was saying much.

“I did it,” she said. “I k—I kill ... It was just a Trolloc. It didn’t deserve any ... I’m not sorry.” By the end, her voice was giving her lie away.

Rand put his arms around her and held her close. “I’m sorry it was necessary. But I think you did the right thing,” he said quietly.

“I hope so,” the Tinker said miserably. Loial’s ears wilted, but Izana voiced assurance that she had, when Rand’s silence grew too long.

Moiraine and the Accepted had appeared with two of the Wise Ones, Amys and Bair, circulating among the wounded. The convulsion of Healing followed the Aes Sedai, though sometimes she merely shook her head and moved on. Dani broke off from that group and came to theirs. Aviendha greeted her with a compliment on her fighting that won her a wide grin, but it was Merile that she wanted to speak to. Sounding grim, she told her that they would need to talk about what had happened later. The worried Tinker nodded slow agreement. Mat wondered briefly what that was about, before deciding it probably had something to do with the One Power, and deciding to keep well clear. Two of the Accepted were making the rounds, much as Moiraine was, Healing those they could. Ilyena was one, and the other was the darkly beautiful Mayam. Mat’s weren’t the only admiring eyes to follow her around but she was too intent on her work to notice.

Rhuarc strode up with a grim face. “Bad news?” Rand said quietly.

The clan chief grunted. “Aside from Trollocs here where they should not be, not by two hundred leagues or more? Perhaps. Some fifty Trollocs attacked the Wise Ones’ camp. Enough to overwhelm it, had it not been for Moiraine Sedai and luck. However, it seems the Shaido were hit by fewer than struck us, though since they are the larger camp the reverse should have been true. I might almost think they were attacked only to keep them from coming to our aid. Not that that would be certain, with Shaido, but Trollocs and Nightrunners might not know that.”

“And if they knew an Aes Sedai was with the Wise Ones,” Rand said, “that attack could have been meant to keep her away, too. I bring enemies with me, Rhuarc. Remember that. Wherever I am my enemies are never far.”

Isendre poked her head out of the lead wagon. A moment later Kadere climbed down past her, and she ducked back inside, shutting the white-painted door behind him. He stood looking around at the carnage, the light of his burning wagons painting rippling shadows across his face. The group around Mat held his attention most. The wagons seemed to interest him not at all. Natael got down from Keille’s wagon, too, speaking up the stairs to her still inside, his eyes on Mat and the others.

“Fools,” Mat muttered, half to himself. “Hiding inside the wagons, as if that would make any difference to a Trolloc. They could all have roasted alive, easy as not.”

“They are still alive,” Rand said, and Mat realized he had seen them, too. “That is always important, Mat, who stays alive. It’s like dice. You can’t win if you can’t play, and you can’t play if you are dead. Who can say what game the peddlers play?” He laughed quietly, and the fiery sword vanished from his hands.

“I am going to get some sleep,” Mat said, already turning away. “Wake me if the Trollocs show up again. Or better, let them kill me in my blankets. I am too tired to wake up again.” Rand was definitely going over the edge. Maybe tonight would convince Keille and Kadere to turn back. If they did, he intended to be with them.

He was halfway to his tent when he spotted a familiar face among the milling Aiel. There was blood on Acavi’s _cadin’sor_ but none of it looked to be his own. He nodded to Mat when their eyes met. His were very green.

“You danced well tonight, Matrim Cauthon. There is a method to your madness. In Tear, I thought your fighting was driven by impulse, with no strategy or plan. But I begin to see a pattern in the chaos.”

Mat sighed tiredly. “Call me Mat. Please. Every time I hear someone say my full name like that, I expect to turn around and find my mother chasing after me.”

“It is not our custom to use such pet names. And definitely not with someone you are not close to. But I understand that it is a wetlander custom, and will attempt to observe it. Should honour demand I dance the spears with someone who objects, then so be it.”

“Blood and ashes. It’s just less weird this way. There’s no need to kill someone over it.” Aiel were all mad. And without Rand’s excuse. Still, Acavi was a handsome man, and more open-minded that most it would seem. And since Rand was off limits ... Fighting back his exhaustion, Mat forced a smile. “Maybe we can have a few ... practice sessions. Teach you some dirty tricks.”

Standing tall, the Aiel studied Mat. “I believe I have learned those tricks already ... Mat. I am speaking of how you fight. There is more I can learn from you than I thought. It would certainly earn me the edge of surprise, in future battles.”

“Well. Here’s to future ... dances, then,” Mat said as he walked past Acavi and made his way alone to his tent.

* * *

Rand let Moiraine look at him, muttering to herself, though he had taken no wound. With so many who had, she could not spare the strength to wash away his fatigue with the One Power, even with Ilyena and Mayam to support her. Those two hung back, the paler one giving him a hard stare, the darker one refusing to even meet his eyes.

“This was aimed at you,” Moiraine told him, surrounded by the moans of the injured. The Trollocs were being dragged away into the night, by pack-horses and the peddlers’ mules. The Aiel apparently intended to leave the Myrddraal where they lay until they stopped moving, to make sure they were really dead. The wind gusted up, like ice with no moisture in it.

“Was it?” he said. Her eyes glittered in the firelight before she turned back to the wounded.

Dani and Merile were talking about what had happened, with the Accepted cautioning against using the Power without knowing how to control it properly. Dani rather suited her hair in braids, he thought. The Aiel seemed to think so, too; some of them grinned at her back. Had she been a Therener, he would have thought she was being ridiculous, since only little girls wore their hair like that back home. But it was different for Domani. That didn’t matter, though. What mattered was that everyone was busy.

Wandering casually off, Rand tried to recall from which direction the Trollocs had first appeared. It was hard to see where he was going, with only starlight to guide his way, but when had that not been true? It didn’t matter, either. What he was looking for did not need light to be seen. If anything, the darkness made it easier to spot. It drew him, that elaborate pattern, shining in the night a hundred feet or more away from the Jindo tents; it drew him like a moth to a flame. It got more complex the closer he came, a half-familiar design that was not really there, but had been there just recently, like the afterimage left on an eye that had looked too long at the light. He studied it carefully, noting the parts that matched what he’d seen before, and noting even more the parts that he hadn’t been able to see back then. Those he studied until he was sure he had burned them onto his memory.

Alone in the darkness, Rand smiled.

By the time he got back, his absence had been noticed. Dani was wondering where he’d gone, while Aviendha was calling him seven different kinds of fool. Merile worried that the Trollocs might have got him, which Ilyena opined unlikely.

“Just checking on the wounded,” Rand said as he stepped into the firelight.

He was touched by how relieved the Accepted looked, until he reminded himself that they were only worried about losing the Dragon Reborn before Tarmon Gai’don could be fought, not about losing Rand al’Thor. He could go jump off a cliff for all they cared. Now Aviendha, she would probably have thrown him over that cliff herself if the Wise Ones would allow it. She greeted his return with blazing eyes.

“Why did you leave!? Are you deliberately preventing me from meeting my _toh_? You will not shame me, Rand al’Thor!”

“I don’t want to shame you, or do much of anything to you, woman! Would you stop bloody shouting at me?” Rand asked.

He thought he’d kept his temper reasonably under control, but Dani came to him after Aviendha had stalked off to stand glaring out at the darkness, only to say in a low, fierce whisper, “Whatever you are doing to upset her, stop it!” The glance she shot at Aviendha back left no doubt who she meant.

“I haven’t done anything!” Rand said, exasperated.

The way she crossed her arms did not exactly suggest agreement, but at least she didn’t push it further. “The Wise Ones told me to tell you tonight’s training session has been cancelled. With all that’s happened, and with Raine sick—not that you seem to care—they think it best to put it off.”

He frowned at her. Raine was being taken care of by people who knew far more about healing than Rand did. What did she expect him to do that the Wise Ones could not?

“Understood,” was all he said in the end, before taking his leave. Stumbling, shivering, he sought his tent. He had never been this tired before. The sword had almost not come, and doing anything more elaborate had been unthinkable. He hoped that was the tiredness. Sometimes, in the past, there had been nothing there when he reached for the Source, and sometimes the Power would not do what he wanted, but almost from the first the sword had come practically without thought. Now of all times ... It had to be the tiredness.

Aviendha insisted on following him as far as the tent, but did not come inside. Merile and Raine were already waiting for him inside. When he took off his clothes and climbed under the blankets, he found them both naked. Raine’s skin was peeling due to how bad her sunburn was, the poor thing. But it was Merile’s misery that caught his attention.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as he cuddled up to her.

“Like a killer that nobody likes,” she said sadly.

Rand hugged her tighter as Raine stirred in the bed. “We like you, don’t we Raine? You’ll always be welcome with us. The Aiel ... Well, who cares about them?”

“You do. You sent Uno and the rest away to avoid offending them. Maybe you should send me away, too.”

“That will not happen,” Rand said firmly.

Raine got up on one elbow, her eyes shining in the dark. “Need to prove it to her.” He felt her rearrange the blankets, and give Merile a little push. “Get on.”

“We don’t have to. It’s late and everyone’s tired,” Merile objected half-heartedly.

Rand was, in fact, tired. But not so tired that her silky skin brushing against his did not have an effect on him. And Raine was right. If Merile needed comforting, then sleep would have to wait.

“I’m never too tired for you,” he whispered, and pulled her into a kiss. He felt her relax atop him. He also felt a hand that was not hers close around his stiffening cock and begin caressing him towards readiness. It didn’t take long.

“Sit up,” Raine said when she had him good and ready. Merile complied, raising her hips high while Raine positioned him near the other girl’s pussy. “There you go. This will make you feel better.”

Rand hoped it did. It certainly made him feel better when she sank down atop him, her slick folds welcoming him into her body. It was not the most energetic of lovemakings. He and Raine caressed Merile’s body while she slowly rocked her hips against his. After a time, she leaned forwards so she could kiss him some more, while still rubbing herself along his cock. He had no idea how long it took, but the long, sweet sigh that Merile let out when she came was satisfaction enough. He petted her hair as she lay against him afterwards, and mumbled every reassurance he could think of. She and Raine offered to finish him off with their mouths but he turned them down. It was late, and he really was tired. There would be other times, he promised.

When they woke the next morning, Aviendha was sitting outside cross-legged, though without the spear and buckler. Spy or not, he was glad to see her. At least he knew who and what she was, and what she felt for him.


	61. Hidden Faces

The Garden of Silver Breezes was not a garden at all but a huge wineshop, much too large to be called a shop really, atop a hill centred on the Calpene, the westernmost of Tanchico’s three peninsulas below the Great Circle. A part of the name, at least, came from the breezes that wafted in where polished green-streaked marble columns and balustrades replaced one wall except on the topmost floor. Golden oiled-silk curtains could be lowered in case of rain. The hill fell away sharply on that side, and the tables along the balustrades gave a clear view, across white domes and spires, of the great harbour, crowded with ships.

With its gilded lamps and ceilings inlaid with brass fretwork polished to a golden gleam, its serving women and men chosen for grace and beauty and discretion, the Garden of the Silver Breezes had been the most expensive wineshop in the city even before the troubles. Now it was outrageous. But those who dealt in huge sums still came, those who dealt in power and influence, or thought they did. In some ways there was less to deal in than before; in others, more.

Low walls surrounded each table, making islands dotted across the green and golden floor tiles. Each wall, pierced with lacy carving so no eavesdropper could listen unseen, stood just high enough to hide who met whom from the casual glances of passersby. Even so, patrons usually went masked, especially of late, and some had a bodyguard beside their table, also masked to avoid recognition if the patron was prudent. And tongueless, rumour said, for the most prudent. No guard was visibly armed; the proprietress of the Garden of Silver Breezes, a sleek woman of indeterminate age named Selindrin, allowed no weapons past the street now. Her rule was not broken, at least openly.

From her usual table against the balustrade, Egeanin Sarna watched the ships in the harbour, especially those under sail. They made her want to be back on a deck giving orders. She had never expected duty to bring her to this.

Unconsciously she adjusted the velvet mask that hid the upper half of her face; she felt ridiculous wearing the thing, but it was necessary to blend in to some extent. The mask—blue to match her high-necked silk gown—the gown itself, and her dark hair, grown down to her shoulders now, were as far as she could make herself go. Passing for a Taraboner was unnecessary—Tanchico bulged with refugees, foreigners swept up in the troubles—and it was beyond her in any case. These people were animals; they had no discipline, no order.

Regretfully, she turned from the harbour to her table companion, a round-faced fellow with a smile that made him look like a naughty child. An offensive thing, given his profession. Ikyu’s frayed collar did not belong in the Garden of Silver Breezes and he continually wiped his hands on his coat. She always met them here, the greasy little men she was forced to deal with. It was a reward for them, and a means of keeping them off balance.

“What do you have for me, Master Ikyu?”

The skinny little man kept his voice low. “A friend of mine, who works in the garden of the Maseed’s palace here in the city, overheard Lady Maseed talking with Lady Genlarie. They were wondering how they could have the Meridarch arrested. Preferably without triggering a civil war, they said, but they didn’t rule out doing it even if they couldn’t ...”

She could have guessed at that much. The prevailing rumour was that he had been behind the recent murder of his co-ruler, the Panarch. Still, even if the information was of little worth, she was still obliged to pay these oath-breaking scum. For now. Light sent the scouting would be done soon, that High Lady Suroth might finalise her plan. Egeanin wanted to be back in her armour, fighting the enemies of the Empire. “Very good, Master Ikyu.” A small purse went across the table the other way; Ikyu made it disappear under his coat as if it held the Empress’ crown instead of a handful of silver. “And do you have anything else?”

Ikyu licked his lips nervously. “You said ... Back in the beginning, you said you’d have a few coins for those as could do special sorts of work.” A muscle in his cheek twitched; his eyes darted as if someone might be listening at the lace-carved wall around three sides of the table, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Stirring up trouble, as it were?”

Egeanin hesitated for a moment, wondering if even a wretched criminal like Ikyu might have some deeply hidden sense of patriotism. Using traitors among the enemy to soften the way would only work if they traitors were chosen carefully. Anything else would risk alerting the Taraboners to what was coming. But despite her uncertainty, and her distaste for this sort of work, in the end she gave him the nod. “Gather your ... associates. I think I can find a use for them.”

He smiled that disgustingly childish smile. “There’s one more thing. I heard a rumour—from a fellow who’s bodyservant to Lord Brys—about the Assembly, and choosing the new Panarch. I think maybe it’s true. The man was drunk, and when he realized what he had said, he nearly fouled himself. Even if it isn’t, it would still rip Tanchico wide open.”

“Do you really believe there is any need to buy trouble in this city?” Tanchico was a rotting bellfruit ready to fall in the first wind. The whole of this wretched land was. For a moment she was tempted to buy his “rumour”. She was supposed to be a trader in whatever goods or information came along, and she had even sold some. But dealing with Ikyu sickened her. “That will be all, Master Ikyu.”

Instead of rising, he sat staring, trying to see through her mask. “Where are you from, Mistress Elidar? The way you talk, all slurred out and soft-like—begging your pardon; no offense meant—I can’t place you.”

“That will be all, Ikyu.” Maybe it was the quarterdeck voice, or maybe the mask failed to hide her cold stare, but Ikyu bounced to his feet, ducking bows and stammering apologies while he fumbled open the door in the lacework wall.

She sat there after he was gone, giving him time to leave the Garden of Silver Breezes. Someone would follow him outside, to make certain he did not wait to shadow her. All this skulking and hiding disgusted her; she almost wished something would destroy her disguise and give her an honest face-to-face fight.

A new ship was sweeping into the harbour below, a Sea Folk raker with its towering masts and clouds of sail. She had examined a captured raker, but she would have given almost anything to take one out, though she expected a Sea Folk crew would be necessary to wring the most from the vessel. The Atha’an Miere were stubborn about taking the oaths; it would not be as good if she had to buy a crew. Buy an entire crew! The amount of gold that came in by the courier boats for her to fling about was going to her head.

Selindrin took the gold she proffered with a sleek smile and murmured wishes for Egeanin’s continued patronage. Dark hair in dozens of narrow braids, the proprietress of the Garden of Silver Breezes wore clinging white silk, nearly thin enough for a serving girl, and one of those transparent veils that always made Egeanin want to ask Taraboners what dances they could perform. Shea dancers wore almost identical veils and little more. Still, Egeanin thought as she started toward the street, the woman had a sharp mind, else she could not manoeuvre through the shoals of Tanchico, catering to every faction while earning the enmity of none.

A reminder of that was the dark, white-cloaked man, black-haired and hard-faced with a look of fierce certainty in his eyes, who passed Egeanin and was greeted by Selindrin. Alsalam Arca’s cloak bore a golden sunburst on the breast, with three golden knots below and a crimson shepherd’s crook behind. An Inquisitor of the Hand of the Light, a high officer in the Children of the Light. The very concept of the Children outraged Egeanin, a military body answerable only to itself. But Arca and his few hundred soldiers had power of a sort in Tanchico, where any kind of authority seemed to be lacking most of the time. The Civil Watch no longer patrolled the streets, and the army—as much as was still loyal to the Meridarch—was too busy holding the fortresses around the city. Egeanin noted that Selindrin did not even glance at the sword on Arca’s hip. He definitely had power.

As soon as she stepped into the street her bearers came running with her chair from the cluster waiting for their patrons, and her bodyguards closed in around her with their spears. They were a mismatched lot, some in steel caps, three wearing leather shirts sewn with steel scales; rough-faced men, but aware that continued full bellies and silver to spend depended on her continued safety. Even the bearers carried stout knives, and cudgels stuck out of their sashes. No-one who looked as though they had money dared appear out-of-doors unguarded in these uncertain times. In any case, had she cared to risk it, it would only draw attention to her.

The guards forced a way through the crowds with no trouble. The throngs eddied and swirled in the narrow streets that wound through the city’s hills, creating clear pockets around sedan chairs surrounded by bodyguards.

Worn was the only fit description for the milling masses, worn and frenzied. Worn faces, worn clothes, and too-bright, frenzied eyes, desperate, hoping when they knew there was no hope. Many had surrendered, crouching against walls, huddled in doorways, clutching wives, husbands, children, not simply worn but ragged and blank-faced. Sometimes they roused enough to cry out to some passerby for a coin, a crust, anything. They had fled to Tarabon, as the cowards on this side of the ocean tended to, knowing that the island was rarely troubled by wars and false Dragons. When the Empire reclaimed this land, work would have to be found for these useless mouths. If nothing else, she supposed they could serve as field slaves.

Egeanin kept her eyes straight ahead, of necessity trusting the bodyguards to detect any danger. Meeting a beggar’s eyes meant twenty of them jamming themselves hopefully around her chair. Tossing a coin meant a hundred crowding in, clamouring and weeping. She was already using part of the money the courier boats brought to support a soup kitchen, just as if she were one of the Blood. She shuddered to think what discovery of that over-stepping of her place would mean. As well put on a brocaded robe and shave her head.

All of this could be put aright once Tanchico fell, with everyone fed, everyone put in their proper place. And she could abandon dresses and things she had no experience or taste for, return to her ship. Tarabon, at least, and perhaps Arad Doman and Valreis, from which most of these refugees had come, were ready to crumble at a touch, like charred silk. Why was the High Lady Suroth holding back? Why would she not unleash Kennar Miraj on these people? Why?

* * *

Alsalam Arca lounged in his chair, cloak spread over the carved arms, studying the Taraboner noblemen who occupied the private room’s other chairs. They sat stiffly in their gold-embroidered coats, mouths tight below masks fancifully worked to resemble hawks’ faces, and lions’ and leopards’.

Each man held a golden goblet of wine, but there were no servants present. Selindrin had served them before removing herself with an assurance that they would not be disturbed. There was, in fact, no-one else on this, the highest floor of the Garden of Silver Breezes. Two men who had come with the nobles—members of the Life Guard, unless Alsalam missed his guess—stood at the foot of the stairs to guarantee continued privacy.

Alsalam sipped his wine. None of the Taraboners had touched theirs. “So,” he said lightly, “Andric wishes the Children of the Light to aid in restoring order in the city. We do not often let ourselves become involved in the internal affairs of nations.” Not openly. “Certainly I cannot remember such a request. I do not know what the Lord Captain Commander will say.” Pedron Niall would say to do what was needed and make sure the Taraboners knew that they owed a debt to the Children, make sure they paid it in full.

“There is no time for you to request instructions from Amador,” a man in a black-spotted leopard mask said urgently. None had offered names, but Alsalam did not need them.

“What we ask is necessary,” another snapped, his thick moustache below a hawk mask giving him the look of a peculiar owl. “You must understand that we would not make this request unless it were necessary in the extreme. We must have unity, not more division, yes? There are many divisive elements, even within Tanchico.”

“The death of the Panarch has made matters most difficult,” the first fellow added.

Alsalam raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Have you discovered yet who killed her?”

His own supposition was that Andric himself had had the deed done, in order to make room for his lover to take her place. But he had discovered after calling the Assembly of Nobles that they were remarkably stubborn about ratifying his choice. Even had the Lady Amathera not been currently sharing Andric’s bed, election of Meridarch and Panarch was the only real power the Assembly had, and they did not seem to want to give it up. The difficulties over the Lady Amathera were not supposed to be known. Even the Assembly realized that that news might set off riots.

“One of the Dragonsworn madmen assuredly,” the owl-looking man said, giving his moustache a fierce tug. “No true Taraboner would harm the Panarch, yes?” He almost sounded as if he believed it.

“Of course,” Alsalam said smoothly. He took another sip of wine. “If I am to secure the Panarch’s Palace for the ascension of the Lady Amathera, I must hear from the Meridarch himself. Otherwise, it might appear the Children of the Light were reaching for power in Tarabon, when all we seek is, as you say, an end to division, and peace under the Light.”

An older, square-jawed leopard, white streaking his dark yellow hair, spoke up in cold tones. “I have heard that Pedron Niall seeks unity against the Dragonsworn. Unity under himself, is it not?”

“The Lord Captain Commander seeks no dominion,” Alsalam replied just as icily. “The Children serve the Light, as do all men of good will.”

“There can be no question,” the first leopard put in, “of Tarabon being subject in any way to Amador. No question!” Angry agreement rumbled from nearly every chair.

“Of course not,” Alsalam said as though the thought had never crossed his mind. “If you wish my aid, I will give it—under the conditions I have stated. If you do not, there is always work for the Children. Service to the Light never ends, for the Shadow waits everywhere.”

“You will have sureties signed and sealed by the Meridarch,” a greying, lion-masked man said, the first words he had spoken. He was, of course, Andric himself, though Alsalam was not supposed to know. The Meridarch could not meet with an Inquisitor of the Hand of the Light without causing talk any more than he could visit a wineshop, even the Garden of Silver Breezes.

Alsalam nodded. “When they are in my hand, I will secure the Panarch’s Palace, and the Children will suppress any ... divisive elements ... who attempt to interfere with the investiture. Under the Light, I swear it.” Tension drained out of the Taraboners visibly; they upended their goblets as if trying to replace it with wine, even Andric.

So far as the people of Tarabon were concerned, the Children would have the blame for the inevitable killings, not the Meridarch, or the army of Tarabon. Once Amathera was invested with the Crown and Staff of the Tree, if the Assembly admitted they had not elected her the news would set Tanchico afire. As for any tales that came from those who fled—why, rebels would spread any sort of treasonous lie. And the Meridarch and Panarch of Tarabon would both dangle on strings Alsalam could hand to Pedron Niall to do with as he pleased.

He did not stay to drink with the Taraboners, but made his goodbyes, as shortly as he could. If they took offense, they needed him too much to show it. Selindrin saw him come down, and a stableboy was trotting his horse up to the front door when he reached the street. Tossing the boy a copper, he spurred the black gelding to a quick canter. The ragged folk in the twisty streets got out of his way with the alacrity he liked to see. The city was full of beggars; he could hardly breathe without the stench of old, sour sweat and dirt. Tamrin ought to sweep them up and sweep them out.

At the palace on the Verana he had commandeered for the Children’s headquarters, he tossed his reins to one of the white-cloaked guards and stalked inside after returning their salutes.

Alsalam barely glanced at fine Tarabon carpets, or furnishings worked with gold and ivory, or fountained courts where splashing water made a cool sound. He cared nothing for such things—they made people weak, and encouraged them to slack off, both in their work and in their moral discipline. Broad hallways with golden lamps and high ceilings covered in delicate gold-work scrolls interested him not at all.

He strode briskly into the room he had taken for a study, and was halfway across a priceless carpet, all patterned blue and scarlet and gold, when suddenly he realized he was not alone. A woman in a clinging, pale-red gown stood near the tall, narrow windows overlooking one of the tree-shaded gardens, her honey-coloured hair in braids that brushed her shoulders. A misty scrap of veil did nothing to hide her face. Young and pretty, with a rosebud mouth and large brown eyes, she was no servant, not dressed like that.

“Who are you?” he demanded irritably. “How did you get in here? Leave at once, or I’ll have you tossed into the street.”

“Threats, Arca? You should be more welcoming to a guest, yes?”

The mocking familiarity with which she spoke put him on alert. No noblewoman was so pampered that she would speak to a member of the Hand of the Light like that. He drew his sword, already thinking of how he would make her talk, but something seized him—the air turned to crawling jelly—something forced him to his knees, encased him from the neck down. It tightened around his wrist until bones grated; his hand popped open, and his sword fell. The Power. She was using the One Power on him. A Tar Valon witch!

She stood there, watching him with those sharp brown eyes, smiling with that plump little mouth, as he tried to shout for the guards. When he opened his mouth that thick invisible jelly oozed in, forcing his jaws apart until they creaked in his ears. Nostrils flaring, he sucked air in frantically. He could still breathe, but he could not scream. All that came out were muffled groans, like a woman wailing behind walls. He wanted to scream.

“You are very amusing,” the honey-haired woman said finally. “Alsalam. That is a good name for a dog, I think. Would you like to be my dog, Alsalam? If you are a very good dog, I may allow you to live, yes?”

Alsalam would have spat defiance at her if he could, if the unnatural blockage had allowed it. He would have. But then he looked deeper into her beautiful eyes and felt the heat grow inside him. She was a creature worthy of worship. He would be honoured to be her dog. Any man would.

Smirking kindly, the magnificent woman knelt beside him and tangled a hand in his hair, pulled his head up with painful gentleness. “Now you will listen to me, yes? Like a good dog. You are going to move your Whitecloaks to the Panarch’s Palace.”

“How do you know that, Mistress?”

She shook his head from side to side. “A good dog does not question his mistress. I throw the stick; you fetch the stick. I say kill; you kill. Yes? Yes.” Her smile was just a flash of teeth. “There will be difficulty in taking the Palace? The Panarch’s Legion is there, a thousand men sleeping in the hallways, the exhibition rooms, the courtyards. You do not have so many of your Whitecloaks.”

“They ...” He had to stop and swallow. “They will make no trouble. They will believe Amathera has been chosen by the Assembly. It is the Assembly that—”

“Do not bore me, Alsalam. I do not care if you kill the entire Assembly so long as you hold the Panarch’s Palace. When will you move?”

“It ... it will take three or four days for Andric to deliver sureties.”

“Three or four days,” she murmured half to herself. “Very well. A little longer delay should cause no harm. You will keep control of the Palace, and you will send the Panarch’s fine soldiers away.”

“That is impossible,” he gasped, and she jerked his head back so hard he did not know if his neck would break or his scalp tear loose first. He did not want to resist, not her. A thousand invisible needles pricked him, on his face, his chest, his back, arms, legs, everywhere. Invisible, but he was sure no less real for that.

“Impossible, Alsalam?” she said softly. “Impossible is a word I do not like to hear.”

The needles twisted deeper; he groaned, but he had to explain. What she wanted was impossible. “Once Amathera is invested as Panarch, she will control the Legion. If I try to hold the Palace, she will turn them on me, and Andric will help her. There is no way I can hold against the Panarch’s Legion, and against whatever Andric can strip from the Ring forts.”

She studied him so long he began to fear he had disappointed her. He did not dare to flinch, hardly even to blink; those thousand biting little stabs did not allow it.

“The Panarch will be dealt with,” she said finally. The needles vanished, and she stood. Alsalam stood, too, trying to steady himself. “Even if you can influence Amathera—”

She cut him off. “I told you not to question, Alsalam. A good dog obeys his mistress, yes? I promise you, if you do not you will beg me for mercy, and receive none. Do you understand me?”

“I understand,” he said. “I will do as you say, mistress.” Her brief, approving smile made him flush. She moved toward the door, turning her back on him as if he really were a dog, and a toothless one. “What ...? What is your name?”

Her smile was sweet this time, and mocking. “Yes. A dog should know his mistress’s name. I am called Liandrin. But that name must never touch a dog’s lips. Should it, I will be most displeased with you.”

Watching her go, Alsalam wondered at what madness had possessed him to ever want to kill her. His head swam just thinking of it, such that he had to stagger to his chair and sit down. Of course he would do what she wanted. She was, after all, the most wonderful of witches.

* * *

Liandrin ghosted through the halls, easily avoiding servants and Whitecloaks. When she stepped out of a small back door into a narrow alley behind the palace, the tall young guard there stared at her with a blend of relief and unease. Her little trick of opening someone to her suggestions—just a whip-crack trickle of the Power—had easily convinced this fool that she should be allowed in, and his equally foolish commander that she should be obeyed. Which, of course, she should be. Smiling, she motioned for the guard to bend closer. The lanky lout grinned as if expecting a kiss, a grin that froze as her narrow blade went through his eye.

She leaped nimbly back as he fell, a boneless sack of flesh. He would not speak of her even by accident now. Not so much as a spot of blood stained her hand. She wished she had Chesmal’s skill at killing with the Power, or even Rianna’s lesser talent. Strange that the ability to kill with the Power, to stop a heart or boil blood in the veins, should be so closely linked to Healing. She herself could not Heal much more than scrapes or bruises; not that she had any interest in it.

Her sedan chair, red-lacquered and inlaid with ivory and gold, was waiting at the end of the alley, and with it her bodyguards, a dozen big men with faces like starving wolves. Once in the streets, they cleared a path through the crowds with ease, spears clubbing any not quick enough to move aside. They were all dedicated to the Great Lord of the Dark, of course, and if they did not know exactly who she was, they knew that other men had disappeared, men who failed to serve properly.

The house she and the others had taken, two sprawling stories of flat-roofed stone and white plaster on a hillside at the base of the Verana, Tanchico’s easternmost peninsula, belonged to a merchant who had also sworn her oaths to the Great Lord. Liandrin would have preferred a palace— one day perhaps she would have the Meridarch’s Palace on the Maseta; she had grown up staring enviously at the Ladies’ palaces, but why should she settle for one of them?—yet despite her preferences, it made sense to stay hidden awhile yet. There was no way the fools in Tar Valon could suspect they were in Tarabon, but the Tower was surely still hunting them, and Siuan Sanche’s pets could be sniffing anywhere.

Gates gave onto a small courtyard, windowless except on the upper floor. Leaving the guards and bearers there, she hurried inside. The merchant had furnished a few servants; all sworn to the Great Lord, she assured them, but barely enough to provide for ten women who rarely stirred outside. One, a sturdily handsome, dark-braided woman called Gyldin, was sweeping the entry hall’s red and white tiles when Liandrin entered.

“Where are the others?” she demanded.

“In the front withdrawing room.” Gyldin gestured to the double-arched doors to the right as though Liandrin might not know where that was.

Liandrin’s mouth tightened. The woman did not curtsy; she used no titles of respect. True, she did not know who Liandrin really was, but Gyldin certainly knew she was high enough to give orders and be obeyed, to send that fat merchant bowing and scraping and bundling her family off to some hovel. “You are supposed to be cleaning, yes? Not standing about? Well, clean! There is dust everywhere. If I find a speck of the dust this evening, you cow you, I will have you beaten!” She clamped her teeth shut. She had copied the manner in which nobles and the wealthy spoke for so long that sometimes she forgot her father had sold fruit from a barrow, yet in one moment of anger the speech of a commoner rolled off her tongue. Too much stress. Too much waiting. With a last, snapped, “Work!” she pushed into the withdrawing room and slammed the door behind her.

The others were not all there, which irritated her even more, but enough. Round-faced Eldrith Jhondar, seated at a lapis-inlaid table beneath a hanging on one white-plastered wall, was making careful notes from a tattered manuscript; sometimes she absently cleaned the nib of her pen on the sleeve of her dark wool dress. Marillin Gemalphin sat beside one of the narrow windows, blue eyes dreamily staring out at the tiny fountain tinkling in a little courtyard, idly scratching the ears of a scrawny yellow cat and apparently unaware of the hairs it shed all over her green silk dress. She and Eldrith were both Browns, but if Marillin ever found out that Eldrith was the reason the stray cats she brought in continually disappeared, there would be trouble.

They had been Browns. Sometimes it was difficult to remember they no longer were, or that she herself was no longer a Red. So much of what had marked them clearly as members of their old Ajahs remained even now that they were openly pledged to the Black. Take the two former Greens. Coppery-skinned, swan-necked Jeaine Caide wore the thinnest, most clinging silk dresses she could find—white, today—and laughed that the gowns would have to do, since there was nothing available in Tarabon to catch a man’s eye. Jeaine was from Arad Doman; Domani women were infamous for their scandalous clothes. Asne Zeramene, with her dark, tilted eyes and bold nose, looked almost demure in pale grey, plainly cut and high-necked, but Liandrin knew what she liked to do with her Warders. And as for Rianna Andomeran ... Black hair with a stark white streak above her left ear framed a face with the cold, arrogant certainty only a White could assume.

“It is done,” Liandrin announced. “Alsalam Arca will move his Whitecloaks to the Panarch’s Palace and hold it for us. He does not yet know we will have guests ... of course.” There were a few grimaces; changing Ajahs had certainly not altered anyone’s feelings toward men who hated women who could channel.

“Then our work here will soon be finished,” Rianna said.

“Me, I wonder at that,” wispy Ispan said. She was a fellow Taraboner but that did not make Liandrin despise her any less. The woman had no stomach for blood. “Strange tales, they are being circulated among the Friends of the Dark. Troubling tales. Some of them claim they have been ordered to kill Rand al’Thor.”

“That makes no sense,” Asne said, frowning. “We are to bind him, control him, not kill him.” She laughed suddenly, soft and low, and leaned back in her chair. “If there is a way to control him, I would not mind binding him to me. He is a good-looking young man, from the little I saw.” Liandrin sniffed; she had no liking for men at all.

Rianna shook her head worriedly. “It makes troubling sense. Our orders from the Tower were clear, yet it is also clear that others have been given contradictory ones. I can only postulate dissension among the Forsaken.”

“The Forsaken,” Jeaine muttered, folding her arms tightly; thin white silk moulded her breasts even more revealingly. “What good are promises that we will rule the world when the Great Lord returns if we are crushed between warring Forsaken first? Does anyone believe we could stand against any of them?”

“Balefire.” Asne looked around, dark tilted eyes challenging. “Balefire will destroy even one of the Forsaken. And we have the means to produce it.” One of the _ter’angreal_ they had removed from the Tower, a fluted black rod three feet long, had that use. None of them knew why they had been ordered to take it, not even Liandrin herself. Too many of the _ter’angreal_ were like that, taken because they had been told to, with no reasons given, but some orders had to be obeyed. Liandrin wished they had been able to secure even one _angreal_.

Jeaine gave a sharp sniff. “If any of us could control it. Or have you forgotten that the one test we dared nearly killed me? And burned a hole through both sides of the ship before I could stop it? Fine good it would have done us to drown before reaching Tanchico.”

“What need have we of Balefire?” Liandrin said. “If we can control the Dragon Reborn, let the Forsaken think how they will deal with us.” Suddenly she became aware of another presence in the room. The woman Gyldin, wiping down a carved, low-backed chair in one corner. “What are you doing here, woman?”

“Cleaning.” The dark-braided woman straightened unconcernedly. “You told me to clean.” Liandrin almost struck out with the Power. Almost. But Gyldin certainly did not know they were Aes Sedai. How much had the woman heard? Nothing of importance. “You will go to the cook,” she said in a cold fury, “and tell him he is to strap you. Very hard! And you are to have nothing to eat until the dust it is all gone.” Again. The woman had made her speak like a commoner again.

Marillin stood, nuzzling the yellow cat’s nose with hers, and handed the creature to Gyldin. “See that he gets a dish of cream when the cook is done with you. And some of that nice lamb. Cut it small for him; he doesn’t have many teeth left, poor thing.” Gyldin looked at her, not blinking, and she added, “Is there something you don’t understand?”

“I understand.” Gyldin’s mouth was tight. Perhaps she did finally understand; she was a servant, not their equal.

Liandrin waited a moment after she left, the cat cradled in her arms, then snatched open one of the doors. The entry hall was empty. Gyldin was not eavesdropping. She did not trust the woman. Bu then, she could not think of anyone she did trust.

“We must be concerned with what concerns us,” she said tightly, closing the door. “Eldrith, have you found a new clue in those pages? Eldrith?”

The plump woman gave a start, then stared around at them, blinking. It was the first time she had raised her head from the battered yellow manuscript; she seemed surprised to see Liandrin. “What? Clue? Oh. No. It is difficult enough getting into the Meridarch’s Library; if I extracted so much as a page the librarians would know it immediately. But if I disposed of them, I would never find anything. That place is a maze. No, I found this in a bookseller’s near the Meridarch’s Palace. It is an interesting treatise on—”

Embracing _saidar_ , Liandrin sent the pages showering across the floor. “Unless they are a treatise on the controlling of Rand al’Thor, let them be burned! What have you learned about what we seek?”

Eldrith blinked at the scattered papers. “Well, it is in the Panarch’s Palace.”

“You learned that two days ago.”

“And it must be a _ter’angreal_. To control someone who can channel must require the Power, and since it is a specialized use that means a _ter’angreal_. We will find it in the exhibition room, or perhaps among the Panarch’s collection.”

“Something new, Eldrith.” With an effort Liandrin made her voice less shrill. “Have you found anything that is new? Anything?”

The round-faced woman blinked uncertainly. “Actually ... No.”

“It does not matter,” Marillin said. “In a few days, once they have invested their precious Panarch, we can begin searching, and if we must inspect every candlestick, we will find it. We are on the brink, Liandrin. We will put Rand al’Thor on a leash and teach him to sit up and roll over.”

“Oh, yes,” Eldrith said, smiling happily. “On a leash.”

Liandrin hoped it was so. She was tired of waiting, tired of hiding. Let the world know her. Let people bend knee as had been promised when she first forswore old oaths for new.

* * *

Egeanin knew she was not alone as soon as she stepped into her small house by the kitchen door, but she dropped her mask and the jute bag carelessly on the table and walked over to where a bucket of water stood beside the brick fireplace. As she bent to take the copper ladle, her right hand darted into a low hollow where two bricks had been removed behind the bucket; she spun erect, a small crossbow in her hand. No more than a foot long, it had little power or range, but she always kept it drawn, and the dark stain tipping the sharp steel bolt would kill in a heartbeat.

If the man leaning casually in the corner saw the crossbow, he gave no outward sign. He was pale-haired and blue-eyed, in his middle years, and good-looking if too slender for her taste. Clearly he had watched her cross the narrow yard through the iron-grilled window beside him. “Do you think that I threaten you?” he said after a moment.

She recognized the familiar accents of home, but she did not lower the crossbow. “Who are you?”

For answer he dipped two fingers carefully into his belt pouch—apparently he could see after all—and brought out something small and flat. She motioned him to lay it on the table and back up again.

Only after he was back in the corner did she move close enough to pick up what he had set there. Never taking her eyes or the crossbow away from him, she lifted it up where she could see. A small ivory plaque bordered in gold, engraved with a raven and a tower. The raven’s eyes were black sapphires. A raven, symbol of the Imperial family; the Tower of Ravens, symbol of Imperial justice.

“Normally this would be enough,” she told him, “but we are far from Seanchan, in a land where the bizarre is almost commonplace. What other proof can you offer?”

Smiling with silent amusement, he removed his coat, unlaced his shirt and stripped it off. On either shoulder was the tattoo of raven and tower.

Most Seekers for Truth bore the ravens as well as the tower, but not even someone who dared steal a Seeker’s plaque would have himself marked so. To wear the ravens was to be the property of the Imperial family. There was an old story of a fool young lord and lady who had themselves tattooed while drunk, some three hundred years gone. When the then Empress learned of it, she had them brought to the Court of the Nine Moons and set to scrubbing floors. This fellow might be one of their descendants. The mark of the raven was forever.

“My apologies, Seeker,” she said, setting the crossbow down. “Why are you here?” She did not ask a name; any he gave might or might not be his.

He left her holding the plaque while he re-dressed himself in a leisurely manner. A subtle reminder. She was a captain and he property, but he was also a Seeker, and under the law he could have her put to the question on his own authority. By law he had the right to send her out to buy the rope to bind her while he put her to the question right here, and he would expect her to return with it. Flight from a Seeker was a crime. Refusal to cooperate with a Seeker was a crime. She had never in her life considered any criminal act, no more than she had considered treason against the Crystal Throne. But if he accused her of something she had not ... The crossbow was still close to her hand, and Cantorin was far away. Wild thoughts. Dangerous thoughts.

“I serve the High Lady Suroth and the _Corenne_ , for the Empress,” he said. “I am checking on the progress of the agents the High Lady has placed in these lands.”

Checking? What had to be checked, and by a Seeker? “I have heard nothing of this from the courier boats.” His smile deepened, and she flushed. Of course the crews would not speak of a Seeker. Yet he answered while lacing up his shirt.

“The courier boats are not to be risked with my trips. I have taken passage on the vessels of a local smuggler. His craft stop everywhere in Tarabon and Arad Doman and elsewhere.”

“All goes well?”

“It does now. I am glad that you, at least, understood your instructions properly. Among the others, only the Seekers did. It is regrettable that there are not more Seekers with the _Hailene_.” Settling his coat on his shoulders, he plucked the Seeker’s plaque from her hand. “There has been some embarrassment over the issue of _sul’dam_ deserters at Falme. Such desertions must not become common knowledge. Much better that they simply vanish.”

Only because she had a little time to think was she able to keep her face smooth. _Sul’dam_ had been left behind in the debacle at Falme, she had been told. Possibly some had deserted. Her instruction, delivered by the High Lady Suroth herself, had been to return any who could be found whether they wanted to return or not, and if that was not possible, dispose of them. The last had seemed only a final alternative. Until now. Privately, she doubted that any of them would be seen again. Falmerden was an isolated nation, and hostile to the Empire. Those deserters had signed their own death warrants by fleeing there.

“I regret that these lands do not know kaf,” he said, taking a seat at the table. “Even in Cantorin only the Blood still have kaf. Or it was so when I left. Perhaps supply ships have arrived from Seanchan since. Tea must do. Fix me tea.”

She very nearly knocked him out of his chair. The man was property. And a Seeker. She brewed tea. And served it to him, standing beside his chair with the pot to keep his cup full. She was surprised he did not ask her to don a veil and dance on the table.

She was permitted to sit at last, after fetching pen and ink and paper, but only to sketch maps of Tanchico and its defences, to draw every other city and town in Tarabon she knew the least thing about. She listed the various forces in the field, as much as she knew of their strength and loyalties, what she had deduced of their dispositions.

When she was done, he stuffed it all in his pocket, and left with one of those amused smiles, saying he might check on her progress again in a few weeks.

She sat there for a long time after he was gone. Every map she had drawn, every list she had made, duplicated papers sent out by courier boats long since. Having her do it all again while he watched might have been a punishment for forcing him to show his tattoos. Deathwatch Guards flaunted their ravens; Seekers rarely did. It might have been that.

She wanted some tea herself, but the little the Seeker had left was cold, and she did not feel like brewing more. It was unsurprising that the High Lady would be concerned by _sul’dam_ deserters. _Sul’dam_ were needed to control _damane_ , for the good of all. Women who could channel were dangerous animals rather than people. It had been they who Broke the World. They must be controlled, or they would turn everyone into their property. That was what she had been taught, what had been taught in Seanchan for a thousand years. Strange that that seemed not to have happened here. No. That was a dangerous, foolish line of thought.

She cleaned the tea things to settle her mind. She liked tidiness, and there was a small satisfaction in making the kitchen so. Before she realized it she was brewing a pot of tea for herself. Settling herself back at the table, she stirred honey into a cup of tea as black as she could make it. Not kaf, but it would do for now. Soon the _Corenne_ would come to set these lands to right.

Starting with Tarabon.


	62. Checking In

When Elayne came on deck with her things neatly bundled, the setting sun seemed to be just touching the water out beyond the mouth of Tanchico’s harbour, and the final thick hawsers were being tied to snug _Wavedancer_ to a ship-lined dock, only one of many along this westernmost peninsula of the city. Some of the crew were furling the last sails. Beyond the long wharves the city rose on hills, shining white, domed and spired, with polished weather vanes glittering. Perhaps a mile north she could make out high, round walls; the Great Circle, if she remembered correctly.

Slinging her bundle on the same shoulder as her leather scrip, she went to join Nynaeve and the other Accepted by the gangplank, with Coine and Jorin. It seemed almost odd to see the sisters fully dressed again, in bright brocaded silk blouses that matched their wide trousers. Earrings and even nose rings she had become used to, and the fine gold chain across each woman’s dark cheek hardly made her wince at all now. It was especially odd to see Jorin dressed, given how many lessons they’d had over the past week. Some of them really had been lessons, too, with Jorin providing a willing test subject for Elayne’s experimental use of those tentacles of Air.

Juilin stood apart with his own bundle, looking a touch sullen. Nynaeve had been right. He had tried to second-guess, starting when the real purpose of this journey, or some of it, was revealed to him two days ago. He didn’t seem to think the young women were competent— _competent!_ —to seek the Black Ajah. A threat by Nynaeve to have him transferred to another Sea Folk ship, headed the other way, had nipped that in the bud. At least it had once Toram and a dozen crewmen gathered ready to shove him into a boat to be rowed across. Elayne gave him a searching look. Sullenness meant rebellion; they were going to have more trouble from that one.

“Where will you go now, Coine?” Nynaeve was asking as Elayne reached them.

“To Dantorin, and the Aile Jafar,” the Sailmistress replied, “and then on to the Aile Somera, spreading news of the _Coramoor_ , if it pleases the Light. But I must allow Toram to trade here, or he will burst.”

Her husband was down on the docks now, without his strange wire-framed lens, bare-chested and be-ringed, talking earnestly with men in baggy white trousers and coats embroidered with scrollwork on the shoulders. Each Tanchican wore a dark, cylindrical cap, and a transparent veil across his face. The veils looked ridiculous, especially on the men with thick moustaches.

Keestis had barely taken her lenses off since purchasing them in the Aile Dagula. She was gazing out at Tanchico now with a look of wonder on her face. That was nice to see, and Elayne intended to be as supportive of her friend as she could, but getting used to seeing her wearing that thing on her face was almost as hard as getting used to the Sea Folk’s excessive jewellery had been.

“The Light send you a safe voyage,” Nynaeve told Coine, shifting her bundles on her back. “If we discover any danger here that might threaten you before you sail, we will send word.” Coine and her sister looked remarkably calm. Knowledge of the Black Ajah hardly fazed them; it was the _Coramoor_ , Rand, who was important.

Elayne had stood slightly apart, waiting. Understanding the situation, Jorin came to her, kissed her own fingertips and pressed them to Elayne’s lips. “I have enjoyed our time together, Elayne,” she said in a near whisper. “And I have enjoyed your discretion, for I know my husband would not have approved. The Light willing, we shall meet again.”

“The Light willing,” Elayne responded, duplicating the Windfinder’s gesture. It still felt odd, but it was an honour, too, used only between close family members or lovers. She was going to miss the Sea Folk woman. She had learned a great deal, and taught a little, as well. Jorin could certainly weave Fire much better now. “Do not fear. I will say nothing of what I learned on this voyage, neither of the special ways to weave the winds, or of the Windfinders’ secret.”

“The Light willing, it shall be so,” Jorin said fatalistically. “Go with the Light, Elayne.”

The others were shouldering their burdens and readying to depart. Katsui offered to help little Emara carry her things but Ronelle shouldered him aside and lifted them herself. No-one rushed to prevent Ragan from helping Shimoku, though. Not that she seemed to be overly bothered by that, simply murmuring quiet thanks. Come to think of it, there had been quite a bit of quiet talk between those two during the trip. Elayne wondered. The Tower wouldn’t approve, obviously. But just as obviously, she herself did not care at all. And if nothing else, Ragan would make a fine Warder. Rikimaru and Mendao strode down the gangplank ahead of the rest, adjusting their weapons as though they thought they might need to use them soon. Elayne and the others soon followed.

When she reached the foot of the gangplank, Nynaeve heaved a sigh of relief. An oily potion Jorin produced had settled her stomach after two days at sea, but all the same she had been tight-eyed and tight-mouthed until Tanchico came in sight.

The soldiers bracketed them immediately, without any instructions. Juilin took the lead with his bundle on his back and his pale, thumb-thick staff held in both hands, dark eyes alert. Areku brought up the rear, lightly armoured in mail and leather, like her fellow Shienarans.

Nynaeve pursed her lips for a moment but said nothing, which Elayne thought wise. Before they had gone fifty paces down the long stone dock she had seen as many slitty-eyed, hungry-faced men studying them, and Tanchicans and others shifting crates and bales and sacks on the dock. She suspected any of them would have been willing to cut her throat in the hope that a silk dress meant money in her purse. They did not frighten her; she could handle any two or three of them, she was sure. But the Accepted all had their Great Serpent rings in their pouches, and it would be useless to pretend no connection with the White Tower if she channelled in front of a hundred men. Best if Juilin and the others looked as fierce as they could. She would not have minded having ten more just like them.

She wondered how bad things had gotten in the west, to have this many people flee to Tarabon. The island nation had always been the favoured destination of refugees in times of trouble, for people who could not or would not fight for their homelands. Trouble had been racing on their heels all the way from Falme, and had already arrived in Valreis by the time they left. She’d heard it had spread to Arad Domon, too, but the number of refugees here in Tanchico suggested it was worse than she had imagined.

With such thoughts in her mind, a thief-catcher leading the way through the crowds and a Shienaran escort protecting her, Elayne couldn’t help but think of poor Hurin and Han, gone to their graves already. She feared a great many more would join then before this war was done.

They reached the foot of the dock, and she watched in silence while Nynaeve hired sedan chairs and bearers. Guards with swords and spears stood at the end of the streets that led from the dock, with the look of hired men, not soldiers. From along the row of docks, hundreds of defeated, sunken faces stared at the guards. Sometimes eyes flickered toward the ships, perhaps wondering if they’d made the right choice by coming here, but mainly they fixed on the men holding them back from entering the city proper. Silk-clad women, their faces concealed behind diaphanous veils, stared out at the newcomers from behind their guards as if they did not know what to do with them all.

Elayne shivered. When these hungry eyes looked at the city, need burned in them. Resentment burned in them, too, when she and her group—being plainly not refugees—were passed through so easily. She sat rigidly in her chair as it jounced through the crowds, and tried not to look at anything. She did not want to see those faces. Where was their queen? Why was she not taking care of them?

A sign above the gate of the white-plastered inn Juilin took them to, below the Great Circle, proclaimed the Three Plum Court. The only court Elayne saw was the high-walled courtyard paved with flagstones in front of the inn, which was three square stories with no windows near the ground and the upper windows grilled with fanciful ironwork. Inside, men and women crowded the common room, most in Tanchican clothes, and the buzz of voices nearly drowned out the tune of a hammered dulcimer.

Nynaeve gasped at her first sight of the innkeeper, a pretty woman not much older than herself with brown eyes and pale honey braids, her veil not hiding a plump rosebud of a mouth. Elayne gave a start, too, but it was not Liandrin. The woman—her name was Rendra—proved much friendlier. With welcoming smiles for the women, and making much over the exotic soldiers from so far away, she gave them her last rooms at what Elayne suspected might be less than the going rate. Elayne made sure she and Nynaeve got the one with the larger bed; she had shared a bed with Nynaeve before, and the woman was free with her elbows.

Rendra also provided supper in a private room, laid out by two veiled young serving men. Elayne found herself staring at a plate of a roast lamb with spiced apple jelly and some sort of long yellowish beans prepared with pinenuts. She could not touch it. All those hungry faces. Juilin ate readily enough. Ragan and his soldiers showed no reticence either.

“Rendra,” Nynaeve said quietly, “does anyone here help the poor? I can lay my hands on a good bit of gold if it would help.”

“You could donate to the soup kitchens,” the innkeeper replied with a smile.

“I might just do that,” Nynaeve said.

Juilin and Emara set in to question Rendra closely about Tanchico as they ate. Juilin asked about what districts thieves and cutpurses and burglars frequented, what wineshops they used, and who bought their stolen goods. The thief-catcher maintained that such people often knew more of what was going on in a city than the authorities did. Emara asked of nobles and factions, of who was allied to whom and who opposed, of who had what stated aims, and what their actions brought about, and whether the results were different from what they supposedly wanted. _Daes Dae’mar_ , in other words. Elayne would have asked the same questions herself, but she was content to let Emara take the lead in this. It was good to be reminded that she wasn’t the only one here who had been raised in a palace, after what she had seen.

Rendra answered Juilin with more alacrity than she did Emara, for some reason. In either case, though, she seemed to know Tanchico very well, both its lords and officials and its dark underbelly; as she talked, it often sounded as if there were little difference.

Once the two of them had wrung the innkeeper dry Juilin left, twirling his pale staff and saying night was the best time to find thieves and people who lived off thieves. Nynaeve announced she was retiring to her room— _her_ room—to lie down awhile. She looked a bit unsteady, and suddenly Elayne realized why. Nynaeve had become used to _Wavedancer_ ’s heaving; now she was having trouble with the ground not heaving. The woman’s stomach was not a pleasant travelling companion.

She herself followed the others down to the common room, where cool looks from Rikimaru and hotter ones from Mendao sufficed to win them a table to themselves. A handsome young serving man smiled at her and offered to bring her a cup of wine but Elayne refused, recalling too well the way that Nynaeve had dunked her. She had privately vowed never again to drink more than a single cup. The woman with the hammered dulcimer didn’t seem to be making much from the muted crowd—rather understandable, in Elayne’s opinion. She settled in to chat with her friends instead of listening.

It soon emerged that Keestis was not so utterly enamoured with her new lenses as she’d seemed. She might be able to see the people gathered in the common room more clearly, but she could also see how many of them kept glancing at her. It wore on her nerves and made her shrink in on herself.

“I look like a freak, don’t I?” she said to Elayne, her voice subdued.

“Do not be silly,” she said, immediately and as firmly as though she was pronouncing judgement from the Lion Throne. “Just look at all these people wearing veils for no good reason, even the men. That is silly. What you are wearing is eminently practical. Some might even say it looks cute.”

“Thanks, Elayne. That’s kind of you to say.” But despite her words, Keestis kept on noticing those looks, and remained quiet for much of the evening.

Juilin still hadn’t returned by the time they took themselves off to their rooms, but Elayne wasn’t worried. The thief-catcher could take care of himself. She found Nynaeve awake in their room, wearing only her shift and a disgruntled frown.

“What kept you?” she asked as soon as Elayne closed the door behind herself. “I am going to look for Dani, and I still don’t trust myself to get out of _Tel’aran’rhiod_ without someone to wake me.”

Elayne blinked at her. They had looked for Dani, unsuccessfully, every night since she had disappeared so abruptly out of that meeting in the Heart of the Stone. “If you had told me you were planning on an early night ...” Elayne began, but then shook her head. It simply was not worth arguing with Nynaeve sometimes.

Nynaeve frowned at her, but finally nodded. She threaded the twisted stone ring onto the leather cord she wore hanging around her neck, alongside a man’s ring, heavy and golden. That was Lan’s ring; Nynaeve always wore it between her breasts, near her heart. She wore nothing of Rand’s.

Wondering, not for the first time, what the future held for them, Elayne pulled a low wooden stool over beside the bed while Nynaeve stretched out. “I will judge an hour and wake you.”

Nynaeve nodded, then closed her eyes, both hands clutched around the two rings. After a time her breathing deepened.

* * *

The Heart of the Stone was quite empty. Peering into the dimness among the great columns Nynaeve had circled _Callandor_ , sparkling out of the floorstones, completely before she realized she was still in her shift, the leather cord dangling about her neck with the two rings. She frowned, and after a moment she was wearing a Theren dress of good brown wool, and stout shoes. Elayne seemed to find this sort of thing easy, but it was not easy for her. There had been embarrassing moments in earlier visits to _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , mostly after stray thoughts of Lan, but changing her garb deliberately took concentration. Just that—remembering—and her dress was silk, and as transparent as Rendra’s veil. Berelain would have blushed. So did Nynaeve, thinking of Lan seeing her in it. It took an effort to bring the brown wool back.

Uneasy, she stared into the forest of huge redstone columns, turning in one spot. What had made Dani leave here abruptly? She embraced _saidar_ , just in case, and her dress disappeared again as she was forced to recall how it was that she was able to do that so easily now. Red-faced, Nynaeve willed herself back to decency. The Stone was silent, with a hollow emptiness. She could hear the blood rushing in her own ears. Yet the skin between her shoulder blades prickled as if someone were watching her.

“Dani?” Her shout echoed in the silence among the columns. “Dani?” Nothing.

Rubbing her hands on her skirt, she found she was holding a gnarled stick with a thick knob on the end. A fat lot of good that would do. But she tightened her grip on it. A sword might be more use—for an instant the stick flickered, half a sword—but she did not know how to use a sword. She laughed to herself ruefully. A cudgel was as good as a sword here; both practically useless. Channelling was the only real defence, that and running.

She wanted to run now, with that feel of eyes on her, but she would not give up so quickly. Only what was she to do? Dani was not here. She was somewhere in the Waste. Rhuidean, Elayne said. Wherever that was.

Between one step and the next she was suddenly on a mountainside, with a harsh sun rising over more jagged mountains beyond the valley below, baking the dry air. The Waste. She was in the Waste. For a moment the sun startled her, but the Waste was far enough east for sunrise there to still be night in Tanchico. In _Tel’aran’rhiod_ it made no difference anyway. Sunlight or darkness there seemed to bear no relation to what was in the real world as far as she could determine.

Long, pale shadows still covered almost half the valley, but strangely a mass of fog billowed down there, not seeming to grow less for the sun beating on it. Great towers rose out of the fog, some appearing unfinished. A city. In the Waste?

Squinting, she could make out a person down in the valley, too. A man, though all she could see at this distance was someone who seemed to be wearing breeches and a bright blue coat. Certainly not an Aiel. He was walking along the edge of the fog, every now and again stopping to poke at it. She could not be sure, but she thought his hand stopped short each time. Maybe it was not fog at all.

“You must get away from here,” a woman’s voice said urgently. “If that one sees you, you are dead, or worse.”

Nynaeve jumped, spinning with her club raised, nearly losing her footing on the slope.

The woman standing a little above her wore a short white coat and voluminous, pale yellow trousers gathered above short boots. Her cloak billowed on an arid gust of wind. It was her long golden hair, intricately braided, and the silver bow in her hands that made a name pop incredulously into Nynaeve’s mouth.

“ _Birgitte_?” Birgitte, hero of a hundred tales, and her silver bow with which she never missed. Birgitte, one of the dead heroes the Horn of Valere would call back from the grave to fight in the Last Battle. “It’s impossible. Who are you?”

“There is no time, woman. You must go before he sees.” In one smooth motion she pulled a silver arrow from the quiver at her waist, nocked it and drew fletching to ear. The silver arrowhead pointed straight at Nynaeve’s heart. “Go!”

Nynaeve fled.

She was not sure how, but she was standing on the Green in Emond’s Field, looking at the Winespring Inn with its chimneys and red tile roof. Thatched roofs surrounded the Green, where the Winespring gushed out of a stone outcrop. The sun stood high here, though the Theren lay west of the Waste. Yet despite a cloudless sky, a deep shadow lay across the village.

She had only a moment to wonder how they were doing without her. A flicker of movement caught her eye, a flash of silver and a woman ducking behind the corner of Ailys Candwin’s neat house beyond the Winespring Water. Birgitte.

Nynaeve did not hesitate. She ran for one of the footbridges across the narrow rushing stream. Her shoes pounded on the wooden planks. “Come back here,” she shouted. “You come back here and answer me! Who was that? You come back here, or I’ll hero you! I’ll thump you so you think you’ve had an adventure!”

Rounding the corner of Ailys’ house, she really only half-expected to see Birgitte. What she did not expect at all was a man in a dark coat trotting toward her less than a hundred paces down the hard-packed dirt street. Her breath caught. Lan. No, but he had the same shape to his face, the same eyes. Halting, he raised his bow and shot. At her. Screaming, she threw herself aside, trying to claw her way awake.

* * *

Elayne jumped to her feet, toppling the stool over backward, as Nynaeve screamed and sat up on the bed, eyes wide.

“What happened, Nynaeve? What happened?”

Nynaeve shuddered. “He looked like Lan. He looked like Lan, and he tried to kill me.” She put a trembling hand to her left arm, where a shallow slash oozed blood a few inches below her shoulder. “If I hadn’t jumped, it would have gone through my heart.”

Seating herself on the edge of the bed, Elayne examined the cut. “It is not bad. I’ll wash and bandage it for you.” She wished she knew how to Heal, but it really was little more than a long nick. “It was not Lan. Calm yourself. Whoever it was, it was not Lan.”

“I know that,” Nynaeve said acidly. “It must have been that man Rand told us about, the Darkfriend assassin.” She recounted what had happened in much the same angry voice. The man who had shot at her in Emond’s Field, and the man in the Waste; she was not sure they were one and the same. Birgitte herself was incredible enough.

“Are you certain?” Elayne asked. “Birgitte?”

Nynaeve sighed. “The only thing I am certain of is that I did not find Dani. And that I am not going back there tonight.” She pounded a fist on her thigh. “Where is she? What happened to her? If she met that fellow with the bow ... Oh, Light!”

Elayne had to think a minute; she wanted to sleep so badly, and her thoughts kept shimmering.

“She said she might not be there when we are supposed to meet again. Maybe that is why she left so hurriedly. Whyever she can’t ... I mean ...” It did not seem to make a great deal of sense, but she could not get it out properly.

“I hope so,” Nynaeve said wearily. Looking at Elayne, she added, “We had better get you to bed. You look ready to fall over.”

Elayne was grateful to be helped out of her clothes. She did remember to bandage Nynaeve’s arm, but the bed looked so inviting she could hardly think of anything else.

They were both too tired to do anything more than sleep that night, and woke too late in the morning to do anything more than wash, dress hastily, and rush down to breakfast. The others were already gathered, and had not even waited for Elayne or Nynaeve to arrive before stuffing their faces. Elayne’s stomach rumbled at the sight, but it was the absentee that troubled Nynaeve.

“Have any of you seen Master Sandar this morning?” the older woman asked.

“He did not sleep in the inn,” Ragan replied.

“Which I should be grateful for, considering the size of the beds,” Katsui grumbled. He was, to be fair, a quite hefty man.

As though the words had summoned him, Juilin came in through the front door, his face weary and his snug-fitting coat rumpled. There was a bruise beneath his left eye, and the short black hair that normally lay flat on his head looked rough-combed with his fingers, but he smiled as he joined them. “The thieves in this city are as numerous as minnows in reeds, and they will talk if you buy a cup of something. I have talked with two men who claim to have seen a woman with a white streak in her hair above the left ear. I think I believe one of them.”

“So they are here,” Elayne said, but Nynaeve shook her head. “Perhaps. More than one woman can have a white streak in her hair.”

“He could not say how old she was,” Juilin said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “No age at all he claimed. He joked that maybe she was Aes Sedai.”

“You go too fast,” Nynaeve told him in a tight voice. “You do us no good if you bring them down on us.”

Juilin flushed darkly. “I am careful. I have no wish for Liandrin to put her hands on me again. I do not ask questions; I talk. Sometimes of women I used to know. Two men bit on that white streak, and neither ever knew it was more than a scrap of idle talk over cheap ale. Tonight maybe another will swim into my net, only this time maybe it will be a fragile woman from Cairhien with very big blue eyes.” That would be Temaile Kinderode, though her looks belied her nature. She was as evil a bitch as had ever lived, as the hard casts that the other Accepted’s faces fell into when thinking of her proved. “Bit by bit, I will narrow where they have been seen until I know where they are. I will find them for you.”

“Perhaps we will succeed without you,” Nynaeve said dryly. “We will begin looking ourselves, today. Six sets of eyes can see better than one.”

“A hundred pairs can see even better,” Juilin said hastily, “and I will have at least that many, what with the thieves and cutpurses.”

Ragan nodded agreement. “My people will help Sandar. We will find these women for you if they can be found. There is no need for you to stir from the inn. This city has a dangerous feel even if Liandrin is not here.”

“Besides which,” Juilin added, “if they are here, they know all of you. They know your faces. Much better if you stay here at the inn, out of sight.”

Elayne stared at them in amazement. Nynaeve had been right about them causing trouble. Well, the Daughter-Heir of Andor was not about to hide behind Master Juilin Sandar and Master Ragan Fanwar. She opened her mouth to tell them so, but Nynaeve spoke first.

“You are right,” she said calmly. Elayne stared at her incredulously; Ragan and Juilin looked surprised, and at the same time disgustingly satisfied. “They do know us,” Nynaeve went on. “I took care of that yesterday, I think. Ah, here is Mistress Rendra with my breakfast.”

The men exchanged disconcerted frowns, but they could say nothing with the innkeeper smiling at them all through her veil.

“About what I asked you?” Nynaeve said to her as the woman placed a bowl of honeyed porridge in front of her.

“Ah, yes. It will be no problem to find the clothes to fit you all. And the hair—you have such lovely hair; so long—it will be the work of no time to put it up.” She fingered her own deep golden braids.

Ragan’s and Juilin’s faces made Elayne smile. They might have been ready for arguments; they had no defence against being ignored. As Nynaeve and Rendra discussed costs and cut and fabric—Rendra wanted to duplicate her clinging dress, pale green today; Nynaeve was opposed, but seemed to be wavering—Elayne took a spoon of porridge. It reminded her that she was hungry.

There was one problem none of them had mentioned yet, one that Ragan and Juilin did not know. If the Black Ajah was in Tanchico, then so was whatever it was that endangered Rand. Something able to bind him with his own Power. Finding Liandrin and the others was not enough. They had to find that, too. Suddenly her newfound appetite was completely gone.


	63. Journey

“Is that the kind of woman you like?” Aviendha said contemptuously. Rand looked down at her, striding along at Jeade’en’s stirrup in her heavy skirts, brown shawl doubled over her head. Big blue-green eyes flashed up at him from beneath her wide headscarf as if she wished she still had the spear the Wise Ones had scolded her for taking up during the Trolloc attack.

Sometimes it made him uncomfortable, her walking while he rode, but he had tried walking with her, and his feet were grateful for a horse. Occasionally—very occasionally—he had managed to get her to ride behind his saddle, by complaining that he was getting a crick in his neck talking to her. Riding a horse did not exactly violate custom, it turned out, yet contempt for not using your own legs to carry you kept her afoot most of the time. One laugh from any of the Aiel, especially a Maiden, even one looking the other way, was enough to have her off Jeade’en in a flash.

“She is soft, Rand al’Thor. Weak.”

He glanced back over at the boxlike white wagon leading the peddlers’ train in a crooked, lurching snake across the dusty, broken landscape, escorted by Jindo Maidens again today. Isendre was up with Kadere and the driver, seated on the heavyset peddler’s lap, her chin on his shoulder while he held a small, blue silk parasol to shade her—and himself, too—from the harsh sun. Even in a white coat, Kadere continually mopped his dark face with a large handkerchief, more affected by the heat than she, in her sleek, clinging gown that matched the parasol. Rand was not close enough to be sure, but he thought her dark eyes were on him above the misty scarf wrapped about her face and head. She usually seemed to be watching him. Kadere did not appear to mind.

“I do not think Isendre is soft,” he said quietly, adjusting the _shoufa_ around his head; it did keep the broiling sun off after a fashion. He had resisted donning any more Aiel garb, no matter how much more suited to the climate than his red wool coat. Whatever his blood, whatever the marks on his forearms, he was not Aiel, and he would not pretend. Whatever he had to do, he could hang on to that scrap of decency. Even Tam’s urging him to do otherwise hadn’t changed that. “No, I would not say that.”

Tam’s urging had been troubling, though. His father had gotten quiet since they’d arrived in the Waste. It could be that he was doing it in an attempt to be nice, to put Rand in touch with his roots, but Rand would much rather have kept things the way they had been. Tam was riding alongside Lan now, the two of them providing an odd kind of company for each other, in their near silences.

Rand had other things to worry about, though. On the driver’s seat of the second wagon, fat Keille and the gleeman, Natael, were arguing again. Natael had the reins, though he did not drive as well as the man who usually did the job. Sometimes they looked at Rand, too, quick glances before diving back into their quarrel. But then, everyone did. The long column of Jindo on the other side of him, the Wise Ones beyond them, with Moiraine and the Accepted. Among the more distant, thicker line of Shaido he thought heads turned toward him, too. It did not surprise him now any more than it ever had. He was He Who Comes With the Dawn. Everyone wanted to know what he would do. They would find out soon enough.

“Soft,” Aviendha grunted. “Elayne is not soft. You belong to Elayne; you should not be caressing eyes with this milk-skinned wench.” She shook her head fiercely, muttering half to herself, “Our ways shock her. She could not accept them. Why should I care if she can? I want no part of this! It _cannot_ be! If I could, I would take you _gai’shain_ and give you to Elayne!”

He was almost glad Merile and Raine weren’t there, if only to avoid the argument that must come of Aviendha championing Elayne’s supposed ownership of him. Rand found it annoying, too, but was able to let it wash over him. A lifetime living in a matriarchy had its benefits. The girls were off with Dani now. Merile had taken to following her around like a lost puppy lately, and hung on her every word. When it had anything to do with the One Power, at least. But it certainly wasn’t Merile Aviendha was talking about; her she still ignored. “Why should Isendre accept Aiel ways?”

The wide-eyed look she gave him was so startled he almost laughed. Immediately she scowled as if he had done something infuriating. Aiel women were surely no easier to understand than any others.

“You are certainly not soft, Aviendha.” She should take it for a compliment; the woman was as rough as a honing stone sometimes. “Explain to me about the roofmistress again. If Rhuarc is clan chief of the Taardad and chief of Cold Rocks Hold, how is it that the hold belongs to his wife and not him?”

She glowered at him a moment longer, lips working as she muttered under her breath, before answering. “Because she is _roofmistress_ , you stoneheaded wetlander. A man cannot own a roof any more than he can own land! Sometimes you wetlanders sound like savages.”

“But if Lian is roofmistress of Cold Rocks because she is Rhuarc’s wife—”

“That is different! Will you never understand? A child understands!” Taking a deep breath, she adjusted the shawl around her face. She was a pretty woman, except for looking at him most of the time as if he had committed some crime against her. What it might be, he did not know. White-haired Bair, leathery-faced and as reluctant to speak of Rhuidean as ever, had finally, unwillingly told him that Aviendha had not visited the glass columns: she would not do that until she was ready to become a Wise One. So why did she hate him? It was a mystery he would have liked an answer to.

“I will attack it from another direction,” she grumbled at him. “When a woman is to marry, if she does not already own a roof, her family builds one for her. On her wedding day her new husband carries her away from her family across his shoulder, with his brothers holding off her sisters, but at the door he puts her down and asks her permission to enter. The roof is _hers_. She can ...”

These lectures had been the most pleasant thing in the days and nights since the Trolloc attack. Not that she had been willing to talk at first, beyond one more tirade on his supposed ill-treatment of Elayne and later another embarrassing lecture meant to convince him Elayne was the perfect woman. Not until he mentioned to Rhuarc in passing that if Aviendha would not even speak to him, he wished she would at least stop staring at him. Within the hour a white-robed _gai’shain_ man came for Aviendha.

Whatever the Wise Ones had to say to her, she returned in a quivering fury to demand—demand!—that he let her teach him about Aiel ways and customs. No doubt in hope he would reveal something of his plans by the questions he asked. After the viperish subtleties of Tear, the openness of the Wise Ones’ spying was refreshing. Still, it was doubtless wise to learn what he could, and talking with Aviendha could actually be enjoyable, especially on those occasions when she seemed to forget she despised him for whatever reason. Of course, whenever she realized they had begun to talk like two people instead of captor and captive, she did have a tendency to throw one of her white-hot outbursts, as though he had lured her into a trap.

Yet even with that their conversations were pleasurable, certainly by comparison with the rest of the journey. He was even beginning to find her tantrums amusing, though he was wise enough not to let her know. If she saw a man she hated, at least she was too wrapped up in that to see He Who Comes With the Dawn, or the Dragon Reborn. Just Rand al’Thor. At any rate, she knew what she thought of him. Not like Elayne, with one letter that made his ears grow hot and another written the same day that made him wonder if he had grown fangs and horns like a Trolloc.

Sometimes he thought life would be simpler if he could just forget women altogether. Now Aviendha had started creeping into his dreams, as if Min and Elayne and the rest were not bad enough. Women tied his emotions in knots, and he had to be clearheaded now. Clearheaded and cold.

He realized he was looking at Isendre again. She wriggled slender fingers at him past Kadere’s ear; he was sure those full lips curved into a smile. _Oh, yes. Dangerous. I have to be cold and hard as steel. Sharp steel_.

Three days and nights into the fourth, and nothing else had changed. Days and nights of odd rock formations and flat-topped stone spires and buttes thrusting up from a broken, blistered land crisscrossed by mountains seemingly stuck in at random. Days of baking sun and searing winds, nights of bone-shaking cold. Whatever grew seemed to have thorns or spines, or else a touch itched like fury. Some Aviendha said were poisonous; that list seemed longer than the one of those edible. The only water was in hidden springs and tanks, though she pointed out plants that meant a deep hole would fill with slow seepage, enough to keep one or two men alive, and others that could be chewed for a sour, watery pulp.

One night lions killed two of the Shaido packhorses, roaring in the darkness as they were driven from their prey to vanish into the gullies. A wagon driver disturbed a small brown snake as they were making camp the fourth evening. A two-step, Aviendha called it later, and it proved its name. The fellow screamed and tried to run for the wagons despite seeing Moiraine hurrying toward him; he fell on his face at his second stride, dead before the Aes Sedai could dismount from her white mare. Aviendha listed venomous snakes, spiders and lizards. Poisonous lizards! Once she found one for him, two feet long and thick, with yellow stripes running down its bronze scales. Casually pinning it under a soft-booted foot, she drove her knife into the thing’s wide head, then held it up where he could see the clear, oily fluid oozing over sharp bony ridges in its mouth. A _gara_ , she explained, could bite through a boot; it could also kill a bull. Others were worse, of course. The _gara_ was slow, and not really dangerous unless you were stupid enough to step on it.

When she flung the huge lizard off of her blade, the yellow and bronze faded right into the cracked clay. Oh, yes. Just do not be stupid enough to step on it.

Moiraine divided her time between the Wise Ones and Rand, usually attempting, in that Aes Sedai way, to bully him into revealing his plans. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” she had told him just that morning, voice coolly calm, ageless face serene, but dark eyes hot as she stared at him over Aviendha’s head, “but a fool can strangle himself in the Pattern. Have a care you do not weave a noose for your neck.” She had acquired a pale cloak, almost _gai’shain_ white, that shimmered in the sun, and beneath the wide hood she wore a damp, snowy scarf folded around her forehead.

“I make no nooses for my neck.” He laughed, and she wheeled Aldieb so quickly the mare nearly knocked Aviendha down, galloping back to the Wise Ones’ party, cloak streaming behind her.

“It is stupid to anger Aes Sedai,” Aviendha muttered, rubbing her shoulder. “I did not think you were a stupid man.”

“We will just have to see whether I am or not,” he told her, not feeling like laughing anymore. Stupid? There were some risks you had to take. “We will just have to see.”

Dani rarely left the Wise Ones, walking with them as often as she rode Brightwind, sometimes taking one of them up behind her on the white stallion for a time. He had finally figured out that she was passing for full Aes Sedai again. Amys and Bair, Seana and Melaine, seemed to accept it as readily as the Tairens had, though not at all in the same way. At times one or another of them argued with her so loudly he could almost make out what they were shouting more than a hundred paces away. It was almost the manner they used with Aviendha, though her they seemed to bully rather than argue with, but then, sometimes they held what appeared to be rather heated discussions with Moiraine, too. Especially sun-haired Melaine.

The rigours of the journey had left little time for teaching. Or for learning, more accurately. The Wise Ones had been eager enough to start teaching. It was just that Rand was more interested in crawling into his blankets when they finished the day’s march than going to their tent for a lesson. They’d been getting annoyed with him about that. And with Dani, for some reason.

She was finding the Waste as unwelcoming as Rand did, and wasn’t too proud to admit it. He’d been surprised by that. Something about her put him in mind of Nynaeve, but confessing to hardship was something that Nynaeve would never do. Not so Dani. Climbing down off her horse on the second evening, she’d taken off her hat long enough to wipe her brow with her sleeve, while wincing openly. “Ouch! Better move real slow. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so stiff.”

“It’s the heat that gets to me,” he’d said, feeling compelled to match honesty with honesty. “I’m used to riding.”

She’d snorted at that. “I’ve noticed.” He hadn’t been entirely sure what she meant, but she’d looked amused. “I’ve been roaming the mountains since I could walk, hunting and playing with the animals—who were my only true friends back then. I learned all they could teach me about fighting and surviving. I know my way around a horse. It’s just that I’ve spent more than a decade studying in the Tower. I’ve grown soft.”

“A decade!? I thought ...”

“That I was younger? It’s an Aes Sedai thing,” she’d said, smiling wider at having correctly guessed what he’d been too polite to say.

“You fought well at Imre Stand. You are not completely soft,” Aviendha had told her, managing to be nice but mean at the same time. He was starting to think that was a talent of hers. Dani’s thanks had been distinctly wry.

She’d been called away by the Wise Ones then. When he asked Aviendha what was going on she muttered sourly, “They are getting tired of wai—” Cutting off abruptly, she gave him a level look, folding her arms, and went on in a cool voice, “It is Wise Ones’ business, Rand al’Thor. Ask them, if you wish, but be prepared to hear that it is no concern of yours.”

Aviendha would not say another word on the matter; instead she scraped a bit of greyish lichen from a rock and began describing how to poultice a wound with it. The woman was learning a Wise One’s ways too quickly to suit him. The Wise Ones themselves paid him little apparent attention during the days; of course, they did not need to, with Aviendha perched on his shoulder, in a manner of speaking.

The rest of the Aiel, the Jindo at any rate, became a bit less standoffish each day, perhaps a little less uneasy about what He Who Comes With the Dawn meant for them, but Aviendha was the only one who spoke to him at any length. Each evening Lan came to practice the sword, and Rhuarc to teach him the spears and the Aiel’s odd way of fighting with both hands and feet. The Warder knew something of that, and joined the practice sessions. Tam, too, came to take part in the swordfighting practice, though the unarmed fighting was something he confessed to knowing little of. Fighting against both him and Lan at once won Rand a veritable bounty of bruises but he took those bruises and asked for more. How else was he supposed to get better? Some of the Aiel came to join the Shienarans who watched his training sessions, a fact that made Izana smile sadly and say something that tickled Rand’s mind with an odd familiarity. “Looks like everyone’s curious about the newcomer’s skills,” he’d said. Try as he might, Rand couldn’t figure out why that phrase made him feel so strange, and he soon got distracted by the clack of wood on wood. Few of the Aiel said much of anything, even those like Mangin that he knew from Tear.

Branwen was one of those who did speak, in her forthright way, while he was catching his breath after a particular hard bout with Lan and Tam.

“I am glad that you are determined to become a proper warrior, and I look forward to see your future honour. The path of arms is the brightest of all!”

Rand hadn’t been very sure what to say to that. Fighting was a necessity to him. He saw little honour in it. He also knew better than to try to explain that to an Aiel, so he’d simply thanked her for the compliment.

A pair of pretty blue eyes examined his naked chest. “Your muscles are well honed, Rand al’Thor, and your technique is impressive. That could have only been accomplished through years and years of constant study, no less. Who trained you, in your Theren sept?”

Rand looked to Tam and got only a soft chuckle. He looked to Harilin—the only one left of the band Urien had led to the Theren—now squatting on a nearby hillock, and got only a wide, knowing grin. She’d never been particularly helpful. He wondered exactly how terrible an idea it would be to admit to these warlike people that he’d never had any experience of combat until just over a year ago. Pretty terrible, he’d decided, before fobbing Branwen off with a true but not remotely honest tale of having stayed in Agelmar Jagad’s fortress and fought on the same battlefield as Syoman Surtir. It was the kind of misleading not-lie that Moiraine would have been proud of, and having spoken it left Rand in a sour mood for the rest of the evening. He even turned down Merile’s advances, and left her and Raine to keep each other company that night.

He was never unwatched, even if he did sometimes go hours at a time without speaking. Loial was always there, watching interestedly, documenting everything. The Shienarans were always there, too, watching dolefully from just far enough back that no-one would mistake them for his guards. Rand hated that almost as much as they did, but it was necessary. He could not journey through the Aiel Waste, while hoping to take command of the Aiel clans, with a Shienaran escort separating him from the people he presumed to lead. That didn’t make his neglect of those who had done so much for him feel any less unjust. He knew he’d have to find another role for them soon. Thankfully, Berelain had given him a few ideas in that regard. If everything went to plan.

Whether it would remained to be seen. Most others avoided Rand, especially the wagondrivers, who had learned he was the Dragon Reborn, a man who could channel; when he caught one of those rough-faced men looking at him, the fellow might as well have been staring at the Dark One. Not Kadere, though, or the gleeman.

Almost every morning as they started out, the peddler rode over on one of the mules from the wagons the Trollocs had burned, his face seeming even darker for the long white scarf tied about his head and hanging down his neck. With Rand he was all diffidence, but his cold, unchanging eyes made his hooked nose look an eagle’s beak in truth.

“My Lord Dragon,” he had begun the morning after the attack, then wiped sweat from his face with his ever-present handkerchief and shifted uncomfortably on the battered old saddle he had found somewhere for the mule. “If I may call you that?”

The charred wreckage of the three wagons was dwindling in the distance to the south, and with them the graves of two of Kadere’s men and a good many more Aiel. The Trollocs had been dragged from the camps and left for the scavengers, yipping, big-eared creatures—Rand did not know whether they were large foxes or small dogs; they looked like bits of each—and vultures with red-tipped wings, some still circling in the sky as if fearful of landing in the melee among their fellows.

“Call me as you will,” Rand told him.

“My Lord Dragon. I have been thinking of what you said yesterday.” Kadere looked around as if he feared being overheard, though Aviendha was with the Wise Ones, and his own train of wagons, fifty paces or more away, held the nearest ears. He dropped his voice near a whisper anyway, and wiped his face nervously. His eyes never altered, though. “What you said about knowledge being valuable, paving the way to greatness. It is true.”

Rand looked at him for a long moment, not blinking, keeping his face blank. “You said that, not I,” he said finally.

“Well, perhaps I did. But it is true, is it not, my Lord Dragon?” Rand nodded, and the peddler went on, still whispering, eyes still shifting for eavesdroppers. “Yet there can be danger in knowledge. In giving more than receiving. A man who sells knowledge must have not only his price, but safeguards. Assurances and sureties against ... repercussions. Would you not agree?”

“Do you have knowledge you want to ... sell, Kadere?”

The heavyset man frowned at his train. Keille had dropped down to walk awhile despite the growing heat, her bulk sheathed in white and a white lace shawl on the ivory combs in her coarse dark hair. Every so often she glanced at the two men riding together, her expression unreadable at this distance. It still seemed odd, someone so large moving so lightly. Isendre had climbed out onto the driver’s seat of the first wagon and was watching more openly, hanging on to lean around the corner of the white-painted wagon as it swayed and lurched.

“That woman may be the death of me yet,” Kadere muttered. “Perhaps we can talk again later, my Lord Dragon, if it please you.” Booting the mule hard, he trotted to the lead wagon and swung himself onto the driver’s seat with surprising nimbleness, tying the mule’s reins to an iron ring at the corner of the big wagonbox. He and Isendre disappeared inside and did not emerge again until they stopped for the night.

He returned the next day, and other days when he saw that Rand was alone, always hinting at knowledge he might sell for the proper price, if the proper safeguards were set. Once he went so far as to say that anything—murder, treason, anything at all—could be forgiven in return for knowledge, and seemed increasingly nervous when Rand would not agree with him. Whatever he wanted to sell, he apparently wanted Rand’s blanket protection for every misdeed he might ever have done.

“I don’t know that I want to buy knowledge,” Rand told him more than once. “There’s always the question of price, isn’t there? Some prices I might not want to pay.”

It had been true then, and it remained true now. Other prices were at least slightly more palatable, though, such as putting up with Aviendha’s temper in exchange for learning something of Aiel customs.

“... and that is how it is,” the woman in question said, nodding to herself. “Surely you must understand about a roofmistress, now.”

“Not really,” Rand admitted. He realized that for some time he had just been listening to the sound of her voice, not to the words. “I’m sure it works just fine, though.”

She growled at him. “When you marry,” she said in a tight voice, “with the Dragons on your arms proving your blood, will you follow that blood, or will you demand to own everything but the dress your wife stands in, like some wetland savage?”

“That’s not at all the way it is,” he protested, “Not even close! Any woman where I come from would brain a man who thought it was. Anyway, don’t you think that ought to be settled between me and whoever I _do_ decide to marry?” If anything, she scowled harder than before. At least she left him in peace after that.

It was not Kadere who came that evening. Instead, Natael drew Rand aside, after the fires were lit and cooking smells began to drift among the low tents. The gleeman seemed almost as nervous as Kadere. “I have thought a good deal about you,” he said, peering at Rand sideways, head tilted to one side. “You should have a grand epic to tell your tale. The Dragon Reborn. He Who Comes With the Dawn. Man of who knows how many prophecies, in this Age and others.” He drew his cloak around him, the colourful patches fluttering in the breeze. Twilight was short in the Waste; night and cold came on quickly and together. “How do you feel about your prophesied destiny? I must know, if I am to compose this epic.”

“Feel?” Rand looked around the camp, at the Jindo moving among the tents. How many of them would be dead before he was done? “Tired. I feel tired.”

“Hardly a heroic emotion,” Natael murmured. “But to be expected, given your destiny. The world riding on your shoulders, most people willing to kill you given the chance, the rest fools who think to use you, ride you to power and glory.”

“Which are you, Natael?”

“I? I am a simple gleeman.” The man lifted an edge of his patch-covered cloak as if for proof. “I would not take your place for all the world, not with the fate that accompanies it. Death or madness, or both. ‘His blood on the rocks of Shayol Ghul ...’ That is what _The Karaethon Cycle_ , the Prophecies of the Dragon, says, is it not? That you must die to save fools who will heave a sigh of relief at your death. No, I would not accept that for all your power and more.”

“Rand,” Dani said, stepping out of the deepening darkness, the wide-brimmed hat she still wore making her face hard to see, “don’t you think it’s time we got this over with?” He sat very still, wondering what she meant. Moiraine was with her, face shrouded in the deep cowl of her white cloak, and Bair and Amys, Melaine and Seana, heads swathed in dark shawls, all watching him, calm and cold as the night.

He did not notice Aviendha at first, trailing behind the others. For a moment he thought he saw compassion on her face, but if it was there, it vanished as soon as she saw him looking. Imagination. He _was_ tired.

“Another time,” Natael said, speaking to Rand but looking at the women in that peculiar sidelong manner. “We will talk another time.” With the slightest of bows he strode away.

“Does the future chafe you, Rand?” Moiraine said quietly when the gleeman was gone. “Prophecies speak in flowery, hidden language. They do not always mean what they seem to say.”

“The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills,” he told her. “I will do what I must. Remember that, Moiraine. I will do what I must.” She seemed satisfied; with Aes Sedai, it was hard to tell. She would not be satisfied when she learned everything. He frowned at Dani. “What did you mean? Get what over with?”

It was Seana who answered. “You have been avoiding us. You cannot learn to control the dream by avoiding us.”

Rand still ached from the day’s journey and the evening’s training session. The last thing he wanted was to start another task. But he did it anyway. “Alright. But if you can’t get me out of bed in the morning, it’s your own fault.” Seana smiled, and he realised too late how that could be taken. He didn’t rush to clarify, though. Instead, he studied what he could see of Dani’s face. “What has this got to do with Dani?”

“She will be joining us. I have already told Raine Cinclare where to wait,” said Amys.

Rand stiffened, and not just because she saw fit to give Raine orders. “Dani? Why?”

The girl herself answered, but not before planting her fists on her hips. “Is that a problem? I have a _ter’angreal_ , like Elayne’s. I may not be a Dreamer, but I still need to learn how not to get myself killed in that place.”

 _Was_ it a problem? She wasn’t so bad, for a Tower initiate. That didn’t make him any easier with one of them muscling in. The other Accepted kept their distance from him, either staring at him coldly or avoiding his eye altogether. Well, Theodrin had spoken to him kindly enough that time. It was most likely his own fault that she hadn’t tried again. He hadn’t exactly been friendly. Dani, though, Dani was not content to keep a distance. She was always with the Wise Ones, or the Maidens, or Raine and Merile. He scowled when he realised he was looking at her out of the corner of his eye, in just the way he’d been privately criticising Natael for doing moments ago. He made himself face her directly, as a man should. “Fine by me,” he said gruffly. “I just didn’t know you were using _Tel’aran’rhiod_. Not that I’m surprised by an ... Aes Sedai keeping secrets, of course.”

That won him the usual round of censorious stares, from everyone up to and including Dani herself. That, too, he let wash over him.

It was not to one of their open-sided tents that they led him—it was far too late, and the Waste far too cold, for one of those. Instead, the Wise Ones ducked into a low tent out among their little cluster, leaving Rand and Dani to follow. He could see little in the darkness, but he noticed that Moiraine did not accompany them into the tent, preferring to seek out her own. He didn’t notice Ilyena at all, until her flowing Volsuni accent challenged the night.

“Where are you going?”

Dani stopped so abruptly that Rand almost bumped into her. “I have a training session with the Wise Ones tonight. I’ll be late to—” All of a sudden, it was Rand who was the one muscling in. He would have ducked into the tent and left the two of them to talk about whatever private business they wanted to talk about, but Dani was standing right in front of the entrance. “—You might as well go on to bed. It’s cold out,” Dani finished, a touch defiantly. She did not look Rand’s way, but he could almost feel the tension radiating off her.

“I’m fine, Dani, really. Cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Naturally. If I have to hear about Volsuni winters one more time ...”

“It is where I belong.”

“I can understand that. The cold clears the cobwebs from my skull. Helps me think. I’ll see you later,” said Dani, before ducking into the low tent.

Instead of following, Rand found himself staring at the dark shape that was Ilyena, hidden from view but not from imagination. Something about what she’d said, or the way she’d said it, spoke to him on a deeper level than words. It was foolish. He shouldn’t make assumptions. Dani surely knew her better than he did. Yet her casual departure left him troubled. He should mind his business. Hold his tongue. But what if ...?

“Don’t do anything to hurt yourself,” he who had once wanted to end his own life said quietly. He heard her breath catch. She said nothing. After a long silence, he spoke again. “Even if you think you deserve it—which you don’t—the people who rely on you would suffer for it.”

Ilyena did not respond, so Rand followed the others into the tent, feeling as if he’d made a fool of himself. He had to bend almost double to get in, and was unable to straighten much even when he was inside. The heat was welcome, despite the uncomfortably cramped space.

Raine had been waiting for them inside, sitting on her heels beside the small fire in the middle of the tent, beneath the smoke hole. The light caught in her yellow eyes and made them shine like polished gold.

“Beautiful,” someone whispered, and Rand was surprised to realise it hadn’t been him. He said nothing as he walked in a half crouch past a wide-eyed Dani to find a place among the scattered cushions and rugs that encircled the fire.

The Wise Ones had already made themselves comfortable. Their eyes on him were still hard.

“Finally. The work ethic of wetlanders is not strong,” said Bair.

Rand considered a number of responses, and swallowed them all. He sat cross-legged on the cushions beside Raine, his face as smooth as his voice. “Let’s get to it. What are we going to learn tonight?”

“We will enter _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , and you will each show us what you can do there,” said Amys.

Dani fished a clear amber plaque out of her pouch, and cradled it in both hands. There was an image of a sleeping woman inside it. The _ter’angreal_ she’d mentioned, he assumed. “How does it work?” he asked.

“You just channel Spirit into it. Then it knocks you out and you, ah, wake up in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. Is that the right way to describe it?”

“It is close enough,” Amys said. “We dreamwalkers can enter the dream at will. Here is a potion that will help you others to sleep. If you do not enter the dream on your own, we will find you and draw you in.” The small cups she gestured to were filled with a murky liquid. Raine sniffed the air, and her nose wrinkled.

“Draw us in,” Rand murmured. He should have known that was possible. He and Perrin might have found their ways into _Tel’aran’rhiod_ on their own, but Ba’alzamon had haunted Mat’s dreams as well, in the early days. Since he’d stopped, Mat’s dreams had been entirely his own, so far as Rand knew. “Can that be prevented?” Perhaps the biggest reason he wanted these lessons was to make sleeping safe again, especially with Lanfear around.

“That is for another night,” Melaine said. “Drink.”

He leaned over to pick up the cups. Raine took the one he offered her with a slight grimace, but downed it all in one shot. Rand did the same, stamping down on the suspicious part of him that urged otherwise. Suspicion was good. Too much suspicion was madness. The Wise Ones would hardly poison him.

“It will work fast. You should lie down,” Seana said.

He took her advice, while searching her face for traces of the young girl he’d met in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. There was red in her cheeks by the time his eyes grew too heavy to keep open. He fell asleep with Raine curled up on the ground beside him.

And woke, as Dani had phrased it, on a now familiar mountainside. It was day now, somehow, but the tall woman who stood on a rocky outcropping overlooking the pass looking no less striking in the less forgiving light of the sun. Lanfear turned as soon as he appeared.

“There you are. I was starting to wonder if you were avoiding me. It was almost enough to make me upset. You would not want that, would you, my love?”

Rand hid his grimace. He could not deal with her right now, but he also couldn’t afford to reject her too bluntly. What to do? He went to her, arms open. She stood stiff in his embrace at first, but soon relaxed into it. How long until the Wise Ones found him? “Who would ever want to avoid a woman as spectacular as you?” he said, before his lips found hers. He kissed her with a hunger that, to his despair, was not entirely forced. He kept the kiss brief, though, his heart racing at the thought of Amys suddenly appearing nearby and what might come of such a confrontation. “We shouldn’t be meeting like this, though. There are too many eyes, and some belonging to people I can’t afford to have silenced. I can’t be seen with you.”

“If they are standing in our way—keeping us from being together!—then they should die,” Lanfear said, the light of madness dancing in her dark eyes.

By force of will, Rand did not shove her away. Instead, he combed his fingers through her silky hair. “I don’t want to kill anyone who might be useful,” he said, disgusted with himself as much as with her but letting none of it show. “For now, let us keep our relationship a secret.” He kissed her again, a brief peck. “And now I must run, much as I want to stay. We can continue this some other time.”

Lanfear let him step out of her embrace, but she looked decidedly frustrated at doing so. “I have already waited too long for this reunion. Now that I have you again, I don’t want to wait for anything. Finish your business with these faithless wretches soon, Lews Therin.”

“I will,” he said, pretending not to hear the threat in her words. He closed his eyes, and willed himself away from that place, back to the Waste, where his sleeping body now rested.

The four Wise Ones were gathered there, under the light of a noon sun. It was jarring, the way it could be daytime here even though he knew it was night in the real world. Raine was with them, still in her wolf-like form despite the ragged pink dress that she now wore, its hem falling to mid thigh, with her bushy tail poking out at the bottom. Even with her inhuman features, he could tell that she was just as discomforted as him.

“It is good that we did not have to draw you in as we did her,” Amys said when she saw him. “We were just about to go find you.”

Rand shaded his eyes with his hand, a gauntleted hand, as it turned out. He was back in his battered old armour. That might look suspicious. But then, he’d given them no reason to think him a trusting man, so perhaps they wouldn’t mark it. He was just glad he’d parted company with Lanfear before they went looking for him.

“Well, I found you first. I’ve puzzled out a little of how this place works on my own.”

Melaine sniffed. “Do not let your head become too inflated. There is much more to learn.”

Seana nodded. “For now, we must find Daniele Rulonir. You know her best, Amys. Can you locate her?”

“Perhaps. Gather close. I will bring you all with me.”

While Amys frowned in concentration, Raine sidled up to Rand. “I’m sorry I needed to be fetched, Shadowkiller. I make our pack look weak.”

He touched her hairy shoulder. “Don’t be silly. You are far from weak. And you don’t need to apologise to me for anything.” She wagged her tail in response. Rand was suddenly light-headed. _What has become of my life? Seducing a Forsaken, and cuddling with a tailed girl. Could I be mad already and imagining all of this?_ It would make more sense that it being real.

“I know I embarrassed you when I fainted. It’s why you didn’t come to see me. I won’t do it again, I promise,” Raine said, her now-harsh voice doing nothing to hide her sadness.

Rand blinked down at her, recalling how angry Dani had been with him back then. He’d dismissed her complaints, but if Raine ... Blood and ashes. He’d honestly thought nothing of it, but if she was taking it this hard then maybe he should have done what Dani said. He took her in his arms, and kissed her lightly on her hard muzzle. “You didn’t embarrass me. And it’s I who should be apologising. I knew you were being taken care of, and didn’t think there was any point to my crowding in. I didn’t mean anything by it, certainly not anything like that.”

“What? In the name of the Light? Is going on?”

He turned his attention from Raine, and was surprised to find that they were no longer in the Aiel Waste. It was still hot, but not quite so punishingly so. There was a mountain range off to his right, and rolling grassland to his left. There was a tidy farm out that way, too, with a two storey farmhouse atop one of the hills. Dani Rulonir stood between them and that house, with her mouth hanging open.

“We are in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. Haven’t you been here before?” he said.

She just stared at him wordlessly. Raine stirred beneath his arm. “I think she means me.”

He looked at her, saw the now pretty but still not quite human face, with the pointed ears, the hard nose, and the short brown fur covering it, and felt like a fool. “Ah. Yes. Of course.”

“Not everyone is as understanding as you, my love,” Raine said, cuddling up against him in a way that was more than a little dangerous, given their location. Stray thoughts could affect the world around you here.

“It’s ... it’s just ... I mean ... I’m a little surprised is all. I don’t mean anything by it,” Dani tried to explain. “You don’t look bad, or anything. Just not what I was expecting.” The dress she was wearing went from faded brown work clothes to near-transparent silk and back again as she rambled.

“Then let that be the first lesson,” said Amys. She and the Wise Ones were clustered together, their shawls drawn around them. “ _Tel’aran’rhiod_ is malleable. Expect nothing here. And trust less.”

It was her tone that warned him. Raine was already close to hand, but he had to snatch at _saidin_ and spin a hasty net of Air to drag a gasping Dani to him before he could move them all. He didn’t know what to expect, but the wide pit that opened where he had been standing, and the snakes that filled it like an overflowing chalice, still made him gape. He wasn’t there anymore, of course, he and the girls were standing five feet to the other side of Amys.

When she turned to look at him there was no trace of surprise on her sun-tanned face. “Good. You are not completely inexperienced.”

“Burn me! You tried to kill me. Again!” Dani shouted.

“Again?”

She ignored that, and so did Amys. “Had you failed to defend yourself, you would have been discomforted but not otherwise harmed,” the Wise One said.

Dani pushed Rand’s arm off and stepped clear of him. “That’s no excuse. Stop attacking me. I’m not your enemy, and I don’t want to be your enemy, but I won’t be your footstool either.”

“Fight?” Raine asked. Her face had shifted slightly, back towards the more wolfish one she’d worn when he first saw her in this place. She was up on her toes, ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

“No fight. It was just a test,” he said.

“It was. But if the wetlanders are too delicate for this kind of training, there are other ways. The end result is the same either way,” Seana said. She appeared as herself this time, rather than the younger version of her, but Rand suspected he knew what she meant even so.

“Let us not, Seana. Not everyone has your tendencies, and I would rather not make this more difficult than it needs to be,” said Bair. Melaine agreed with her, leaving Seana to glumly shrug her acceptance of the majority decision.

“I wouldn’t have minded,” Rand told her. “It would definitely have been better than fighting.”

Her smile creased her face, but not at all in an unpleasant way. “Perhaps I will give you some private lessons later.”

Rand nodded. “I’d like that.”

Dani was looking back and forth between them suspiciously. She shook her head. “No. He couldn’t be that bad,” he heard her mumble under her breath.

Amys had her arms folded before her. She faced Dani sternly. “You must learn to control yourself, and to defend yourself. How are you to do this without accepting attack? Does the _algai’d’siswai_ take no bruise while training?”

Dani’s anger faded, only to be replaced by a stubborn, almost sullen look. “Well, what about what Seana was suggesting?”

Amys tsked in annoyance. “You would not like that. Or perhaps you would. I do not judge. It does not matter. We did not come here for such things.”

Suspicion grew on the Domani’s face, and on Raine’s. “Does she mean like the stuff we did those times?” Raine asked.

Dani stared at her for a moment, and as she did her clothes slowly began to fade away. She had a very lean body, and the coppery red tone of her skin was not a product of the sun. Her breasts were not large, but well proportioned to her frame. Long legs. Narrow waist. Rand felt himself responding to the sight of her, and looked away.

“Um, you’re very pretty, Dani, but why are you showing us all this?” Raine asked.

Dani followed her hand gesture downwards, and her face blazed even redder. She pressed her knees together, hastily covering her breasts and her dark bush with her hands. “What the—!? Why am I naked!?”

“Because you wished to be. We have told you: _Tel’aran’rhiod_ is malleable, and so are you while you are here,” Melaine said exasperatedly. “Just look at your friend if you doubt it.”

Dani did look at Raine, whose appearance had shifted yet again, this time back to a more human looking, if still furry, girl. She looked at Rand, too, still barely covering her nudity, flushed, wide eyed. And, he was forced to admit, quite attractive. He had been keeping himself under control and firmly enmeshed in his armour, but that look broke his self-discipline. It only took a moment for him to realise what had happened and to will himself back to decency, but that was long enough for Dani to have seen him standing there naked. Naked and erect.

She hopped backwards as fast as she could while still keeping herself covered. “Make this stop!” she shrieked, and suddenly there was an aerie of eagles swirling all around them, having appeared as if from nowhere. No, not “as if”, they _had_ come from nowhere, willed here by the panicking Accepted.

“Enough!” Bair called, her reedy voice ringing with command. The eagles disappeared as quickly as they had come, their talons having scored no flesh and their wings having done no more than buffet and annoy. At her gesture, Dani’s clothes reappeared—not the farmgirl’s dress or the Domani gown, but the clothes she’d been wearing that day, in the Waste. Even her hat came into being. “Enough of this foolishness. Control! How can you be so lacking in self-control? Is this the result of being raised in the wetlands?” The other Wise Ones mirrored her scorn.

Dani looked relieved to be clothed again. Relieved and ashamed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was so angry I summoned the dream shapes without thinking, just as I did when ... I ... I couldn’t help myself. I don’t know how I do this, or how to stop! But you stopped me. That’s never happened before!”

“Now you see why I did not want you going to your meetings with Elayne alone,” said Amys.

“Wait. What meetings?” Rand asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dani said, refusing to meet his eye.

“I think it does. Meetings here? In _Tel’aran’rhiod_? Blood and ashes! Why didn’t I think of that! It’s so obvious. And so useful. Burn me.” He felt compelled to pace, and so did. He had to do better. Mistakes like this could ruin far more than just him. “When do you meet her? And where?” The Accepted just stood with her back to him. “Where, Dani?”

“I don’t owe you any answers,” she said. “If Elayne or Nynaeve wanted you to know, they could have told you themselves.”

So Nynaeve came here, too. Both at once, or one at a time? How many _ter’angreal_ did they have? What she’d said about not owing him was true enough, but not something he was about to settle for. “I’m not playing games here, Dani. I’m trying to save the world from the Shadow. It’s not as if I just want to see them so we can chat about the harvest. This is important.”

She stubbornly kept her back to him, and Rand growled in frustration. She might be pretty, but she was still a damn Aes Sedai in the making. It was just as well she reminded him of it now, before he let himself get fooled into thinking she was different. He would just have to find Elayne himself. If Amys could do it, then so could he. But how to know when she was in _Tel’aran’rhiod_?

“It seems we will have to start with the basics. For all of them, even him,” Amys said. Rand coloured when he realised that she’d noticed his slip, as well. It had lowered her opinion of his skill in this place. It had also shown her what she wasn’t supposed to see. Her, and Melaine, and even Bair! Seana had already seen it, of course. She was the only one of them who was smiling, too.

“All three lack control, as you said, Bair. I begin to regret undertaking this task,” Melaine said. “You. Raine Cinclare. I will call you Raine, after your custom, but do not think this means we are close. Can you make yourself look as you truly are, or is this—” she gestured at Raine’s body. “—something you do without intention?”

That got Dani to turn around at last, but she still refused to look at Rand. Raine squatted down, knees parted and both hands resting on the grass between them. It would have been a very revealing pose if her body hadn’t been covered in brown fur. “It is my true form. I am Bane, as well as Raine.” Golden eyes blinked slowly when she realised that none of the other women knew what she was talking about. He saw her struggle with the question of whether to tell them about the wolves. Saw her decide, and square her shoulders. “I can hear the voices of the wolves in my mind. Even from far away. They don’t speak in words, but in sights and smells that become words. Hard to explain. Kin to them, you see? Not really a girl anymore. Not completely. This ... this is me. The real me. Bane is what the wolves call me.”

Rand didn’t like the silence that followed, so he broke it by repeating something he’d said so often it had become rote. “You are still very much human, Raine. Stop telling yourself otherwise.”

Amys was studying Raine. “You said there were others like you. Is this what you meant?”

Raine nodded. “Wolfbrothers, wolfsisters, wolfkin. Wolves have names for them all, like mine. Some dangerous. Green eyes especially.”

“And they can all use _Tel’aran’rhiod_?”

Another nod. “Wolves do, too. How they talk.”

That caused a flurry of talk among the Wise Ones, talk that they didn’t want Rand and the others hearing. They kept their heads together, but that wasn’t enough to explain the utter lack of sound that was coming from that group. They must have done something to block him out. For once, he didn’t care. What they thought of wolfkin was hardly any business of his.

“Incredible,” said Dani. “When I saw you like this I thought you were just ... I don’t know what I thought. But you really are part wolf?”

Raine nodded yet again. “It’s not simply my looks. I can feel a wild power within me that’s frightening ... yet natural and right. I don’t know what I am sometimes. But Rand keeps me grounded. It’s why I let him hold my leash.”

Dani’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t help but blush and glance away when she looked to him for confirmation. She cursed softly.

“You have given us much to think on,” Amys said. She and the others had finished their chat, for now, and become a quadruped of stern statues again. “We will have to resume this lesson tomorrow night. I will show those of you who do not know how to leave the dreamworld how to do so. Attend me.”

Rand listened as carefully as the other two did. He thought he’d gotten the hang of waking up already, but it couldn’t hurt to hear from a professional. He found himself watching Dani’s face rather than Amys’, though. She had very striking cheekbones, high and sharp. And she was keeping him from Elayne and Nynaeve. He’d have to do something about that.


	64. Veils

The crowds were thick in the confined winding streets of the Calpene near the Great Circle; the smoke of countless cook fires rising above the high white walls gave the reason. Sour smells of smoke and cooking and long unwashed sweat hung heavy in the humid morning air with the crying of children and the vague murmurs that always clung to large masses of people, together enough to muffle the shrill caws of the gulls sailing overhead. The shops in this area had long since locked the iron grilles over their doors for good.

Disgusted, Egeanin threaded her way through the throng afoot. It was dreadful that order had broken down enough for penniless refugees to take over the circles, sleeping among the stone benches. It was as bad as their rulers letting them starve. Her heart should have been gladdened—this dispirited rabble could never resist the _Hailene_ , and then proper order would be restored—but she hated looking at it.

Most of the ragged people around her seemed too apathetic to wonder at a woman in their midst in a clean, well-tended blue riding dress, silk if plainly cut. Men and women in once fine garb, soiled and wrinkled now, speckled the crowd, so perhaps she did not stand out enough for contrast. The few who seemed to wonder whether her clothes meant coins in her purse were dissuaded by the competent way she carried her stout staff, as tall as she was. Guards and chair and bearers had had to be left behind today. Ikyu would surely have realized he was being followed by that array. At least this dress with its divided skirts gave her a little freedom of movement.

Keeping the weasely little man in sight was easy even in this mass of people, despite having to dodge oxcarts or the occasional wagon, hauled by sweating bare-chested men more often than animals. Ikyu and seven or eight companions, burly rough-faced men all, shoved through in a knot, an eddy of curses following them. Those fellows angered her. Ikyu meant to rob again, and possibly kill. Again. She should never have paid him to stir up unrest. Greed and the memory of gold had apparently washed out the hide-flaying tongue-lashing she had given him along with that last purse.

Shouts from behind pulled her head around and tightened her hands on the staff. A small space had opened up, as it always did around trouble. A bellowing man in a torn, once-fine yellow coat was on his knees in the street, clutching his right arm where it bent the wrong way. Huddling over him protectively, a weeping woman in a tattered green gown was crying at a veiled fellow already melting into the crowd. “He only asked for a coin! He only asked!” The crowd swirled in around them again.

Grimacing, Egeanin turned back. And stopped with an oath that drew a few startled glances. Ikyu and his fellows had vanished. Pushing her way to a small stone fountain where water gushed from the mouth of a bronze fish on the side of a flat-roofed wineshop, she roughly displaced two of the women filling pots and leaped up onto the coping, ignoring their indignant curses. From there she could see over the heads of the crowd. Cramped streets ran off in every direction, twisting around the hills. Bends and white-plastered buildings cut her view to less than a hundred paces at best, but Ikyu could not have gone farther than that in those few moments.

Abruptly she found him, hiding in a deep doorway thirty paces on, but up on his toes to peer down the street. The others were easy enough to locate then, leaning against buildings to either side of the street, trying not to be noticed. They were not the only ones lining the walls, but where the rest huddled dispiritedly, their scared, broken-nosed faces held expectation.

So it was to be here, their attack. Certainly no-one would interfere, any more than people had when that fellow’s arm was broken. But who?

There were plenty of people climbing up the street toward Ikyu, most in those transparent veils, the women with their hair braided. Without a second glance Egeanin ruled out two in sedan chairs, with bodyguards marching alongside; Gelb’s street toughs would not tangle with near their own number. Whoever they were after would have no more than two or three men for company if that. That seemed to include all the other women in her view, whether in rags or drab country dresses or the more clinging styles Taraboner women favoured.

Suddenly three of those women, talking together as they rounded a far bend, seized Egeanin’s eye. With their hair in slender braids and transparent veils across their faces, they appeared to be Taraboners, but they were out of place here. Those thin, scandalously draped dresses, one green, one red, the other blue, were silk, not linen or finespun wool. Women clothed like that rode in sedan chairs; they did not walk, especially not here. And they did not carry barrel staves on their shoulders like clubs. The women had guards, and properly attentive ones, but only three of them.

Dismissing the woman with red-gold hair, and the short one with the hooded eyes, she studied the third closely. Her dark braids were unusually long, nearly to her waist. At this distance, the woman looked very much like a _sul’dam_ named Surine. Not Surine, though. Surine had disappeared at Falme. She was probably dead, but the chaos of that evacuation had left many questions unanswered.

She noticed Ikyu studying the richly dressed women, too, while his thugs watched him, waiting for his nod. Muttering under her breath, Egeanin jumped down and began pushing through the jostling mass between her and Ikyu. With luck she could reach him in time to call him off. The fool. The greedy, weasel-brained fool!

* * *

“We should have hired chairs, Nynaeve,” Elayne said again, wondering for the hundredth time how Taraboner women talked without catching the veils in their mouths. Spitting it out, she added, “We are going to have to use these things.”

A weedy-faced fellow stopped drifting toward them through the crowd when Nynaeve hefted her barrel stave threateningly. “That is what they are for.” Her glare might have encouraged the man’s loss of interest. She fumbled at the dark braids hanging over her shoulders and made a disgusted sound; Elayne did not know when she would become used to not having that one thick braid to tug. “And feet are for walking. How could we look or ask questions being carried around like pigs to sale? I would feel a complete fool in one of those idiot chairs. In any case, I’d rather trust to my own wits than men I do not know.”

“There is no need to worry, Lady Elayne. If any of the thieves in this city think to make trouble, we will deal with them,” Ragan said.

Elayne wished she shared his confidence. She didn’t doubt that he, Katsui and Areku would fight bravely to defend them, but there were so many people crammed into the city, and far too many of those people had a desperate look about them.

“I know you will,” Shimoku said before Elayne could respond.

Elayne found herself wishing _Wavedancer_ had not sailed, but the Sailmistress had been eager to spread word of the _Coramoor_ to Dantorin and Cantorin. Twenty bodyguards would have suited her very well, and she was sure she could have persuaded Jorin to lend her some.

She sensed as much as felt something brushing the purse at her belt; clutching at the purse with one hand, she spun around, raising her own stave. The throng flowing by spread a little around her, people barely glancing her way as they elbowed one another, but there was no sign of the would-be cutpurse. At least she could still feel the coins inside. She had taken to wearing her Great Serpent ring and the twisted stone _ter’angreal_ on a cord around her neck in imitation of Nynaeve after the first time she had nearly lost a purse. In their three days in Tanchico she _had_ lost two. Twenty guards would be just about right. And a carriage. With curtains at the windows.

“Perhaps we should all stay together in future,” she suggested, but Nynaeve immediately began shaking her head.

“This is a big city. It will take too long to search it that way. If anything, we should be split into smaller groups. Pairs even.” Elayne winced. The woman was far too stubborn for, well, anyone’s good. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Ragan? You’d have an easier time delivering your letters, then.”

The Shienaran didn’t get angry at her rebuke now, any more than he had the half dozen other times she’d voiced it since they’d caught him delivering a message from Thom to a woman at one of the soup kitchens Nynaeve had donated to. He’d been unapologetic when he explained that Thom wanted to re-establish contact with some friends in the city and had asked him to help. Elayne had no doubt that Thom’s “friends” would be sending him more than news of their families back. She didn’t mind that—every nation had its network of eyes and ears. Her mother certainly did. She didn’t like being reminded that Ragan didn’t really work for them, though, and Nynaeve _definitely_ hadn’t liked being reminded of it.

“I have not been doing it in secret,” Ragan said mildly. Nynaeve sniffed.

Shimoku just sighed, so it fell to Elayne to head off the argument, as usual. Resuming the slow climb up the street beside Nynaeve, she said, “If you won’t use the chairs, then we should not be wearing these dresses. I can remember a time when you stuffed me into a farmgirl’s dress.” She spat out the veil once more. Idiotic thing.

“They make a good disguise,” Nynaeve replied curtly. “We blend in.”

Elayne gave a small sniff. As if plainer dresses would not have blended even better. Nynaeve would not admit she had come to enjoy wearing silks and pretty dresses. Elayne simply wished she had not taken it so far. True, everyone took them for Taraboners—until they spoke, at least—but even with a lace-trimmed neck right up under her chin, this close-draped green silk at least felt more revealing than anything she had ever worn before. Certainly anything she had ever worn in public. More than felt, if it was clinging to her body in the same way Nynaeve’s and Shimoku’s were clinging to theirs. Nynaeve, on the other hand, strode along the cramped street as if no-one was looking at them at all. Well, maybe no-one was—not because of how their dresses fit, anyway—but it surely seemed they were.

Their shifts would have been almost as decent. Cheeks heating, she tried to stop thinking of how the silk moulded itself to her. _Stop that! It is perfectly decent. It is!_

“I wonder if Keestis’ group—”

She cut off with a gasp when a bulky, balding man in a worn brown coat shoved through the crowd and tried to throw thick arms around Areku. He failed miserably, the female soldier’s elbow sending him staggering back, clutching a nose that had surely been broken for at least the second time, but the attempt was so much more blatant and than the other robberies had been. While angry, shouting Shienarans reached for their weapons, rough-clad men with scarred faces and hands that looked as if they had been hammered on stone for years rushed in from all directions. Ragan swept one man’s feet out from under him and slammed an open palm into his chin, the combination making the man’s head crash painfully against the cobbles. Others rushed past him while he was busy, though, closing in on the three Accepted.

Elayne whipped the barrel stave from her shoulder and gave the first man to approach a crack across his broad face that turned his charge into a stumble. She was still gathering breath for a startled scream when a second man, just as big and with a thick moustache, pushed her aside to reach for Nynaeve. She forgot about being afraid. Her jaw tightened furiously, and just as his hands touched the other woman, she brought her own stave down on top of his head with every bit of strength she could muster. The fellow’s legs folded, and he toppled on his face in a most satisfactory fashion.

A scrawny, round-faced fellow, grinning like a nervous fox but not joining the attack himself, shouted, “Don’t let them get away. They’ve gold, I tell you. Gold!”

The crowd scattered back, no-one wanting to be caught up in someone else’s trouble. Certainly no-one offered to help. And they needed it, Elayne realized. The man Areku had hit was still on his feet, mouth twisted in a snarl, licking away the blood that ran down from his nose, flexing thick hands as if he wanted to squeeze a throat. He pulled a knife. She unlimbered a sharp axe, and an even sharper smile. Two men were wrestling with Katsui, one down on his knees trying to tackle the big soldier to the ground. And the sword that Ragan was now brandishing wasn’t enough to stop the other toughs from circling around him, trying to get at the women in their rich dresses. _I told her this would happen!_

“Get away from her!” he shouted, a long stride placing him between Shimoku and the nearest man. That thug had enough sense to back away from a trained soldier with his sword raised high, but others darted into the gap behind Ragan, reaching for Elayne.

She felt Nynaeve and Shimoku embracing _saidar_ and opened herself to the True Source, as well. The One Power rushed into her, a sweet flood filling her from toes to hair. A few woven flows of Air from any of them could deal with these ruffians.

But she did not channel, and neither did the others. Together they could drub these fellows as their mothers should have. Yet they did not dare, unless there was no other choice.

If one of the Black Ajah was close enough to see, they had already betrayed themselves with the glow of _saidar_. Channelling enough for those few flows of Air could betray them to a Black sister on another street a hundred paces or more away, depending on her strength and sensitivity. That was most of what they themselves had been doing the last few days, walking through the city trying to sense a woman channelling, hoping the feeling would draw them to Liandrin and the others.

The crowd itself had to be considered, too. A few people still went by to either side, brushing tight against the walls. The rest milled about, beginning to find other ways to go. Only a handful acknowledged the women in danger with as much as shamefully averted eyes. But if they saw big men flung about by nothing visible ...?

Aes Sedai and the One Power itself were not in particularly good odour in Tanchico at the moment, not with old rumours from Falme still floating about and newer tales claiming that the White Tower supported the Dragonsworn in Valreis. Those people might run if they saw the Power wielded. Or they might turn into a mob. Even if they managed to avoid being torn limb from limb where they stood—which she was not certain they could—there was no way to cover it up after. The Black Ajah would hear of Aes Sedai in Tanchico before the sun set.

Setting herself back-to-back with Nynaeve, Elayne gripped her stave tightly. She felt like laughing hysterically. If Nynaeve even mentioned going out alone again— _walking_ —she would see who liked having her head dunked in a bucket of water. At least none of these louts looked eager to be the first to have his head cracked like the fellow lying still on the paving stones.

“Go on,” the round-faced man urged, waving his hands forward. “Go on! It’s only two women!” He made no move to rush in himself, though. “Go on, I say. They’ve gold, I tell you.”

Suddenly there was a loud thunk, and one of the ruffians staggered to his knees, clutching groggily at a split scalp, and a dark-haired, stern-faced woman in a blue riding dress flung herself past him, twisted sharply to backhand another fellow in the mouth with her fist, knocked his legs out from under him with a staff, then kicked him in the head as he fell.

That there was help at all was startling, much less the source, but Elayne was of no mind to pick and choose. Nynaeve left her back with a wordless roar, and she dashed out shouting, “Forward the White Lion!” to belabour the nearest lout as hard and fast as she could. Flinging his arms up to defend himself, he looked shocked out of his wits. “Forward the White Lion!” she shouted again, the battle cry of Andor, and he turned tail and ran.

Katsui butted one of the men holding him hard enough to make the man sit down in the street clutching his head. He seized the second man by the hair and began pounding a fist into his face. The first, now-broken-nosed man jerked back to avoid the first slash of Areku’s axe, and turned tail and ran before she had time to attempt a second.

Laughing in spite of herself, Elayne whirled about seeking another man to drub. Only two had not yet fled or fallen. One of those turned to run now, and Nynaeve gave him a final full-armed thwack across the backside. The stern-faced woman somehow tangled the other’s arm and shoulder with her staff, pulling him close and up on his toes at the same time; he would have overtopped her by a head flat-footed and he weighed twice what she did, but she coolly slammed the heel of her free hand up into his chin three times in rapid succession. His eyes rolled up in his head, but as he sagged, Elayne saw the round-faced man picking himself up off the street; his nose dripped blood and his eyes looked half-glazed, yet he pulled a knife from his belt and lunged at the woman’s back.

Without thinking, Elayne channelled. A fist of Air hurled the man and his knife into a backflip. The stern-faced woman spun, but he was already scrambling away on all fours until he could get his feet under him and burrow into the crowd farther up the street. People had stopped to watch the odd battle, though none had raised a hand to help except the dark-haired woman. She herself was staring at Elayne uncertainly. Elayne wondered whether she had noticed the scrawny fellow being knocked down apparently by nothing.

“I give you my thanks,” Nynaeve said a touch breathlessly as she approached the woman, straightening her veil. “I think we should leave here. I know the Civil Watch doesn’t come out in the streets much, but I’d not like to explain this if they do happen by. Our inn is not far. Will you join us? A cup of tea is the least we can offer someone who actually lifts a hand to help someone in this Light-forsaken city. My name is Nynaeve al’Meara, and this is Elayne Trakand.”

The woman hesitated visibly. She _had_ noticed. “I ... I would ... like that. Yes. I would.” She had a slurred way of speaking, difficult to understand, but somehow vaguely familiar. She was quite a lovely woman, really, seeming even fairer than she was because of her dark hair, worn almost to the shoulder. A bit too hard to be called a beauty, but the nod Katsui gave her had more than simply respect in it. Her blue eyes had a strong look, as if she were used to giving orders. A merchant, perhaps, in that dress. “I am called Egeanin.”

Egeanin showed no hesitation in leaving with them down the nearest side street. The crowds were already gathering around the fallen men. Elayne expected those fellows would wake to find themselves stripped of anything of value, even clothes and boots. They were _definitely_ not going to be splitting into pairs, no matter what Nynaeve said.

Egeanin might not have been hesitant, but she was uneasy. Elayne could see it in her eyes as they wove through the crowd. “You saw, didn’t you?” she asked. The woman missed a step, all the confirmation Elayne needed, and she added hurriedly, “We won’t harm you. Certainly not after you came to our rescue.” Again she had to spit out her veil. Nynaeve did not seem to have that problem. “You needn’t frown at me, Nynaeve. She saw what I did.”

“I know that,” Nynaeve said dryly. “And it was the right thing to do. But we are not snug in your mother’s palace tucked away from prying ears.” Her gesture took in the people around them. Between Egeanin’s staff and the soldier’s unsheathed weapons, most were giving them a wide berth. To Egeanin she said, “The larger part of any rumours you may have heard are not true. Few of them are. You need not be afraid of us, but you can understand there are matters we do not care to speak of here.”

“Afraid of you?” Egeanin looked startled. “I had not thought I should be. I will keep silent until you wish to speak.” She was as good as her word; they walked on in silence through the murmurs of the crowd all the way back down the peninsula to the Three Plum Court. All this walking was making Elayne’s feet ache.

A handful of men and women sat in the common room despite the early hour, nursing their wine or ale. The woman with her hammered dulcimer was being accompanied by a thin man playing a flute that sounded as reedy as he was. Juilin sat at a table near the door, smoking a short-stemmed pipe. He had not returned from his nightly foray when they left. Elayne was glad to see that for once he did not have a new bruise or cut; what he called the underside of Tanchico seemed even rougher than the face the city presented to the world. His one concession to Tanchican dress had been to replace his flat straw hat with one of those dark conical felt caps, which he wore perched on the back of his head.

“I have found them,” he said, popping up from his bench and snatching off his cap, before he saw they were not alone. He gave Egeanin a hooded look and a small bow; she returned it with an inclination of her head and a look just as guarded.

“You’ve found them?” Nynaeve exclaimed. “Are you sure? Speak, man. Have you swallowed your tongue?” And her with her warnings about talking in front of other people.

“I should have said I found where they were.” He did not look at Egeanin again, but he chose his words carefully. “The woman with the white stripe in her hair led me to a house where she was staying with a number of other women, though few were ever seen outside. The locals thought they were rich escapees from the mainland. Little remains now save a few scraps of food in the pantry—even the servants are gone—but from one thing and another I would say they left late yesterday or early last night. I doubt they have any fear of the night in Tanchico.”

Nynaeve had a fistful of her narrow braids in a white-knuckled grip. “You went inside?” she said in a very level voice. Elayne thought she was an inch from raising the stave dangling at her side.

Juilin seemed to think so, too. Eyeing the stave, he said, “You know very well I take no risks with them. An empty house has a look about it, a feel, no matter how big. You cannot chase thieves as long as I have without learning to see as they do.”

“And if you had triggered a trap?” Nynaeve almost hissed the words. “Does your grand talent for _feeling_ things extend to traps?” Juilin’s dark face went a little grey; he wet his lips as if to explain or defend himself, but she cut him off. “We will talk of this later, _Master_ Sandar.” Her eyes shifted slightly toward Egeanin; finally she had remembered there were other ears there to hear. “Tell Rendra we will take tea in the Falling Blossoms Room.”

“Chamber of Falling Blossoms,” Elayne corrected softly, and Nynaeve shot her a look. Juilin’s news had left the older woman in a bad humour.

He bowed deeply with his hands spread. “As you command, Mistress al’Meara, so I obey from the heart,” he said wryly, then stuck his dark cap back on top of his head and stalked off, his back eloquently indignant. It must be uncomfortable to find yourself taking orders from someone with whom you had once tried to flirt.

“Fool man!” Nynaeve growled. “We should have left all of them on the dock in Tear.” Ragan’s lips thinned, and Katsui’s heavy jaw worked as if he needed to chew on his words a bit before swallowing them.

“He is your servant?” Egeanin said slowly.

“Yes,” Nynaeve snapped, just as Elayne said, “No.” They looked at each other, Nynaeve still frowning.

“Perhaps he is, in a way,” Elayne sighed, right on top of Nynaeve’s muttered, “I suppose he is not, at that.”

“I ... see,” Egeanin said. Shimoku sighed again.

Rendra came bustling between the tables with a smile on her rosebud lips behind her veil. Elayne wished she did not look so much like Liandrin. “Ah. You are so pretty this morning. Your dresses, they are magnificent. Beautiful.” As if the honey-haired woman had not had as much to do with choosing the fabric and cut as they. Her own was red enough for a Tinker and definitely not suitable for public. “But you have been foolish again, yes? That is why the fine Juilin, he wears the large scowl. You should not worry him so.” A twinkle in her big brown eyes said Juilin had found someone for his flirting. “Come. You will take your tea in the cool and the privacy, and if you must go out again, you will allow me to provide the bearers and the guards, yes? The pretty Elayne would not have lost so many purses if you were properly guarded. But we will not talk of such things now. Your tea, it is nearly prepared. Come.” It had to be a learned skill, that was how Elayne saw it; you must have to learn how to talk without eating your veil.

The Chamber of Falling Blossoms, located down a short corridor off the common room, was a small, windowless room with a low table and carved chairs with red seat cushions. The Accepted took their meals there—with Juilin and the others, when Nynaeve was not in a taking at them, as she was now. Ragan muttered something about needing to meet with someone anyway when Nynaeve rather rudely blocked him from entering, and the other Shienarans departed with him. The plastered brick walls, painted with a veritable grove of plum trees and a namesake shower of flowers, were thick enough to preclude any eavesdropping. Elayne practically tore her veil off and tossed the filmy scrap on the table before sitting; even Taraboner women did not try to eat or drink wearing the things. Nynaeve merely unfastened hers from her hair on one side. Shimoku slid into the seat opposite her, folded her hands together, and sat quietly.

Rendra kept up her chatter while they were being served, her topics bouncing from a new seamstress who could sew them dresses in the newest style from the thinnest imaginable silk—she suggested Egeanin try the woman, getting a level look for reply; it did not faze her even a trifle—to why they should listen to Juilin since the city was just too dangerous for a woman to go out now even in daylight, to a scented soap that would put the finest sheen on their hair. Elayne sometimes wondered how the woman ran such a successful inn when she seemed to think of nothing but her hair and her clothes. That she did was obvious; it was the how that puzzled Elayne. Of course, she did wear pretty clothes; just not entirely _suitable_.

Egeanin watched quietly until Rendra left. “You are not what I expected,” she said then, balancing her cup on her fingertips in an odd way. “The innkeeper babbles of frivolities as if you were her sisters and as foolish as she, and you allow it. The dark man—he is a servant of sorts, I think—mocks you. You are ... Aes Sedai, are you not?” Without waiting for an answer, she shifted her sharp blue eyes to Elayne. “And you are of the ... You are nobly born. Nynaeve spoke of your mother’s palace.”

“Such things do not count for very much in the White Tower,” Elayne told her ruefully, hastily brushing cake crumbs from her chin. It was very spicy cake; almost sharp. “If a queen went there to learn, she would have to scrub floors like any other Novice and jump when she was told.”

Egeanin nodded slowly. “So that is how you rule. By ruling the rulers. Do ... many ... queens go to be trained so?”

“None that I know of.” Elayne laughed. “Though it is our tradition in Andor for the Daughter- Heir to go. A good many noblewomen go, really, though they usually do not want it known and most leave having failed to even sense the True Source. It was only an example.”

“You are also of the ... a noble?” Egeanin asked, and Nynaeve snorted.

“My mother was a farmwife, and my father herded sheep and farmed tabac. Few where I come from can make do without wool and tabac both to sell. What of your parents, Egeanin?”

“My father was a soldier, my mother the ... an officer on a ship.” For a moment she sipped her unsweetened tea, studying them. “You are searching for someone,” she said at last. “For these women the dark man spoke of. I do some small trade in information, among other things. I have sources who tell me things. Perhaps I can help. I would not charge, except to ask you to tell me more of Aes Sedai.”

“You have helped too much already,” Elayne said. “I _am_ grateful, but we could not accept more.” Letting this woman know about the Black Ajah and letting her become involved without knowing were equally out of the question. “Truly we could not.”

Caught with her mouth half-open, Nynaeve glared at her. “I was about to say the same,” she said in a flat voice, then went on more brightly. “Our gratitude certainly extends to answering questions, Egeanin. As much as we can.” She surely meant there were a good many questions for which they had no answers, but Egeanin took it differently.

“Of course. I will not pry into the secret affairs of your White Tower.”

“You seem very interested in Aes Sedai,” Elayne said. “I cannot sense the ability in you, but perhaps you can learn to channel.”

Egeanin almost dropped her porcelain cup. “It ... can be _learned_? I did not ... No. No, I do not want to ... to learn.”

Her agitation made Elayne sad. Even among people not fearful of Aes Sedai, too many still feared anything to do with the One Power. “What _do_ you want to know, Egeanin?”

Before the woman could speak, a rap at the door was followed by Keestis, Emara and Ronelle.

“We did be told you had company,” Emara said, her Illianer accent causing Egeanin to blink. “But I did think you might like to hear that the Panarch’s Palace be surrounded by the Children of the Light. They moved there this morning. The streets be buzzing over it. It do seem the Lady Amathera is to be invested as Panarch tomorrow.”

“Emara,” Nynaeve said wearily, “unless this Amathera is really Liandrin, I do not care if she becomes Panarch, Queen, and Wisdom of the whole Theren all rolled together.”

“The interesting thing,” Emara said, strolling to the table with Ronelle at her side, “be that rumour says the Assembly did refuse to choose Amathera. Refused. So why do she be invested? Things this odd be worth noting, Nynaeve.”

She lowered herself into a seat, while Elayne shuffled over to make room for Keestis, whose orange dress flattered her slender figure quite well, and whose lenses didn’t occasional nearly as much staring from Egeanin as she’d expected. She thought over what Emara had said, and found it troubling.

“Whether the Assembly has changed its mind or not, this will likely cause riots. Tanchico will be even more dangerous now.”

Ronelle nodded. “The streets still believe Amathera has been rejected. There will be talk of usurpation, I’ll wager.”

Now surrounded by, as she saw it, half a dozen Aes Sedai, Egeanin had set down her cup and was staring at them in consternation. “I must go,” the woman said, rising. Emara and Ronelle, who had only just sat down, studied her curiously as she shuffled by.

“But you have not asked your questions,” Elayne protested, while Egeanin was taking her staff from against the wall. “We owe you answers to them, at the very least.”

“Another time,” Egeanin said after a moment. “If it is permitted, I will come another time. I need to learn about you. You are not what I expected.” They assured her she could come any time they were there and tried to convince her to stay long enough to finish her tea and cakes, but she was adamant that she had to leave now.

Turning from seeing the woman to the door, Nynaeve put her fists on her hips.

“Who was that?” Keestis asked.

“She came to our aid when a band of ruffians attacked us in the street,” Elayne explained.

Emara inhaled sharply. “Do we be discovered?”

Nynaeve returned to the table, shaking her head. “They were nothing to do with Liandrin. That lot wouldn’t send a pack of louts to try stuffing us in a sack. At least the Shienarans made themselves useful. Then. Ragan’s gone off to deliver more of his letters. Why do men always do things without asking? Does growing hair on their chests sap their brains?”

“He is only doing his duty by the Dragon Reborn, Nynaeve,” Shimoku objected. “It is not as if he is going behind our backs.”

“We passed him on the way in. He said he was going to speak to the Meridarch’s bard,” Keestis said. “No secrets there.”

“We do not have to worry about finding bodyguards, at any rate,” Elayne said. “You do agree they are necessary, even if Ragan did overstep himself?”

“I suppose so.” Nynaeve had a remarkable dislike for admitting she was wrong. “But bodyguards who know how to do what they are told. What do we know of this Meridarch? What if he starts wondering why there are Shienaran soldiers this far away from the Blightborder? I’d have told Ragan to sit on his hands, if he’d had the decency to ask first!” She was working herself into a fine tizzy. There was going to be no peace at all this evening. Elayne just knew it. Nynaeve fumbled at her scattered braids, failed to get a proper grip, and her eyes bulged in outrage. “Perhaps there’s still time to stop him from ruining everything.”

“The Meridarch is an older man, reputed to be very much focused on internal Taraboner politics,” Elayne said when Nynaeve shot to her feet. “He is not noted for his interest in the affairs of the mainland. I doubt he has any interest in us.”

“ ‘Reputed’. That proves nothing,” Nynaeve scoffed. “Did he say where they were meeting?”

“It was just the bard, not the Meridarch himself,” Keestis said uncertainly.

“That isn’t what I asked!”

Her open sighing mirroring Elayne’s internal one, Keestis volunteered to show Nynaeve the way.

* * *

At the arched gates leading from the inn’s small courtyard, Egeanin paused, studying the hard-faced men who lounged among the idlers on this side of the narrow street. None of them were men she recognised from among that little weasel Ikyu’s crew. He had meant to stab her. When the _Hailene_ retook this land, she would see that he answered for that. And an Aes Sedai had moved to save her. What was she to do about that?

Suddenly she realized her palms were damp. Aes Sedai. Women who could wield the Power, and not decently leashed. She had sat at the same table with them, talked with them. They were not at all what she had expected; she could not dig that thought out of her head. They could channel, therefore they were dangerous to proper order, therefore they must be safely leashed—and yet ...

Not at all what she had been taught. It could be _learned_. Learned! As long as she could avoid attracting that Seeker’s attention—he would surely realise what they were—she should be able to return. She had to learn more. More than ever, she had to.

Wishing she had a hooded cloak, she took a firm grip on her staff and started up the street, threading her way into the passing throng. None of the toughs looked at her twice, and she watched them to be sure.

* * *

The captain did not notice him. His pale hair, often a disadvantage in his work and in need of dying, occasioned no comment in this foreign land. She walked right by him, seeing only another refugee in filthy Tanchican garb huddled against the front of a white-plastered wineshop on the other side of the street, instead of Almurat Mor, proud slave of the Empress. His eyes, blue above a dingy veil and a thick moustache held in place with glue, followed her before sliding back to the Three Plum Court. Standing he crossed the street, ignoring the disgusting way people brushed against him. Egeanin had nearly spotted him when he had forgotten himself enough to break that fool’s arm. One of the Blood, as such things were reckoned in these lands, reduced to begging and without enough honour to open his veins. Disgusting. Perhaps he could learn more of what she was up to, in this inn, once they realized he had more coin than his clothes suggested.

* * *

It was to an inn named The Humping Hare that Keestis ended up leading them, over on the Maseta. Elayne took one look at the sign outside and regretted the excursion even more. At least Nynaeve had agreed to hire sedan chairs this time, and had picked the ones with the burliest bearers. Despite the scandalous name, the inn proved rather clean and tidy when the six Accepted let themselves inside. Several people were sitting on chairs on a raised platform towards the back, playing a variety of string and wind instruments. They were unaccompanied by any singer at the moment, but the size of the crowd suggested that whoever sang with them was quite popular.

“Where is he?” Nynaeve said, chin outthrust as though she meant to batter someone with it.

Shimoku sighed, but said nothing. Again. Elayne had to stifle the urge to shake her, or Nynaeve, or both. It was not, as it turned out, hard to find Ragan. A man with a partially shaven head and a dark topknot rather stood out among all these Tanchicans.

He was at a table off to one side, talking with a rather pretty, golden-haired woman, whose easy smile almost distracted from the letter she was folding up and tucking into the pouch at her waist.

Another woman, a Taraboner like the first, if her equally golden hair and style of clothes were anything to go by, but much the bustier, shared their table if not their conversation. Her richly embroidered blue dress, raised chin and half-lidded eyes spoke eloquently of her disdain for the company of a common soldier. Elayne disliked her immediately, and spent the walk to their table composing an arch rebuke about snobs who frequented inns with such scandalous names.

“Wait,” Emara said quietly. Nynaeve marched on ahead, her face a thunderhead, and Elayne hurried after her, intent on preventing her from making a scene. “Wait!” Emara hissed.

“Fanwar! You are coming back with me. You can leave your beer undrunk,” Nynaeve said firmly, though a glance at the table revealed only two cups, and neither of them in front of Ragan.

“What’s wrong?” Ragan asked. The two women with him fixed their eyes on Nynaeve. The smiling one wore no veil, while the other’s brown eyes peered coolly over a near-transparent one that did not hide the distasteful curl of her rosebud lips.

“I am tired of you going behind my back and talking to other women,” Nynaeve said. “About stuff that doesn’t concern them, I mean,” she hastened to clarify when the veilless woman’s smile became a grin.

“Who’s your friend, Ragan?” the smiler asked. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

“She’s just someone I’ve been working for, as a guard,” he said carefully. “This is Ali Blaer. She’s a bard, and a very famous one. At least, according to her.” Ali’s grin only widened further at that dubious description. “And this is Nataly Shindula-Maqui, the Meridarch’s Aes Sedai advisor,” he finished, placing an entirely unnecessary emphasis on the woman’s title.

Nynaeve blanched, and Elayne was sure she was doing the same. “I did try to warn them,” she heard Emara whisper. Ronelle murmured something comforting to her. Elayne could have used some comforting of her own just then. The Aes Sedai advisor! They were supposed to be working in secret, and they walked right into Andric’s advisor!

Nataly leaned forward, casually moving her cup out of the way to keep it from being knocked over by the heavy breasts that nearly rested on the table. It was only then that Elayne noticed the Great Serpent ring on her finger. A small frown grew between the Aes Sedai’s dark brows as she studied them. “You are young. All of you. You do not even have the look. It cannot have been long since you were raised. Why have you been so appalling rude as to not introduce yourselves before now?”

“Um, we only just got here. You are even more beautiful than I’d heard, by the way,” Keestis said, in a valiant attempt to distract her. The brittleness of her smile rather gave it away, though.

Nataly was unmoved. “I’m well aware I’m beautiful. Instead of stating the obvious, tell me what you invaded my country unannounced for.”

“That reminds me. We were supposed to be going to that meeting, weren’t we?” Ragan said, levering himself out of his chair.

The Aes Sedai’s pointed finger froze him halfway between standing and sitting. “You there. Stay perfectly still. Don’t try anything funny if you value your life. This is all rather suspicious. I dislike being ignored in my own domain by girls barely out of training. What are you hiding?”

Glancing about herself, Elayne despaired. Emara and Shimoku looked very much like Novices caught doing something wrong, rather than supposed Aes Sedai on a mission from the Amyrlin Seat. Even Keestis had the look of a woman facing a reprimand she knew she deserved. Only Ronelle stood firm under Nataly’s stare. Ronelle, Nynaeve and Elayne herself.

Taking a deep breath and raising her chin, Elayne faced the Aes Sedai in the manner she imagined Moiraine would have. “Aes Sedai are under no obligation to report to the local ruler’s advisor. No more than a queen is obliged to ask a mayor for permission to pass through their town.”

“Are you calling me a commoner!? I’m the eldest daughter of the prestigious Shindula-Maqui family, as well as an Aes Sedai! But at the moment, I’m serving the nation of Tarabon as an advisor, and it is in this capacity that I question your presence. Who are you? You sound nobly born.”

“I am,” she said. She didn’t dare give her name to this woman. Even an Aes Sedai living in Tarabon might have heard that the Daughter-Heir of Andor’s name had been written in the Novice Book. And she would certainly know that Elayne Trakand was no true Aes Sedai.

“Oh, is that right? My apologies, but could you tell me your family name?” Nataly said, suddenly more polite now that she knew she was speaking to a fellow noble. Elayne pressed her lips together. She’d known plenty of lords and ladies who were impeccably polite among their own class, and appallingly rude to any servant unfortunate enough to receive their attention. She suspected this Nataly had been a lady of the same ilk.

That was part of the reason she felt no shame at lying to her. “My name is Gertrude, of House Marne,” she said. She had no idea why it was Gertrude, of all people, whose name tripped from her tongue, other than that the two women shared an attitude.

“Oh, you’re a lady from Andor, then. Allow me to welcome you to our country. Although ... if you’re going to visit another nation, I believe there’s a more proper way to do it.”

“There is a proper way to question a fellow Aes Sedai, as well,” Elayne said coolly.

Fellow noble or not, Nataly’s eyes narrowed. She was as sensitive to even the slightest of rebukes as Elayne had expected her to be. “Enough pointless chatter. First, show me your rings to prove you’re not wilders.”

Nynaeve’s back went as stiff as an iron rod, but she went fishing down the front of her dress anyway, pulling out the cord she wore around her neck long enough to flash her Great Serpent ring at Nataly and not a second longer. Elayne did the same with her own ring, while wishing she didn’t have to show the woman her _ter’angreal_ at the same time. It, and Lan’s heavy gold ring, certainly caused Nataly’s brows to rise. The other four followed suit, taking their rings from their pouches long enough to show the Aes Sedai, before slipping them back in again. Even doing that much made Elayne grind her teeth. None of the people crowded into the common room were watching the women openly, but that wasn’t anywhere near enough of a promise of continued anonymity for her taste.

“None of you wear them openly? If that’s not weird, I don’t know what is,” said Nataly.

“Forgive me, Aes Sedai, but that meeting I spoke of?” Ragan said, in a vain effort to rescue them from this conversation.

Nataly’s patience for interruptions proved exceedingly thin. “Excuse me? I’d like to ask that the servant keeps his mouth shut. Honestly, his breath’s reaching all the way over to me and I find it exceedingly unpleasant.”

“What an utter bi—” timid little Shimoku began, before clamping her jaws shut. Ragan stood perfectly still, though he was as red in the face as she had ever seen him.

Nataly laughed lightly. “Ragabus, I believe your name was? I see you know your place.”

Elayne had heard all she cared to. “That is quite enough. We have shown you our credentials. And you are perfectly aware that we do not have to explain our reasons for being here to you. My servant spoke truly. We have appointments to keep today. If there is no pressing emergency that you need our help with, I will bid you good day.”

The bard Ali, who had watched the whole exchange with a pained look on her face, chose the silence that followed Elayne’s proclamation in which to mutter of how she should get back to her band, and slunk away from the table. Nataly didn’t even look at her, though they presumably knew each other, given for whom they both worked.

“Who are you meeting with? May I ask that much, at least?” Nataly said snippily.

“No,” Nynaeve answered curtly. Elayne’s answer would have been the same, though decidedly less aggressive. Even if the Meridarch’s advisor had been less obnoxious, they had no way of knowing if they could trust her, no more than they did the Panarch’s. Both women could be Black Ajah, for all they knew. In Nataly’s case it would not even have been surprising.

“I will say this much, as a courtesy. Our mission does not involve the Meridarch in any way. It should not cause any difficulty for you,” Elayne said.

Nataly sniffed. “Now that you mention it, yes. You don’t seem to have the intellect to do anything bad, so feel free to do as you will. I’ll ignore your rude arrival, for now. Be thankful that I’m so kind.”

If the woman thought Elayne was going to thank her for anything, she was as mad as a male channeler whose parents were rather more closely related than they should have been. Giving only a cool nod by way of goodbye, she turned around and stalked away from the table. She heard Ragan’s chair scrape along the ground as he hastened to follow.

They were halfway to the door when she heard Shimoku whisper, under her breath, as if she didn’t think anyone would hear, “She’s like Elayne, only twenty times worse.” Then, of course, she sighed that little sigh.

Elayne felt as if steam should have been shooting out of her ears. Like her? Like HER!? That woman was nothing like her! And that sigh. _I swear. If she sighs like that one more time, I’ll ... I don’t know what I’ll do, but she won’t enjoy it!_

Their journey back to the sedan chairs was a quiet one, with Ragan and Nynaeve stiffly refusing to even look at each other. She just knew they were both going to blame the other one for this debacle, and that she would end up having to try to make peace between them. All while being so unjustly maligned! It was almost enough to make a woman cry.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Keestis said, as they climbed onto their chairs. “Maybe she really will just leave us to our own devices.”

The grimaces she saw on the other Accepted’s faces mirrored her own. None of them thought Nataly likely to do them the great favour of staying out of their business, Black Ajah or not. It was a quiet trip back to the Three Plum Court, and a quiet group that slumped inside. No-one seemed to want to talk about what had happened, especially not Ragan. They dispersed quickly, leaving Elayne alone with Nynaeve, who glared at her pre-emptively, as though expecting her to point out that they could have avoided this by just letting Ragan deliver his letters in peace. It was true enough, but Elayne saw no merit it pointing it out.

“I would not mind a cup of wine. A small one,” she said instead.

For a wonder, Nynaeve did not complain about that. “Neither would I. That woman ... I’m amazed you were able to talk to her without losing your temper. I know how emotional you can get.”

 _Light. Give me strength_.

For her own sanity’s sake, Elayne remained mostly quiet as they made their way back to the Chamber of Falling Blossoms, only speaking long enough to ask Rendra to have a bottle of their finest red wine delivered to the room.

Nynaeve threw herself into the chair with a loud sigh. Elayne kept a more decorous pace, but she could sympathise with the other woman’s weariness.

“Elayne, do you realize we still have nothing except an empty house? If Juilin slips and lets himself be found out, or if Nataly gives us away ... We must find the Black sisters without them suspecting, or we will never have a chance of following them to whatever this thing is that’s dangerous to Rand.”

“I know,” Elayne said patiently. “We _have_ discussed it.”

The older woman frowned at nothing. “We still have not a glimmer as to what it is, or where.”

“I know.”

“Even if we could bag Liandrin and the rest right this minute, we cannot leave it floating about out there, waiting for someone else to find.”

“I know that, Nynaeve.” Reminding herself to be patient, Elayne softened her tone. “We will find them. They must make some sort of slip, and between Emara’s rumours, and Juilin’s thieves, we will learn of it.”

Nynaeve’s frown grew darker. “What if Nataly is one of them? She could be reporting to Liandrin this very minute. We could wake in the night to find them standing over us.”

Elayne shuddered. She thought she would rather die that be taken alive by those women again. She was almost certain that Keestis, who had not a virginity left to lose on account of them, would prefer death to being recaptured. She jumped when someone tapped softly on the door.

Climbing from her seat, Nynaeve marched to the door and jerked it open. “What?”

Rendra gave a start at the look on Nynaeve’s face, but her ever-present smile returned immediately. “Forgive me for disturbing you, but there is a woman below who asks for you. Not by name, but she describes you as you stand. She says that she believes she knows you. She is ...” That rosebud mouth tightened in a slight grimace. “I forgot to ask her name. This morning I am the witless goat. She is a well-dressed woman, not yet to her middle years. Not of Tarabon.” She gave a little shiver. “A stern woman, I think. When first she saw me, she looked at me as my older sister did when we were children and she was thinking of tying my braids to the bush.”

“Have they found us first?” Nynaeve said softly.

Elayne embraced the True Source before she thought of it, and felt a shudder of relief that she could, that she had not been shielded unaware. If the woman below was Black Ajah ... But if she was, why announce herself? Even so, she wished the glow of _saidar_ surrounded Nynaeve, too.

“Send her in,” Nynaeve said. As Rendra turned to go, Elayne began weaving flows of Air, thick as cables and ready to bind, flows of Spirit to shield another from the Source. If this woman so much as resembled one on their list, if she tried to channel a spark ...

The woman who stepped into the Chamber of Falling Blossoms, in a shimmering black silk gown of unfamiliar cut, was no-one Elayne had ever seen before, and surely not on the list of the women who had gone with Liandrin. Dark hair spilling loose to her shoulders framed a sturdily handsome face with large, dark eyes and smooth cheeks, but not with Aes Sedai agelessness. Smiling, she closed the door behind her. “Forgive me, but I thought you were—” The glow of _saidar_ surrounded her, and she ...

Elayne released the True Source. There was something very commanding in those dark eyes, in the halo around her, the pale radiance of the One Power. She was the most regal woman Elayne had ever seen. Elayne found herself hurriedly curtsying, flushing that she had considered ... What had she considered? So hard to think.

The woman studied them for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod and swept to the table, taking the carved chair at its head. “Come here where I can see you both more closely,” she said in a peremptory voice. “Come. Yes. That’s it.”

Elayne realized she was standing beside the table, looking down at the dark-eyed, glowing woman. She did hope that was alright. On the other side of the table Nynaeve had a tangle of her long, thin braids gripped in her fist, but she stared at the visitor with a foolishly rapt expression. It made Elayne want to giggle.

“About what I have come to expect,” the woman said. “Little more than girls, and obviously not close to half-trained. Strong, though; strong enough to be more than troublesome. Especially you.” She fixed Nynaeve with her eyes. “You might become something one day.”

Nynaeve still had that tight hold on her braids, but her face went from a pleased, girlish smile at praise to shamed lip-trembling. “I’m afraid of it,” she almost whimpered. “All that power ... the One Power ... how can I—?”

“Be silent unless I ask a question,” the woman said firmly. “And do not start crying. You are joyful at seeing me, ecstatic. All you want is to please me and answer my questions truthfully.”

Nynaeve nodded vigorously, smiling even more rapturously than before. Elayne realized that she was, too. She was sure she could answer the questions first. Anything to please this woman.

“Now. Are you alone? Are there any other _Aes Sedai_ with you?”

“No,” Elayne said quickly in answer to the first question, and just as fast, to the second, “There are no Aes Sedai with us.” Perhaps she should tell that they were not really Aes Sedai either. But she had not been asked that. Nynaeve glared at her, knuckles white on her braids, furious at being beaten to the answer.

“Why are you in this city?” the woman said.

“We are hunting Black sisters,” Nynaeve burst out, shooting Elayne a triumphant look.

The handsome woman laughed. “So that is why I have not felt you channel before today. Wise of you to keep low when it is ten to three. I have always followed that policy myself. Let other fools leap about in full view. They can be brought low by a spider hiding in the cracks, a spider they never see until it is too late. Where is the minnow who was with you?”

Minnow? Did she mean Shimoku? “She’s in her room, I think,” Elayne said.

“Out of the way. That’s all that matters. She is too weak to matter,” the woman muttered. “Tell me all you have discovered about these Black sisters, all you know of them.”

Elayne spilled out everything, battling with Nynaeve to be first. It was not very much. Their descriptions, the _ter’angreal_ they had stolen, the murders in the Tower and the fear of more Black sisters still there, aiding one of the Forsaken in Tear before the Stone fell, raping and molesting their prisoners, their flight here seeking something dangerous to Rand. “They were all staying in a house together,” Elayne finished up, panting, “but they left last night.”

“It seems you came very close,” the woman said slowly. “Very close. _Ter’angreal_. Turn out your purses on the table, your pouches.” They did, and she fingered quickly through coins and sewing kits and handkerchiefs and the like. “Do you have any _ter’angreal_ in your rooms? _Angreal_ or _sa’angreal_?”

Elayne was conscious of the twisted stone ring hanging between her breasts. Nynaeve had the iron disc _ter’angreal_ in a pocket sewn beneath her skirts; those things could not be left lying about. But that was not the question. “No,” she said. They had none of those things in their room.

Pushing everything away, the woman leaned back, speaking half to herself. “Rand al’Thor. So that is his name now.” Her face crumpled in a momentary grimace. “An arrogant man who stank of piety and goodness. Is he still the same? No, do not bother to answer that. An idle question. So Moridin is dead. Laid even lower than Ishamael. Both of them so arrogant—I think Ishamael half-believed he was the Great Lord of the Dark when last I saw him. All his pride at not being caught, all his three thousand years of machinations, and it comes to an untaught boy casting him down. My way is best. Softly, softly, in the shadows. Something to control a man who can channel. Yes, it would have to be that.” Her eyes turned sharp, studying them in turn. “Now. What to do with you.”

Elayne waited patiently. Nynaeve wore a silly smile, her lips parted expectantly; it looked especially foolish with the way she was gripping her braids.

“You are too strong to waste; you may be useful one day. I would love to see Rahvin’s eyes the day he meets you in battle,” she told Nynaeve. “I would put you off this hunt of yours, if I could. A pity Compulsion is so limited. Still, with the little you have learned, you are too far behind to catch up now. I suppose I must collect you later and see to your ... retraining.” She stood, and suddenly Elayne’s entire body tingled. Her brain seemed to shiver; she was conscious of nothing but the woman’s voice, roaring in her ears from a great distance. “You will pick up your things from the table, and when you have replaced them where they belong, you will remember nothing of what happened here except that I came thinking you were friends I knew from the country. I was mistaken, I had a cup of tea, and I left.”

Elayne blinked and wondered why she was tying her purse back beside her belt pouch. Nynaeve was frowning at her own hands, adjusting her pouch.

“A nice woman,” Elayne said, rubbing her forehead. She had a headache coming on. “Did she give her name? I don’t remember.”

“Nice?” Nynaeve’s hand came up and gave a sharp tug to her braids; she stared as if it had moved of its own accord. “I ... do not think she did.”

“What were we talking of when she came in?” What had it been?

“I remember what I was about to say.” Nynaeve’s voice firmed. “We must find the Black sisters without them suspecting, or we will never have a chance of following them to whatever this thing is that’s dangerous to Rand.”

“I know,” Elayne said patiently. Had she said that already? Of course not. “We _have_ discussed it.”


	65. New Skills

The tortured, almost barren landscape of the Aiel Waste lost its exotic charm very quickly. By the fifth day of their journey, Rand was almost praying for the sight of some proper greenery, or at least a tree that stood tall enough to be worth climbing.

He didn’t give voice to complaint, of course—it would have made him look weak. He was a little surprised that his current riding companion didn’t either, since Merile had a habit of saying whatever crossed her mind, with no regard for the consequences. She rode her horse easily, her dark head wrapped in the _shoufa_ that she’d hesitated only briefly before donning, shortly after Raine succumbed to the heat. If she had worried over the Aiel being offended, she’d worried needlessly. Aviendha, striding along between their two horses, continued to pretend the Tinker did not exist.

“Do you ever wonder what would happen if you goosed her?” Rand asked.

The two women looked confused, but it was Merile who grasped his meaning quickest. “I’m not sure. Do you think she’d pretend it was a fly that had bit her? A buttfly. Are there buttflies? It seems like a thing there should be.”

“I’ve never heard of any, but you’re right. The two go together well.”

Aviendha, on realising who he was talking to, gave him a fierce glare. Then she fixed her eyes forward and pretended not to hear. The temptation to avenge Elayne by asking Merile to describe how Aviendha had looked when she stripped down for her trip to Rhuidean was great, but Rand stood strong against it. He was supposed to be a leader. He had to be mature. It would have served her right, though. Both the describing and her inability to tell the describer to be quiet.

“I thought those things would have gone together well, too,” Merile said. She paused expectantly, as if Rand was supposed to know right away which things she was referring to.

It could have been something to do with the One Power—Dani had been true to her word about teaching her. And Merile had not been shy about asking after the more dangerous weaves, from what he’d overheard. He wondered if she was serious about abandoning the Way of the Leaf. It could have been Dani and the Maidens, for that matter. He’d seen the Domani sparring with them, much as he sparred with Rhuarc daily. She hadn’t done very well, if he was being frank, and the Maidens had not exactly been gentle with her; she’d come away from that last training session with a bloody mouth. She hadn’t given up yet, though, despite her companions’ urging.

“I’m just making sure that the next time we tangle with a foe my power can’t affect, I’ll still be able to pull my own weight. I can’t afford to let you all down. Especially if I’m team leader,” he’d heard her tell them earlier. It was an admirable sentiment.

It could have been that, or it could have been the argument Uno and Heirn had gotten into over the supposed honour of raiding a rival sept. That had been alarming but, despite his desire to avoid antagonising the Aiel, Rand had spoken out in Uno’s favour. If he was to be _Car’a’carn_ , he would put an end to the raids into Shienar. As Uno said, there was no honour to be found in attacking someone from behind while there were busy wrestling with the Shadow. Privately, he didn’t see how there was honour to be gained in attacking anyone at all, but that was a bit too extreme an idea to be voicing in Aiel company. Yet. Heirn had been disgruntled enough by his siding with the Shienaran.

It could have been any of those things Merile referred to, but it wasn’t any of them, as she revealed when she noticed how confused Rand was. “Loial, I mean. With the pretty singing and the trees. He was so sad when it didn’t work.”

“Ah. Yes. He gets pretty emotional when it comes to trees,” Rand said. The Ogier had been as tired of these stunted saplings as Rand was, and had tried to use his Treesinging ability to strengthen one during a stop just after noon, but the arid Waste had defied even him, with only a few optimistic leaves having sprouted from the tree by the time Loial finished his song. Those leaves had already begun to wilt when they mounted up to continue their journey. Loial’s ears had wilted even more. Rand frowned to himself, recalling the way his ancestors had used a similar ability. Treesinging was said to be dying out even among Ogier, but if enough Aiel still possessed the ability his ancestors had called the Voice ...

“Did you like the Ogier’s song, Aviendha,” he asked.

She looked at him scornfully, but that could have been a sign of agreement coming from her. It wasn’t, though. “He should not have attempted it. This is not a _stedding_. The Three-fold Land was made to test us, and to hone us. If we wanted to live in some soft, wetlander paradise, we would.”

Rand’s lips twitched, but he said no more.

“They’re not very nice, are they? I hope you’re not going to seduce her, too. I don’t think she’d be as good a friend as Raine,” Merile said guilelessly.

The red-hot fury with which Aviendha greeted that suggestion, combined with the frustration that came of her unwillingness to admit to having heard it, meant that Rand rode much of the rest of the day in sensible silence, as he waited for her to give over her spying and leave him in peace.

Aviendha spent her nights among the Wise Ones, and sometimes walked with them for an hour or so during the day, all of them gathered around her. Even Moiraine and the Accepted came sometimes. At first Rand had thought they must be advising her on how to handle him, how to pull what they wanted to know out of his head. Then one day, with the sun molten overhead, a ball of fire as big as a horse had suddenly burst into being ahead of the Wise Ones’ party and went spinning and tumbling away, blazing a furrow across the sere land, until it finally dwindled and winked out.

Some of the wagon drivers had pulled their startled, snorting teams to a halt and stood to watch, calling to each other in a blend of fear, confusion and coarse curses. Murmurs rippled through the Jindo, and they stared, as did the Shaido, but the two columns of Aiel kept moving with barely a pause. It was among the Wise Ones that real excitement was evident. The four of them clustered around Aviendha, all apparently talking at once, with considerable arm-waving. Moiraine and Dani, leading their horses, tried to get in a word; even without hearing, Rand knew that Amys told them in no uncertain terms, shaking a furiously admonishing finger, to stay out of it.

Staring at the blackened gouge stretching arrow-straight for half a mile, Rand had sat back down in his saddle. Teaching Aviendha to channel. Of course. That was what they were doing. He scrubbed sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand; the sun had nothing to do with it. He had to learn, too, and he had no teacher. He had to learn not just because the Power would kill him before he had to worry about going mad if he did not; he had to learn because he had to use it. Learn to use it; use it to learn. He began laughing so hard that some of the Jindo looked at him uneasily.

He would have enjoyed Mat’s company any time during those days, or nights, but Mat never came near for more than a minute or two, the broad brim of his flat-crowned hat pulled down to shade his eyes, the black-hafted spear lying across the pommel of Pips’ saddle, with its odd raven-marked, Power-wrought point, like a short, curving sword blade.

“If your face darkens from the sun any more, you _will_ turn into an Aielman,” he might say, laughing or, “Do you mean to spend the rest of your life here? There’s a whole world the other side of the Dragonwall. Wine? Women? You remember these things?”

But Mat looked plainly uneasy, and he was even more reluctant than the Wise Ones to speak of Rhuidean, or what had happened to them there. His hand tightened on that black haft at the very mention of the fog-domed city, and he claimed not to remember anything of his journey through the _ter’angreal_ —then proceeded to contradict himself by saying, “You stay out of that thing, Rand. It isn’t like the one in the Stone at all. They cheat. Burn me, I wish I’d never seen it!”

The one time Rand mentioned the Old Tongue, he snapped, “Burn you, I don’t know anything about the bloody Old Tongue!” and galloped straight back to the peddlers’ wagons.

That was where Mat spent most of his time, dicing with the drivers—until they realized he won a very great deal more often than he lost, no matter whose dice he used—engaging Kadere or Natael in long talks at every opportunity, pursuing Isendre. It was clear what was on his mind from the first time he grinned at her and straightened his hat, the morning after the Trolloc attack. He spoke to her nearly every evening for as long as he could, and pricked himself so badly plucking white blossoms from a spiky-thorned bush that he could barely handle his reins for two days, though he refused to allow Moiraine to Heal him. Isendre did not precisely encourage him, but her slow, sultry smile was hardly calculated to drive him away, either. Kadere saw—and said not a word, though sometimes his eyes followed Mat like a vulture’s. Others did comment.

Late one afternoon as the mules were being unhitched and the tents going up, and Rand was unsaddling Jeade’en, Mat was standing with Isendre in the meagre shade of one of the canvas-topped wagons. Standing very close. Shaking his head, Rand watched as he wiped the dapple down. The sun burned low on the horizon, and tall spires stretched long shadows across the camp.

Isendre fiddled with her diaphanous scarf as if idly thinking of removing it, smiling, full lips half pouting, ready for a kiss. Encouraged, Mat grinned confidently and moved closer still. She dropped her hand, and slowly shook her head, but that inviting smile never faded. Neither of them heard Keille approach, so light on her feet despite her size.

“Is that what you want, good sir? Her?” The pair jumped apart at the sound of her mellifluous voice, and she laughed just as musically, just as oddly out of that face. “A bargain for you, Matrim Cauthon. A Tar Valon mark, and she is yours. A chit like that cannot be worth more than two, so it is a clear bargain.”

Mat grimaced, looking as though he wished he were anywhere else but there.

Isendre, however, turned slowly to face Keille, a mountain cat facing a bear. “You go too far, old woman,” she said softly, eyes hard above the veiling scarf. “I will put up with your tongue no longer. Have a care. Or perhaps you would like to remain here in the Waste.”

Keille smiled broadly, yet mirth never touched the obsidian eyes glittering behind her fat cheeks. “Would you?”

Nodding decisively, Isendre said, “A Tar Valon mark.” Her voice was iron. “I will see you have a Tar Valon mark when we leave you. I only wish I could see you trying to drink it.” Turning her back, she strode to the lead wagon, not swaying seductively at all, and vanished inside.

Keille watched, round face unreadable, until the white door closed, then suddenly rounded on Mat, who was on the point of slipping away. “Few men have ever refused an offer from me. You should have a care I do not take it in mind to do something about it.” Laughing, she reached up and pinched his cheek with thick fingers, hard enough to make him wince, then turned in Rand’s direction. “Tell him, my Lord Dragon. I have a feeling you know something of the dangers of scorning a woman. That Aiel girl who follows you about, glaring. I hear you belong to another. Perhaps she feels scorned.”

“I doubt it, Mistress,” he said dryly. “Aviendha would plant a knife in my ribs if she believed I had thought of her that way.”

The immense woman laughed uproariously. Mat flinched as she reached for him again, but all she did was pat the cheek she had pinched before. “You see, good sir? Scorn a woman’s offer, and perhaps she thinks nothing of it, but perhaps”—she made a skewering motion—“the knife. A lesson any man can learn. Eh, my Lord Dragon?” Wheezing with laughter, she hurried off to check on the men tending the mules.

Rubbing his cheek, Mat muttered, “They’re all crazy,” before he, too, left. He did not abandon his pursuit of Isendre, though, no more than Natael abandoned his pursuit of Rand.

The gleeman returned the evening after his first visit, intent on renewing their conversation about Rand’s destiny. Rand was willing to talk, but Seana’s arrival mere minutes after Natael sat down beside him at the fire made it difficult. The Wise Ones wanted to resume their lessons on _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , and Rand could hardly refuse them. So he’d given Natael a half-hearted assurance to speak to him later, before following Seana to the Wise Ones’ tents. When he’d looked back, Natael had been staring after them with irritation written all over his face.

For all that Rand was their vaunted _Car’a’carn_ , it was Raine that the Wise Ones focused their attention on that night. They wanted to know everything she could tell them about the wolfkin. She proved reluctant to talk, and Rand stepped in when he thought they were pressing her too hard. What she did tell them was not enough to greatly change Rand’s view. The wolfkin were a solitary folk, who avoided human towns even more adroitly than they avoided each other. They had no leader with any authority greater than the various pack leaders, and it was rare that they travelled in groups larger than half a dozen or so, not counting the wolves, which Raine had been until Amys pressed her on it.

A greater point of interest for the Wise Ones was that all of them could touch _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , to one degree or another. The greatest point of interest was that they somehow used it to communicate across great distance even when they were awake. How that was possible was something that they talked about long into the night, while Dani listened intently.

While their talk went on, Rand tried to pretend that he wasn’t disgruntled at being ignored, but he must not have done a good job of it for Seana broke off from the others and came to sit with him on the other side of the fire.

“Raine has told you all these things already. You must be bored,” she said quietly. Rand gave a little shrug. He was. Bored and tired from the journey. He didn’t say so, but Seana noticed that, too. “You came here for a lesson, and should not leave without receiving one. If you like, I will meet you in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. The others can pass Raine’s words on to me later.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll meet you here. But not here.” At least then this night would not have been completely wasted. Seana smiled at his description. She offered to brew him one of those sleeping draughts, but he shook his head and told her that he wouldn’t need any help falling asleep. He was right, too. He drifted off without moments of resting his head against the pillow, while the hard song of Raine’s voice trilled in the background.

Perhaps that was why he “woke” back in the Theren, in the clearing where the _Tuatha’an_ caravan that she’d been travelling with when he first met her had camped. No sign of the destruction the Trollocs had wrought on that site remained now. Nature, like dreams, fought hard to undo the damage that men and half-men did to it.

Rand didn’t stay there long. He pictured in his mind the campsite the Aiel had raised that evening. He was there before he even had time to close his eyes and try to will it be so. That gave him pause. Was it growing easier with practice, or had Seana somehow called him to her?

She was standing over the fire at which he’d been speaking to Natael earlier, her hands folded under her shawl, looking very much the stern matriarch. He smiled as he approached her, and some rebellious impulse drove him to challenge that image.

“No smooth cheeks and outthrust bosoms tonight? Pity. They were cute. But you’re cute like this, too.”

Her now-lined cheeks reddened, but not with anger. “Had I known you would come to the Three-fold Land, I would not have let you see me like that. It is a foolish thing, to long for a youth long passed.”

“Not that long passed, I would say.”

After a moment, she laughed softly. “I thought I sensed a kindred spirit in you. Perhaps it was because of the girl. Many would shrink away from touching one who took on such an appearance. But you have a wandering eye. You would not know it to look at me now, but I was much the same when I was young. Still. You should not tease. It is a thing that you may come to regret, believe me.”

Rand studied her in silence. Her cheeks were definitely not smooth anymore, and her long hair had almost entirely traded its brown for grey. Where the girl she had first appeared as had been slender and gracefully curved, what he could see of this older Seana’s figure, in her arms and in the bones that showed above the collar of her loose blouse, suggested a harder, leaner woman. Her eyes hadn’t changed. They were still as grey as his own. The silence grew long enough that she began shifting her feet.

“I regret many of the things I’ve done. And I fear I’m going to regret a great many more before I meet my fate. But I don’t regret that,” he said in a quiet voice.

Seana’s smile added more lines to her cheeks. He liked it. “A kindred spirit indeed,” she sighed. “Well. I offered a fair warning. No-one can ask more of me than that. There are many ways that _Tel’aran’rhiod_ can be used, and the others will teach you of them, but I thought that, in private moments like this, you might like to learn of the things that they would not want to teach you.”

“What things are those?”

“Can you not guess? Perhaps you are more innocent than I thought,” she said dryly.

Rand laughed. He had, in fact, guessed. “And how would these lessons be taught? What kind of demonstrations would we need?”

She laughed right back, a surprisingly youthful sound. “Not the kind you are thinking of. Our bodies are lying right next to the others, remember, and we are not in control of what they do right now. I will not risk the shame, even if you would?”

Her wary look asked for reassurance, so Rand stepped closer and cupped her face in his palms. The Wise One did not stop him, though her eyes went wide at his presumption. “I have no objections, if you don’t. You are still a lovely woman.”

“Flatterer,” she breathed, and looked away.

Rand was tempted to offer a more ... forceful reassurance, but she’d said not to, so he stepped back. “So what can you teach me? What ways can _Tel’aran’rhiod_ be used?”

There were quite a few of them, as it turned out, some of which were enough to make even Rand blush and go wide in the eye. He had known the World of Dreams could change in response to a dreamwalker’s thoughts, but he hadn’t expected it to be _that_ changeable. Or that the dreamwalkers themselves could wilfully make such drastic changes to their bodies. Some of the other things she spoke of were even more intriguing. Like being able to make a temporary link between two people, such that everything one of them felt was mirrored in the other. Rand’s mouth dried as he imagined the effect that could have on a couple. Watching his face, Seana nodded knowingly. He was so enraptured by the idea that he barely heard what she said about the dangers of letting oneself get trapped in the dream of someone who felt intense emotion toward you.

Rand’s interest in learning how to use _Tel’aran’rhiod_ increased quite a bit after that. He went to the Wise Ones’ lesson as often as he could, while they travelled across a barren, hard-baked land. Twice they saw other stands, small, rough stone buildings much like Imre Stand, sited for easy defence against the sheer side of spire or butte. One had three hundred sheep or more, and men who were as startled to learn of Rand as they were of Trollocs in the Three-fold Land. The other was empty; not raided, only not in use. Several times Rand spotted goats, or sheep, or pale, long-horned cattle in the distance. Aviendha said the herds belonged to nearby sept holds, but he saw no people, surely no structure that deserved the name hold.

So it went for seven days, with the thick columns of Jindo and Shaido flanking the Wise Ones’ party, and the peddlers’ wagons lurching along with Keille and Natael arguing, and Isendre eyeing Rand from Kadere’s lap until, on the seventh day, Rhuarc came trotting back from the head of the Jindo. “We are there,” the Aielman announced with a smile. “Cold Rocks Hold.”


	66. Wreathed in Shadows

Outside, on the stone-paved path between the yellow brick house and the terraced vegetable garden, Rand stood staring down the canyon, not seeing much beyond afternoon shadows creeping across the canyon floor. If only he could trust Moiraine not to hand him to the Tower on a leash; he had no doubt she could do it, without using the Power once, if he gave her an inch. The woman could manipulate a bull through a mousehole without ever letting it know. He could use her. _Light, I’m as bad as she is. Use the Aiel. Use Moiraine. If only I could trust her_.

Merile was at his side, dry washing her hands. How the Aiel washed at all was something Rand wasn’t sure of, considering the scarcity of water in the Waste. It had been a while since he’d been able to get properly clean, but he supposed that was just something he had to accept here. That wasn’t what was troubling Merile, of course.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” he asked. “We can leave them to their talk, and explore the town. Or hold, I guess.”

She nodded brightly. “Thank you! I knew you would understand! Let’s be away from here. The others are giving me the evil eye. I could even protect you if something bad happened, I think.”

He headed toward the mouth of the canyon, slanting down whenever he found a footpath leading that way. They were all narrow, paved with small stones, some of the steeper carved in steps.

“How is your training with Dani going?” he asked. She told him as they walked, chatting gaily about _saidar_ and how strange and wonderful it was. Dani wasn’t being as mean to her as she’d feared she would be, either. In fact, Merile spoke quite admiringly of her.

Rand was glad enough to hear it but he listened with only half an ear while he took in all he could see of Cold Rocks Hold. Hammers ringing in several smithies echoed faintly. Not all of the buildings were houses. Through one open door he saw several women working looms, and another showed a silversmith putting up her small hammers and gouges, a third a man at a potter’s wheel, his hands in the clay and the brick kilns hot behind him. Men and boys, except the youngest, all wore the _cadin’sor_ , the coat and breeches in greys and browns, but there were often subtle differences between warriors and craftsmen, a smaller belt knife or none at all, perhaps a _shoufa_ with no black veil attached. Yet watching a blacksmith heft a spear he had just given a foot-long point, Rand had no doubt the man could use the weapon as readily as make it.

The paths were not crowded, but there were plenty of people about. Children laughed, running and playing, the smaller girls almost as likely to be carrying pretend spears as dolls. _Gai’shain_ carried tall clay jars of water on their heads, or weeded in the gardens, often under the direction of a child of ten or twelve. Men and women going about the tasks of their lives, not really that different from the things they might have done in Emond’s Field, whether sweeping in front of a door or mending a wall. The children hardly gave him or Merile a glance, for all his red coat and thick-soled boots, and her still fine if now dusty green dress, and the _gai’shain_ were so self-effacing it was difficult to say whether they noticed him or not. But craftsmen or fighters, men or women, the adults looked at him with an air of speculation, an edge of uncertain anticipation.

Very young boys ran barefoot in robes much like those of the _gai’shain_ , but in the greyish-brown of the _cadin’sor_ , not white. Rand could see no difference between what they were wearing and what their chief’s boys had been. The youngest girls darted about on bare feet, too, in short dresses that sometimes failed to cover their knees. One thing about the girls caught his eye; up to perhaps twelve or so, they wore their hair in two braids, one over each ear, plaited with brightly coloured ribbons. Just the way Dani had taken to wearing hers. It had to be coincidence. A foolish thing to be thinking about anyway. Right now he had one woman to deal with. Aviendha.

On the canyon floor, the peddlers were doing a brisk trade with the Aiel crowding around the canvas-topped wagons. At least the drivers were, and Keille, a blue lace shawl on her ivory combs today, was bargaining hard in a loud voice. Kadere sat on an upturned barrel in the shade of his white wagon in a cream-coloured coat, mopping his face, making no effort to sell anything. He eyed Rand and made as if to rise before sinking back. Isendre was nowhere to be seen, but to Rand’s surprise, Natael was, his patch-covered cloak attracting a flock of following children, and some adults. Apparently the attraction of a new and larger audience had drawn him out of his wagon. Or maybe Keille just did not want him out of her sight. Engrossed in her trading as she was, she found time to frown at the gleeman often.

Natael stopped expectantly when he saw him, but Rand avoided the wagons. Questions asked of Aiel told him where the Jindo had gone, each to the roof of his or her society here at Cold Rocks. The Roof of the Maidens lay halfway up the still brightly lit east wall of the canyon, a garden-topped rectangle of greyish stone doubtless larger inside than it looked. Not that he saw the inside. A pair of Maidens squatting beside the door with spears and bucklers refused him entrance, amused and scandalized that a man wanted to enter, but one agreed to carry his request in.

A few minutes later some of the Maidens who had gone to the Stone came out. And all the other Taardad Maidens currently in Cold Rocks, too, crowding the path to either side and climbing up on the roof among the rows of vegetables to watch, grinning as if they expected entertainment. He recognised several Shaido Maidens as well. The enmity between Taardad and Shaido didn’t stop the Maidens of those clans from mixing with each other, it seemed. _Gai’shain_ , male as well as female, followed to serve them small cups of dark-brewed tea; whatever rule kept men outside the Roof of the Maidens apparently did not apply to _gai’shain_.

Rand was surprised to see some familiar faces among the women, Maidens who had been with him in Tear yet had, he thought, gone back to their own clans as soon as he arrived at Rhuidean. Aviendha had mentioned something about that. Something about warrior societies being like separate clans within all the clans, and everyone being welcome under their roofs, regardless of clan. He hadn’t understood it then, didn’t understand it now, and resolved to ask her to explain in greater detail later.

But whatever the reason, he was happy to see Renay again. And Aca, Tuandha and Amindha, for that matter. They had all been there during the fighting at Emond’s Field. He trusted them. He recognised Ayla and Lidya among the crowd, as well. He’d only met them after the Stone fell but that acquaintance still counted for something when surrounded by so many strange faces.

After he had examined several offerings, Adelin, the yellow-haired Jindo woman with the thin scar on her cheek, produced a wide bracelet of ivory heavily carved with roses. He thought it should suit Aviendha; whoever made it had carefully shown thorns among the blossoms.

Adelin was tall even for an Aielwoman, only a hand too short to look him the eyes. When she heard why he wanted it—almost why; he just said it was a present for Aviendha’s teachings, not a sop to soothe the woman’s temper so he could stand to be near her—Adelin looked around at the other Maidens. They had all stopped grinning, their faces expressionless. Even Renay went stiff as a board, and looked away from him. “I will take no price for this, Rand al’Thor,” Adelin said, putting the bracelet in his hand.

“Is this wrong?” he asked. How would Aiel see it? “I don’t want to dishonour Aviendha in any way.”

“It will not dishonour her.” She beckoned a _gai’shain_ woman carrying pottery cups and pitcher on a silver tray. Pouring two cups, she handed one to him. “Remember honour,” she said, sipping from his cup.

Aviendha had never mentioned anything like this. Uncertain, he took a sip of bitter tea and repeated, “Remember honour.” It seemed the safest thing to say. To his surprise, she kissed him lightly on each cheek.

An older Maiden, grey-haired but still hard-faced, appeared in front of him. “Remember honour,” she said, and sipped.

Renay came after her, to take a sip and brush her lips against his cheeks. Others followed. He had to repeat the ritual with every Maiden there, finally just touching the cup to his lips. Aiel ceremonies might be short and to the point, but when you had to repeat one with seventy-odd women, even sips could fill you up. Shadows were climbing the east side of the canyon by the time he escaped. A few of the Maidens from the Stone came with him, which afforded Rand the chance to ask what they were doing here. The question confused them.

“Why would we not be here? The main holds of all clans have roofs open to the societies,” Aca said. The look she sent Renay asked for an explanation, but the taller woman shook her head.

“I have not been able to figure it out,” she said, “but I will keep trying.”

Rand sighed. _You and me both, sister_.

* * *

Things got a bit uncomfortable for Mat as soon as Rand left. He felt very alone at the table, Ilyena and Loial being probably the only ones there he was remotely close to, and even them not being exactly close. The talk went over his head, and when he finally decided that manners were for fools and switched from the boring table to the better one, where the soldiers were talking shop and Rhuarc’s surprisingly bouncy daughter was playing host, not even Ilyena marked his leaving.

Inukai was pressing an unresponsive Geko for an explanation of what was troubling him, but Mat walked right past them. He wasn’t interested in that. Instead, he gave Rhamys a taste of his best grin as he shouldered in between her and Ayame, while pretending not to notice the daggers the Shienaran was glaring at him. His best grin didn’t have much of an effect on her but Mat wasn’t about to be deterred that easily.

“Nice place you have here. Maybe you could show me around some time.”

She had been listening to Tam and Uno talk about the Aiel war, but now she turned her unsmiling face Mat’s way.

“It is the roof I was born under. To me, it looks relatively normal.”

“Not to me! I’ve never seen a house carved into a mountain before. It must have taken a long time and a lot of pickaxes to get in this deep.”

Rhamys considered that so carefully that an awkward little silence grew between them before she finally responded with, “Hm, I do think it is average for a ‘house’ in this area, though ... What kind of place did you live in?”

Spotting an opening, Mat smiled brightly and leaned closer. “A lot more trees, a lot more green, and a lot more water. I’ll show you it sometime if you like.”

“The wetlands? No, thank you.”

His smile stayed firmly in place. “No. Pity. Then perhaps you could show me the Waste instead.”

“I do not know what that is,” she said solemnly.

“Ah ... This? That we’re in?”

“My near-mother’s roof is not a waste,” said Rhamys.

Mat blew out a breath. If her chest had been as flat as her expression, he’d have fled this conversation by now. But it wasn’t. Not even close, so, “Cold Rocks Hold looked like an interesting place. I might take Rand’s example and go exploring. He’s a friend of mine. Old friend. Very close.”

A slight frown touched her brow. “I understand. You wish protection, in case someone does not know of the exception my father has made for you and decides to kill you. Very well. I will do this duty.”

Mat made uncommitted noises as he pushed himself up. He didn’t need anyone’s protection and didn’t much like her thinking otherwise, but there was time enough to explain that. He’d wait until they were having a nice cosy walk.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Matrim? I think the chief’s daughter might have other things to do,” said Tam. He kept his face and voice bland, but Mat noticed the emphasis he put on “chief’s daughter”. The implication gave him a moment of alarm. Would Rhuarc try to spear him, if Rhamys proved interested in a tumble? Surely not! She was Mat’s age, or near enough. A grown adult. And a very well grown one at that.

He grinned at Tam. “It will be fine.” Rhamys ignored the hand he offered to help her rise, but she followed him to the door, which was all that mattered. He heard Tam sigh, and Uno grumble some curses under his breath.

Her talk of Aiel deciding to kill him for intruding in their precious wasteland hadn’t gone unheard, so Mat collected his spear from the pile of belongings they’d all left near the door on his way out. He grabbed his bow and quiver, too, just to be safe. His supposed protector just strolled out with nothing more than the big knife hanging from her belt.

“No spears today?” he said as they were picking their way down the path. “I suppose I’m glad of that. I can take care of myself.”

Rhamys frowned. “If you are not worried, then why did you ask me to protect you?”

“Well, I ... I didn’t really. But I’m glad you came anyway. I always welcome the company of a cute girl.”

She gasped softly. “Oh, uh ... C-c-c-cute? Who are you calling a cute girl?”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You.”

“This ... Are you the suspicious character that my mother warned me about?”

Mat grinned. “Lots of mothers warn their daughters about me.”

“I ... I see. How shameful.”

They made it down to the valley floor, where the passing Aiel gave them curious, disapproving looks. They were always going on about their honour, and shame, the Aiel. If his flirting made Rhamys get all prim and proper, he’d have no chance. He decided it would be best to tone it down a bit. “But plenty of others recommend me to them.”

Her brows nearly rose to her hairline. “Is that right? This only makes you more suspicious.”

 _It does? Why? Blood and ashes!_ While Mat was trying to think of a way to recover, he spotted Rand and Merile coming the other way, with some Maidens escorting them. Not Dorindha, unfortunately. She might have backed him up by mentioning that time they’d played Maiden’s Kiss.

Rand looked amused once he saw them. The Maidens did not. “Making friends, Mat?” he said when he drew close.

Rhamys answered before he could. “We are not friends.”

Mat winced. “Because we only just met, she means.” _Burn me! She didn’t have to say it like that!_

“This is true also,” she agreed.

The tall Maiden, the plain one with a chest as flat as a board, planted fists on narrow hips. “You should be careful with this one, spear-sister. He had a reputation in the lands of the Tairen clan.”

Rhamys nodded. “He is a suspicious character.”

“Ah, he’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Rand said.

“I know, right? Blood and ashes! I feel like I’m back home, getting harassed by my sisters,” Mat said, forgetting in his gratitude that Rand had become what he’d become. That forgetting only lasted a moment, unfortunately. If it had been otherwise, this trip would have been a lot less boring.

Rand’s amusement grew. “They’re not so bad either.”

“They were nice to me when I stayed there,” Merile said. The Maidens ignored her, and Rand’s amusement was immediately doused.

Mat rested his bow against his shoulder long enough to tip his hat to her. He’d noticed the way the Aiel were with her and couldn’t say he liked it much. She might be a channeler, but she was about as unthreatening as channelers ever got. Why pick on her? “Well, we are nice folk in the Theren. Treat us well and we’ll treat you well. Do otherwise and you’ll live to regret it.”

Some of the passing Aiel slowed, or stopped at overhearing him. Some of those that did were armed, too, even if their spears remained safely tucked away behind their cased bows. Mat eyed them suspiciously. He was not about to tolerate being threatened. He half-expected Rand to try to placate them—he’d been bending over backwards to try to make a good impression, as Mat saw it—but his lost friend folded his arms across his broad chest and nodded firmly. “You’re bloody right.”

It was hard to tell with Rhamys, who had barely cracked an expression while he was trying to flirt with her, but he thought she’d gotten even stiffer once Rand arrived. Well, what could the man expect? Trying to be an Aiel chief. If he’d more brains than a goose he’d have never come anywhere near the Waste. Mat certainly wouldn’t have, if he’d had any choice.

“Boasting wetlanders. Even a moron like you should know better than to listen to that,” a man said. Scowling, Mat followed the voice to a handsome, pale-haired man who was even taller than Rand. The scar running down the left side of his face was creased by his self-satisfied smirk.

To his surprise, solemn Rhamys gasped at hearing his voice, and went red in the face. “Who are you calling a moron!?”

“Can you think of anyone else nearby that the description better fits?” The Aielmen that had gathered around looked just as challenging as the speaker did, but most of them shook their heads over his rudeness.

Mat noticed Acavi among the men, and stepped over to him. “Who is this oaf?” he whispered.

Acavi shook his head, and kept his voice low. “It is an old thing. From when they were children. I speak only to make you aware, Mat Cauthon, but he is _Far Aldazar Din_ , and among their best.”

“Do not speak to me like this in front of, of ... Do not!” Rhamys demanded of the smirker. She folded her arms under her bounteous mammaries, and made her face stern. “It is you who should be shamed, Arcaval. Could you get around to introducing yourself?”

The man laughed, loudly and hearty. “You just did! Truly, there are goats smarter!”

Rhamys went even redder, and some of the other Aiel laughed along with Arcaval. Mat didn’t, even if, technically, the man was right. There was a difference between some fun teasing, and outright bullying. Rand and the Maidens seemed to feel the same, if the looks on their faces were anything to go by.

“I’m glad you don’t stand on formalities here. It’s a pleasant change from Tear. They were polite to the point of fawning there. That’s as bad as the opposite,” Rand said coolly.

Arcaval looked him up and down, and didn’t seem impressed. “Those who have returned have told us of the ease of their victory there. I wish I had been among those sent. But there will be more honour to be won in the future, I have no doubt.”

“We lost a third of our number in the fighting, which was still ongoing when Rand al’Thor called for the Tairens to surrender,” the tall Maiden—Renay, he thought her name was, said. “Even for _Far Aldazar Din_ , you are arrogant.”

“Hundreds face thousands, and win? And boasting of it is arrogance?” Arcaval laughed loudly. “Perhaps you should break your spears, and find yourself a husband. A true warrior would not speak so!”

Renay’s hands became fists at her side, but she did not raise them to thump the taller, heavier man. Mat blinked, realising that there was a very real likelihood that if she did, she and Arcaval would end up fighting. With sharp spears. Possibly to the death. He’d almost gotten used to seeing women walking around with weapons, but the idea that their menfolk would actually kill them, and probably had killed some before, had never really sunk in with him until then. He had to get out of the Waste. Everything was wrong here.

Rand looked as troubled as Mat felt. “You shouldn’t speak to them like that.”

Arcaval looked down at him, something which Mat imagined Rand was pretty unused to seeing. “Oh? Has Rhamys caught your eye, then? You should know that she is secretly a huge pervert.”

“I’ve never even spoken to—” Rand began but Rhuarc’s daughter talked right over him, while trembling with emotion.

“Do not treat me like a deviant! This is why I did not want to see you again!”

“And what’s wrong with being a pervert?” Mat added helpfully. Then they all glared at him for some reason, even Rhamys. Bloody women! Why were they so ungrateful?

Arcaval tossed his head back proudly. “Bah! It is not as if I asked you to give up the spear. I would not want to risk my children being so dim they would try to take a _gara_ for a pet.”

“The scales were pretty! And I was eight!” Rhamys shouted.

“Eight, and almost as foolish as this wetlander sniffing after you.” He turned his critical eyes on Mat. They were small and green and very punchable. “How would you ever move unseen with such a ridiculously long bow? Are you trying to make up for some lack elsewhere?”

“Nah. The girls are always smiling when Mat Cauthon leaves the room,” he said. They laughed, and Acavi covered his eyes with one hand for some reason. “Your mother will be able to tell you all about it, shortly after I meet her.”

“My mother is dead,” Arcaval said flatly.

Mat tried not to wince, and made his voice kind. “We’ll, she would have, if not for her tragic passing.”

“Is that all you have, wetlander? Empty boasts and a useless bow?”

“Useless?” Mat snorted. “I bet I could hit you a dozen times over with this, before you even got close enough to take your first shot.”

This time, even the Maidens laughed at him. “Aiel archery is the greatest in the world, wetlander,” a pretty young Maiden he didn’t know said with a condescending shake of her head. “Everyone knows this.”

Rand gave her a flat look. “Oh, really?”

Man and woman, the gathered Aiel nodded proudly. Arcaval uncased his unstrung bow and held it up for all to see. It was about two thirds the length of Mat’s, with a sharper curve, and looked to have more horn than wood in it. Mat hadn’t seen the Aiel shoot at range before, but was confidant that his Theren longbow could beat it.

“It’s a cute little bow,” he allowed.

Arcaval glared at him. “Cute!”

“Ah ... Again with the cute thing,” said Rhamys.

It was Rand Mat looked at, though. His old friend could be as stern and serious as Perrin, sometimes, but sometimes he could be up for a laugh, too. “I don’t know that ‘cute’ is the word I’d use,” he said solemnly, while the Maidens at his side nodded agreement and Merile looked on disinterestedly. Mat suppressed a sigh. It seemed boring Rand was out in force today. “Maybe ... ‘dainty’ would fit it better.” He made a great show of studying Arcaval’s bow. “Yes. A bit too dainty for Anna, and some of the other girls back home, but I could see Mistress al’Vere carrying one.”

Mat chortled. He chortled alone, since every last one of the Aiel had gone stiff in the face, but he only chortled the louder for that.

“Isn’t she a grandmother?” Mat asked, though they both knew it was so, even if her only grandchild had passed away. Rand nodded solemnly, his eyes twinkling.

Renay raised her fists excitedly. “You are the first boy brave enough to challenge me at this. You have yourself a contest! Just name your time.”

“It is a challenge that demands answering!” Arcaval agreed.

“I have no plans for this evening,” Rand said, cool as you please.

Arcaval slapped his hands together, and began calling for men to set up the targets. Mat was happy to let him do all the work. It left him with time to sidle up to Rhamys. “Don’t worry, cutie. I’ll make sure he eats a whole flock of crow for talking to you like that.”

She didn’t smile even a little. “Please don’t tease me. No woman wed to the spear should be described as cute. Just because you want to lie with me doesn’t mean you should lie.”

Mat was momentarily at a loss for words. She just came right out and said it! However impressive her assets, he was starting to wonder if this girl was worth the trouble. Looking to Rand didn’t help: the man just shrugged resignedly.

“I take it this kind of thing goes on often?” he said to Rhamys.

She nodded. “With Arcaval? Yes. It is how he is. If there is a chance to tease me, he would even abandon his duty for it.” She sighed. “My sisters are worse. It is because I am so stupid.”

“Aww. I’m sure you’re not really stupid,” Merile said nicely. The Aiel ignored her. It annoyed him. He barely knew Merile, but how were you supposed to feel sorry for someone who was being treated meanly if they insisted on being mean to others? Rhamys just stood there with that dour look on her face while Merile’s hopeful smile turned upside down.

“Merile. Would you mind getting my bow and quiver for me?” Rand said, more to end the awkward silence than for any other reason, Mat suspected. Lian’s house wasn’t very far away.

“Not at all! You left it by the door, didn’t you?”

“I did. Thank you.”

She made it only a few steps before stopping. “Um, which one is it? Does your bow have a name? Your sword has a name.”

An incredulous look crossed Rand’s face. “No? Who would name their bow?”

Merile shrugged. “Who names their swords? This is all new to me.”

“Well, I definitely haven’t named it. It’s just a regular Theren bow, customised to my height and reach. It’s the tallest one there.”

She nodded. “You could call it Philomela.”

“Why would I do that?” Rand laughed.

“Because it reminds me of a cook in the Stone. Skinny, pointed, and always throwing things at people. I’ll go get her. Be back in a flash.”

“Just don’t call her that! People might take you seriously. It! Don’t call _it_ that, I meant! Burn me.”

She didn’t pause her scampering long enough to show that she’d heard him. Mat shook his head. “Women, am I right?” Rand said nothing, but the look he gave him was far too speculative for Mat’s taste, so he stepped away. He found himself standing beside Acavi, who had bent his bow around one meaty leg and was stringing it with the ease of long practice. He liked the calm competence the man displayed. It was a nice break from all the shouting. Acavi saw him watching, looked him in the eyes, and nodded.

There was some consternation when Rand called for the targets to be set farther back, and even more of it when Mat suggested they double that distance. Rand stroked his chin for a moment before agreeing, while the gathered Aiel muttered among themselves. By the time they were done, the hide-wrapped bundles that passed for practice dummies were so far away that they almost reached the narrow entrance they’d used to enter Cold Rocks Hold. They looked very small at that distance, small enough that Mat started to worry that his mouth had earned a debt his purse couldn’t pay. The dozen or so Aiel who’d strung their bows certainly didn’t look as confident as they had. Even Arcaval’s smirk had disappeared.

Merile came scampering back, awkwardly carrying a bow that was well over a foot taller than her while trying not to spill the long arrows from the quiver in her other hand. “I found it,” she announced, as if Rand wouldn’t be able to see that. Rand just thanked her, rather than making the joke that Mat would have. He was back in his almost-Perrin mood now, all concentration, his face a handsome mask.

While the two Thereners strung their bows, the Aiel spread out along the valley floor. There didn’t seem to be any order that decided who did or did not take part in the competition. Arcaval did, of course, and so did Acavi and Renay. He recognised one of the other Maidens who decided to take part from the Stone. Ayla, her name was. She arrived late, saw the commotion, discerned its cause, smiled, and immediately reached for her bow. But Aca, Rhamys and many of those who’d been listening to the argument earlier just stood about, watching and placing bets.

Not many of those bets were being placed on the Thereners, he noticed. He wished he could split himself in two, or at least that he had time to make the rounds. If the Aiel genuinely thought the distance those targets had been set at was too extreme, then he could probably have made himself a fortune here. He knew he could hit those targets himself. Not reliably, no, but he had scored at that distance before. More, he knew Rand could do it at least half the time, and probably even more often in a setting like this, with no need to worry about the wind. If Arcaval hadn’t been there, he might have bowed out of the competition himself, the better to make some bets. But it was what it was.

The only Aiel he heard being sensible enough to bet on the Thereners was a yellow-haired youth who spent a fair bit of time staring at Rand, noticed how self-assured he looked, and decided to gamble that there was a good reason for it. Giladin, the scoffing of his friends revealed his name to be. Mat was still wondering if there was a way he could cut a deal with the man to place a few bets on his behalf when Arcaval raised his voice to kick off the contest, and all his dreams of gold had to be abandoned.

There were three targets, so each shooter got three chances. The Aiel that Arcaval had sent to set the targets up remained close by, ready to call out the result of each shot. The first man to shoot was a lanky red-haired fellow whose name Mat hadn’t caught. His arrow didn’t lodge in the target but it came close enough to give Mat reason to worry. If they’d been shooting at geese he would have winged it, if Mat was any judge. The watching Aiel groaned at his miss, and insults were duly made to his ancestry and personal habits. The man laughed it off. That set the mood, and eased Mat’s worries. Maybe Arcaval would take it all seriously, but the rest seemed to know the value of a bit of friendly competition.

Acavi missed as well, and endured the catcalling stoically. Renay actually hit the target on her turn, though low to the ground rather than dead centre. A wound, instead of a kill. Arcaval, his smirk replaced with a look of intense concentration, sent his arrow arcing high through the shaded valley, and landed it almost dead centre. Mat grunted. Maybe this wouldn’t be as easy as he’d thought. Like Acavi, Ayla missed her shot. Unlike Acavi, she took it a bit personally, swearing up such a storm that Mat shuffled a few extra steps away from her. And to think, he’d considered trying his chances there!

When it came to Mat’s turn, he drew fletching to ear, squinted carefully, adjusted slightly, and let fly. The shaft flew sweetly, and hit hard. He didn’t need or want to hear the judge’s calling it. He very much liked hearing the surprised murmurs from the Aiel, though, and watching the way Arcaval ground his teeth. Grinning modestly, Mat stepped back to let the next man try. Maybe surprise at seeing what a Theren bow could do had shaken his concentration, because he never even got close to the target.

Rand was up next. Cool and composed, he stepped forward, drew, loosed, and then turned on his heel and walked back to Merile. He was already at her side when the arrow struck the target, dead in the centre. This time, the murmurs were even louder. Rand didn’t even deign to crack a smile over it.

“I should have stretched first,” Ayla said, staring at him. Mat snorted softly. As if that would have made any difference.

The Aiel got a bit more serious in the second round, with Ayla scoring a direct hit that, while a fine shot, was not enough to bring a smile to her face after that earlier miss. The lanky man missed completely this time, while Acavi winged the target and Renay injured it again. Arcaval only managed a wound, too, and so did Mat when his turn came around. Rand hit the second target dead in the middle.

“Even if you can’t win, that’s no excuse not to fight,” Renay said cheerfully when the third and final round began. She hit the target square this time, bowed wryly to the jeering crowd, and sauntered over to rejoin Aca. Acavi looked a bit disappointed in himself for missing again, but didn’t cause a fuss over it, unlike Arcaval, who only managed another wound and shouted his frustrations at the heavens after hearing it called, as if the cloudless sky had caused it. Mat put himself in the exact same boat when his turn came, but at least he didn’t go shouting over it, despite having missed out on all the coin that the grinning Giladin was now pocketing!

It came down to Ayla and Rand in the end, after she managed to hit the target right in the middle again. Rand would have had to miss altogether for them to tie, and Mat didn’t think that likely to happen, but Ayla looked hopeful as she watched him step up and pull an arrow from his quiver. The smile he gave her was almost apologetic. The shot he fired did not strike dead centre, but that hardly mattered now. It hit, so he won. He heard Ayla curse softly just before the cheering drowned everything else out.

To Mat’s surprise, the Aiel celebrated his victory more than Rand did. Giladin he could have understood, but why did the others cheer? Even the ones who’d competed and lost, save for Arcaval and Ayla. Rand didn’t seem to understand it either, and looked a bit uncomfortable, but he raised a hand in acknowledgment nonetheless.

“Congratulations. All honour to you,” Renay told Rand. She had to shout to be heard over the din.

Rand smiled at her and raised his voice. “You shot well.”

“You are no slouch, either. It has been forever since I had that good a contest.”

The cheering died down when Arcaval approached Rand and Mat. He studied their bows for a moment before speaking. “It is a powerful weapon, I will admit. But I stand by my earlier words. There would be no room for stealth while carrying that thing,” he said stiffly, all wounded pride.

“You suit the tool to the task,” Rand said.

“That tool of yours is very impressive, Rand al’Thor,” Rhamys said. If she was pleased at seeing her bully brought down a peg, no sign of it showed on her face. If she realised what her innocent words could be taken to mean, no sign of that showed either.

Mat laughed softly to himself. Maybe she really _was_ an idiot. Arcaval laughed, too, and came to the same conclusion, but did not have the manners to keep it to himself. Rhamys spun around and stalked off, leaving Arcaval to smile after her.

“There is really no need for that,” Rand said quietly.

“You do not get it,” Arcaval said, his smile turning glum. “When she is in a murderous rage ... her face is even cuter.” He mimicked Rhamys’ departure, albeit going the other way, and left Rand and Mat to stare after him in consternation.

“They’re all crazy,” Mat muttered.

Rand nodded agreement.

“You’re crazy, too.”

Rand scowled. “No I’m not.”

“Thinking that is why you’re crazy.”

“Mat ...” Rand blew out his breath. “Never mind. As well try to teach a pig to dance as change you.” He shouldered his bow and walked away. Merile lingered long enough to stamp her foot at Mat once, get flustered, apologise for attacking him, and then run off after her beau. Crazy. Everyone in the world was crazy, except him.

* * *

Rand paused before starting the climb up to Lian’s house, sighing to himself. Every time he thought there was a chance of mending things with Mat, he got shot down. Renay and Aca had stayed with their friends, but he caught up to Rhamys on his way here. When she stopped beside him rather than continuing on home, he looked at her curiously.

“No need to be concerned. As long as you are in this hold, I will protect you,” she said.

He looked from her to the door to Lian’s house, perhaps twenty strides away, then back to the girl waiting patiently to escort him there. Then he made his face and voice as bland as he could. “Thank you very much.” Rhamys nodded acknowledgement. A strange girl. Even by Aiel standards. “I could probably manage to make it there on my own, though.”

She pondered for a moment. “Hrm ... That is true, but taking you back is my duty.”

He exchanged looks with Merile, who shrugged and said. “You can’t really expect me to explain it. They won’t even talk to me at all.” Rand sighed again.

“You must be tired, to be sighing for no reason like that. If you sleep under my near-mother’s roof, your stamina should recover,” Rhamys said. She sounded perfectly serious, with not a hint of the biting mockery that Aviendha would have delivered such instructions with.

“That’s usually how it works,” he agreed, suppressing yet another sigh. He began the climb, Merile and Rhamys following close behind.

They found Aviendha just outside Lian’s house, vigorously beating a blue-striped carpet hung on a line, more piled beside her in a heap of colours. Rhamys and Merile headed on in, but Rand lingered outside, recalling his original purpose for leaving. Brushing sweat-damp strands of hair from her forehead, Aviendha stared at him expressionlessly when he handed her the bracelet and told her it was a gift in return for her teaching.

“I have given bracelets and necklaces to friends who did not carry the spear, Rand al’Thor, but I have never worn one.” Her voice was perfectly flat. “Such things rattle and make noise to give you away when you must be silent. They catch when you must move quickly.”

“But you can wear it now that you are going to be a Wise One.”

“Yes.” She turned the ivory circle over as if unsure what to do with it, then abruptly thrust her hand through it and held her wrist up to stare at it. She could have been looking at a manacle.

“If you do not like it ... Aviendha, Adelin said it would not touch your honour. She even seemed to approve.” He mentioned the tea-sipping ceremony, and she squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. “What is wrong?”

“They think you are trying to attract my interest.” He would not have believed her voice could be so flat. Her eyes held no emotion at all. “They have approved of you, as if I still carried the spear.”

“Light! Simple enough to set them straight. I don’t—” He cut off as her eyes blazed up.

“No! You accepted their approval, and now you would reject it? That _would_ dishonour me! Do you think you are the first man to try to catch my eye? They must think as they think, now. It means nothing.” Grimacing, she gripped the woven carpetbeater with both hands. “Go away.” With a glance at the bracelet, she added, “You truly know nothing, do you? You know nothing. It is not your fault.” She seemed to be repeating something she had been told, or trying to convince herself. “I am sorry if I ruined your meal, Rand al’Thor. Please go. Amys says I must clean all of these rugs and carpets no matter how long it takes. It will take all night, if you stand here talking.” Turning her back to him, she thwacked the striped carpet violently, the ivory bracelet jumping on her wrist.

He did not know whether the apology sprang from his gift or an order from Amys—he suspected the latter—yet she actually sounded as if she meant it. She was certainly not pleased—judging by the sharp grunt of effort that accompanied every full-armed swing of the beater—but she had not looked hateful once. Upset, appalled, even furious, but not hateful. That was better than nothing. She might become civil eventually.

As he stepped into the brown-tiled entry chamber of Lian’s house, the Wise Ones were talking together, all four with shawls draped loosely over their elbows. They fell silent at his appearance.

“I will have you shown to your sleeping room,” Amys said. “The others have seen theirs, though Tam al’Thor and those who did not offer gifts have decided to sleep in their tents instead. It is not necessary, but since their honour demands it we did not try to dissuade them.”

“Thank you.” He glanced back at the door, frowning slightly. “Amys, did you tell Aviendha to apologize to me for dinner?”

“No. Did she?” Her blue eyes looked thoughtful for a moment; he thought Bair almost smiled. “I would not have ordered her to, Rand al’Thor. A forced apology is no apology.”

“The girl was told only to dust carpets until she had sweated out some of her temper,” Bair said. “Anything more came from her.”

“And not in hopes of escaping her labours,” Seana added. “She must learn to control her anger. A Wise One must be in control of her emotions, not they in control of her.” With a slight smile, she glanced sideways at Melaine. The sun-haired woman compressed her lips and sniffed.

They were trying to convince him Aviendha was going to be wonderful company from now on. Did they really think he was blind? “You must know that I know. About her. That you set her to spy on me.”

“You do not know as much as you think,” Amys said, for all the world like an Aes Sedai with hidden meanings she did not intend to let him see.

Melaine shifted her shawl, eyeing him up and down in a considering manner. He knew a little about Aes Sedai; if she were Aes Sedai, she would be Green Ajah. “I admit,” she said, “that at first we thought you would not see beyond a pretty young woman, and you are handsome enough that she should have found your company more amusing than ours. We did not reckon with her tongue. Or other things.”

“Then why are you so eager for her to stay with me?” There was more heat in his voice than he wanted. “You can’t think I will reveal anything to her now that I don’t want you to know.”

“Why do you allow her to remain?” Amys asked calmly. “If you refused to accept her, how could we force her on you?”

“At least this way I know who the spy is.” Having Aviendha under his eye had to be better than wondering which of the Aiel were watching him. Without her, he would probably suspect that every casual comment from Rhuarc was an attempt to pry. Of course, there was no way to say it was not. Rhuarc was married to one of these women. Suddenly he was glad he had not confided more in the clan chief. And sad that he had thought of it. Why had he ever believed the Aiel would be simpler than Tairen High Lords? “I’m satisfied to leave her right where she is.”

“Then we are all satisfied,” Bair said.

He eyed the leathery-faced woman leerily. There had been a note of something in her voice, as if she knew more than he did. “She will not find out what you want.”

“What we want?” Melaine snapped; her long hair swung as she tossed her head. “The prophecy says ‘a remnant of a remnant shall be saved’. What we want, Rand al’Thor, _Car’a’carn_ , is to save as many of our people as we can. Whatever your blood, and your face, you have no feeling for us. I will make you know our blood for yours if I have to lay the—”

“I think,” Amys cut her off smoothly, “that he would like to see his sleeping room now. He looks tired.” She clapped her hands sharply, and a willowy _gai’shain_ woman appeared. “Show this man to the room that has been prepared for him. Bring him whatever he needs. We will speak again, before tonight’s lessons, Rand al’Thor.”

Leaving him standing there, the Wise Ones headed for the door, Bair and Seana looking daggers at Melaine, like members of the Women’s Circle eyeing someone they meant to call to account sharply. Melaine ignored them; as the door closed behind them she was muttering something that sounded like “talk sense into that fool girl.”

What girl? Aviendha? She was already doing what they wanted. Dani maybe? She’d been learning fast, in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. Despite having less experience there than Rand and Raine, she was already almost as good as them at controlling it. And what was Melaine willing to “lay” in order to make him “know their blood for his”? How could laying something make him decide he was Aiel? _Lay a trap, maybe? Fool! She wouldn’t say right out she means to lay a trap. What sorts of things do you lay? Hens lay eggs_ , he thought, laughing softly. He was tired. Too tired for questions now, after six days in the saddle and part of a seventh, all of them oven-hot and dry; he did not want to think of how he would feel if he had walked that distance at the same pace. Aviendha must have steel legs. He wanted a bed, but the threat of tonight’s lesson still hung over him.

The _gai’shain_ was pretty, despite a thin scar slanting just above one pale blue eye into hair so light as to look almost silver. Another Maiden; only not for the moment. “If it pleases you to follow me?” she murmured, lowering her eyes.

He found Merile and Raine waiting outside a doorway that was indistinguishable from all the others save for the colour of the thick curtains that served as a door. In the dim light of that cave-like corridor, the wolfsister’s eyes glowed in a way that made Chion forget, for a moment, to pretend meekness. Rand just smiled.

“Are you as ready for bed as I am?”

Raine’s flicked a glance at the _gai’shain_ before answering. “Yes but we will be sleeping elsewhere. Tam and Uno and the rest say it would not be honourable. Geko insisted, even.”

“It’ll be fine. Even Lian said so. You’re my guests,” he said, but Raine shook her head, and Merile followed suit.

Raine hunched over in that way she’d often done when he’d first met her. He hadn’t really noticed it until then, but she rarely hunched like that anymore. It pleased him, though her words did not. “Get enough looks for fainting that time. Don’t like the smell. Do the honourable thing. Be back for lesson, though. See you then.” She slouched off, with Merile following at her heels, waving brightly and promising to see him soon.

Rand waited until they were out of sight before pulling his shirt away from his chest and giving it a sniff. Don’t like the smell? Had she meant him? It _had_ been a while since he’d washed, but how was he supposed to find a bath in the Aiel Waste? There was next to no water here!

The sleeping room was not a bedchamber, of course. Unsurprisingly, the “bed” consisted of a thick pallet unfolded atop layered, brightly coloured rugs. The _gai’shain_ —her name was Chion— looked shocked when he asked for wash water, but he was worried enough about the smell to risk scandalising the Aiel in a different way. Whatever her thoughts on the matter, Chion brought the water, hot in a large brown pitcher meant for watering the garden, and a big white bowl for a washbasin. She offered to wash him, too, which led to Rand giving her a long, considering look. She was an attractive woman despite her scar, but it was her situation that occupied his thoughts more than her body just then.

“Do _gai’shain_ often help to, um, wash people in such a way?” he asked.

A small smile curved her lips. “Aiel do not often, um, wash in that way at all. But I can understand that it might be different in the wetlands ... master.”

“Yes. It’s difficult. Having grown up there, only to come here now,” he confessed. “This _gai’shain_ thing is very confusing to me, for example. You do it for a year and a day, I gathered that much ... What all does it involve, though?”

“We are obliged to serve meekly and without question.”

“In what ways?”

“In _all_ ways,” Chion said, her head lowered demurely.

He studied her carefully, wondering if the implications he was imagining were really there, or if it was his own perverse mind working against him. “Even if you don’t want to?”

“What we want does not matter, even when not serving as _gai’shain_. Only _ji’e’toh_ matters,” she said. “Would you like me to wash your body now?”

Rand squashed his temptation firmly, and chased her out when she tried to talk him into it. Did she want to or not? It was all too confusing for him. Strange people, all of them!


	67. Uncommon Ground

Mat didn’t bother pursuing Rhamys after the competition. And he certainly didn’t go chasing after Rand. Far too much drama there. Instead, he found a seat on the steep steps than led up to the mountainside entrances, and watched Isendre and the peddlers at work. Now _there_ was a woman who understood the value of a drama free life. She didn’t even let Kadere get a word in who she flirted with. Acavi, the tall Aielman standing nearby, seemed to get it, too. Never a word of complaint from him over losing that contest.

“Does that Giladin fellow like to dice?” Mat asked.

“I do not know him well. He is _Shae’en M’taal_ ,” Acavi said, as if that explained anything.

Mat took off his hat long enough to scratch his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever know you lot well enough for you to make sense.”

“I would help you if I could, but you ask me to explain why the sun is hot. It simply is.”

He grinned at him. “There’s a lot of hotness going around, that’s for sure. Hotness and craziness by the wagon load.”

Acavi turned to look at him. Red-haired, green-eyed, with a squarely handsome face, he studied Mat in solemn silence for a moment before speaking quietly. “I do not know your customs, but ... when you look at me like that ... are you interested in me as a man? Is this your way of pursuing a relationship?”

Mat hesitated in a way he would not have if someone like Rhamys had asked that question. “I do not know your customs either ... would it offend you if I said yes?”

“Why would you think so? I heard Rhuarc explain to you what a _harem_ marriage is. Did you think it was always one man and two women? It is not. There are many women with multiple husbands, or men with husbands and no wives at all, though that last is discouraged. The making of children is our duty to the people.”

“Is that so?” Mat said, considering. He had wondered if Acavi was a prospect worth pursing. He reminded him of Perrin in a way, though he looked more like Rand. Well, a little like Rand, anyway. He had the hair and much of the height. More importantly, he was as sane and as solid as you could get. “I have to admit, the nights have gotten a bit boring lately ...”

“I know of ways to make them interesting again,” Acavi said, his voice going even deeper.

“Why don’t you show me?”

He didn’t, not just then. Instead, he motioned for Mat to follow and walked off, reaching and climbing another of those steep and winding steps. Like Lian’s place, the house he led Mat to looked small on the outside. Unlike Lian’s place, there were guards squatting outside with their spears across their knees. They stood at Mat’s approach, but only briefly.

“He is with me. I grant him permission to enter,” said Acavi, and the men went back to their original positions, an easy, flat-footed pose that they looked to be able to maintain forever.

It was bigger inside than outside, just as Mat had expected. It was packed, too, with dozens of unwelcoming Aiel faces to be seen in even the first chamber. It was the Roof of the True Bloods, Acavi explained after Mat commented. They were the largest of the warrior societies. Mat recognised a few of the faces they passed, but only Heirn stood out to him and not even he voiced a greeting. That was fine with Mat. The kind of fun they were about tonight wasn’t spoken of publically back home, even if most people knew it happened. Walking past all those people on his way to Acavi’s bedroom had him feeling more nervous than he was used to feeling.

His nerves didn’t completely disappear when they were private either, for Acavi waited only long enough to seal the room with a heavy curtain before grabbing him and kissing him roughly. Mat’s spear and bow clattered to the ground, so he could free his hands. Not to fight back, of course, but so he could start ripping at his clothes. They stripped as they kissed, and Acavi’s hands on Mat’s flesh were far from gentle.

“I should have guessed you like it rough,” Mat said, smirking.

Acavi threw off the last of his clothes, to reveal a muscular torso lightly marked with scars, and a cock already pointing towards the roof.

“You are the first wetlander to be this close to me without my clothes.”

Mat dropped his breeches to the ground, and stepped clear of them, his own erection bouncing before him. “They’ve been missing out ...” he drawled, as he went in for another kiss.

There were few words after that. Acavi wasn’t one for them, and Mat was too tired of being teased with what he couldn’t have to want to chat. They ended up atop the thick pallet on the floor, and Mat ended up atop Acavi, his cock thrusting deep into the Aiel’s ass. They hadn’t bother looking for any oils, but Acavi took it in silence. Even when Mat started fucking him in earnest, he barely made a sound. It inspired in Mat a perverse desire to force a cry of pleasure from him, so he sped up, and before he knew it he was humping that ass as hard as he’d ever humped an ass before, up in a crouch above him, his cock pumping in and out at a brutal tempo.

Going at that speed, with a tight ass clamping around every inch of him, Mat couldn’t last long, and didn’t. If it was a woman he was with, he would have felt bad about that, but that was one of the things he liked best about these kind of encounters: how much less complicated they were.

When he’d finished coming inside Acavi, he pulled out, collapsed face down on the bedding beside him, and waited. “Your turn,” he said, breathing heavy.

“It is,” Acavi agreed. He clambered around behind Mat, the wet tip of his cock brushing against Mat’s buttcheeks. He didn’t bother with any oil either, but Mat wasn’t able to stop from yelping when he felt himself penetrated. Acavi wasn’t the biggest, but that hardly mattered in such circumstances. He rode Mat slower than Mat had ridden him, too, pacing himself. Unnecessarily, so far as Mat was concerned. He’d been sleeping alone all week, and meant to make this encounter last all night if he could.

“I will not be with you long. Do not begin to think I am yours. This is a convenient arrangement. That is all,” Acavi whispered in his ear as he rode him.

“I’ve always been a great admirer of convenient arrangements,” Mat said, smiling.


	68. Traps

The meeting with the Wise Ones did not last very long. Amys stayed only long enough to assign the three students the task of finding each other in the World of Dreams, so they all soon retired to their own rooms. Or tent, in Raine’s case. No sleeping draughts had been provided, presumably so that the timing of their falling asleep could be staggered. Not that Rand needed the draught, as tired as he was.

The room was windowless, lit by silver lamps hanging from brackets on the walls, but he knew it could not yet be full dark outside. He did not care. Only two blankets lay on the pallet, neither particularly thick. No doubt a sign of Aiel hardiness. Remembering the cold nights in the tents, he dressed again except for his coat and boots before blowing out the lamps and crawling beneath the blankets in pitch darkness.

Tired as he was, he could not stop tossing and thinking. What did Melaine mean to lay? Why did the Wise Ones not care that he knew Aviendha was their spy? Aviendha. A pretty woman, if surlier than a mule with four stone-bruised hooves. His breathing slowed, his thoughts became misty. A month. Too long. No choice. Honour. Isendre smiling. Kadere watching. Trap. Lay a trap. Whose trap? Which trap? Traps. If only he could trust Moiraine. Or rely on Mat. Perrin. Home. Perrin was probably swimming in ...

Eyes closed, Rand stroked through the water. Nicely cool. And so wet. It seemed that he had never before realized how good _wet_ felt. Lifting his head, he looked around at the willows lining one end of the pond, the big oak at the other, stretching thick, shading limbs over the water. The Waterwood. It was good to be home. He had the feeling he had been away; where was not exactly clear, but not important, either. Up to Watch Hill. Yes. He had never been farther than that. Cool and wet. And alone.

Suddenly two bodies hurtled through the air, knees clutched to chest, landing with great splashes that blinded him. Shaking the water out of his eyes, he found Elayne and Min smiling at him from either side, just their heads showing above the pale green surface. Two strokes would take him to either woman. Away from the other. He could not love both of them. Love? Why had that popped into his head?

“You do not know who you love.”

He spun about in a swirl of water. Aviendha stood on the bank, in _cadin’sor_ rather than skirt and blouse. Not glaring, though, just looking. “Come into the water,” he said. “I’ll teach you how to swim.”

Musical laughter pulled his head around to the opposite bank. The woman who stood there, palely naked, was the most beautiful he had ever seen, with big, dark eyes that made his head whirl. He thought he knew her.

“Should I allow you to be unfaithful to me, even in your dreams?” she said. Somehow he was aware without looking that Elayne and Min and Aviendha were not there anymore. This was beginning to feel very odd.

For a long moment she considered him, completely unconscious of her nudity. Slowly she posed on toetips, arms swept back, then dove cleanly into the pond. When her head popped above the surface, her shining black hair was not wet. That seemed surprising, for a moment. Then she had reached him—had she swum, or was she just _there_?—tangling arms and legs around him. The water was cool, her flesh hot.

“You cannot escape me,” she murmured. Those dark eyes seemed far deeper than the pond. “I will make you enjoy this so you never forget, asleep or awake.”

Asleep or ...? Everything shifted, blurred. She wrapped herself around him tighter, and the blur went away. Everything was as it had been. Rushes filled one end of the pond; leatherleaf and pine grew almost to the water’s edge at the other.

“I know you,” he said slowly. He thought he must, or why would he be letting her do this? “But I don’t ... This is not right.” He tried to pull her loose, but as fast as he pried an arm away, she had it back again.

“I ought to mark you.” There was a fierce edge in her voice. “First that milk-hearted Ilyena, and now ... How many women do you hold in your thoughts?” Suddenly her small white teeth burrowed at his neck.

Bellowing, he hurled her away and slapped a hand to his neck. She had broken the skin; he was bleeding.

“Is this how you amuse yourself when I wonder where you have gone?” a man’s distorted voice said contemptuously. “Why should I hold to anything when you risk our plan this way?”

Abruptly the woman was on the bank, clothed in white, narrow waist belted in wide woven silver, silver stars and crescents in her midnight hair. The land rose slightly behind her to an ash grove on a mound. He did not remember seeing ash before. She was facing—a blur. A thick, grey, man-sized fuzzing of the air. This was all ... wrong, somehow.

“Risk,” she sneered. “You fear risk as much as Moghedien, don’t you? You would creep about like the Spider herself. Had I not hauled you out of your hole, you’d still be hiding, and waiting to snatch a few scraps.”

“If you cannot control your ... appetites,” the blur said in the man’s voice, “why should I associate with you at all? If I must take risks, I want a greater reward than pulling strings on a puppet.”

“What do you mean?” she said dangerously.

The blur shimmered; somehow Rand knew it for hesitation, uncertainty over having said too much. And then suddenly the blur was gone. The woman looked at him, still neck-deep in the pond; her mouth tightened with irritation, and she vanished.

With her departure went the haze upon his mind. His start caused him to slip under the water for a moment, but he soon regained the surface and began kicking for shore. It was a dream. But not an ordinary dream. As he climbed from the pond, dripping and naked, he felt the side of his neck, felt the tooth marks and the thin trickle of blood. Lanfear. She had done something to him, a little taste of the very thing he’d feared when he first contacted Seana. He needed to train harder. She was here, and growing impatient. And that other; a man. A cold smile crept onto his face. _Traps all around. Traps for unwary feet. Have to watch where I step, now_. So many traps. Everybody was laying them.

Laughing softly, he dressed himself simply by willing clothes into being, and was a little surprised to find the _cadin’sor_ to be the first thing that appeared. That wasn’t right. It was never right, but especially not here in the Waterwood. A frown was all it took to change into a gold-worked red coat of Andoran cut. That wasn’t right for this place either, but at least it was more right for him.

 _I should hurry up and do what I came here to do. The Wise Ones might grow suspicious_.

Find each other in the dream, they’d said, but they hadn’t said where they could be found. Cold Rocks Hold seemed the most likely place, but he dismissed that after a moment’s thought. It wouldn’t have been much of a test if all he had to do was walk into the reflection of Lian’s house in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. An Aiel test wasn’t likely to be that easy. There was another way, something he’d done before that allowed him to find people he knew. The Wise Ones weren’t tailoring their lessons to the students—other than Seana’s private instructions on the more ... questionable uses of _Tel’aran’rhiod_ —so they were treating Rand and Raine as if they were just as inexperienced as Dani. If it was as simple as figuring out how to find someone he knew, then it was test he’d already passed.

Rand pictured Raine in his mind, and tried to will himself to her to no effect. Frowning, he wondered if it matter how he pictured her. He saw her as herself, as the girl who rode at his side and watched his back, and that was who he had pictured in his mind. Instead, he tried to picture her as she appeared here, the half-wolf creature she claimed was her true self. But, for whatever reason, that didn’t work either. There was probably no reason to be alarmed. Just because Lanfear was stalking the World of Dreams, and his relationship with Raine was public knowledge, didn’t mean that she was in danger. It didn’t. It could be as simple as her not having fallen asleep yet. _Light, let it be so. If Lanfear hurts her I’ll ..._

Tamping down his worry as best he could, he resorted to picturing Dani in his mind instead. Tall and lean, with jet black hair that fell to her waist, high, sharp cheekbones, coppery skin. Stern looking, though not as harsh as he’d first thought her. “Bring me to Dani,” he said standing there with his eyes closed. And just like that, he heard her voice.

“This is the night. You said you wouldn’t prevent me from making my weekly appointments.”

He opened his eyes. He was in the Heart of the Stone, and it wasn’t just Dani that he’d found. Amys and Seana were there, too, confronting her not far from where _Callandor_ rested, stuck in the floor just as he’d left it. Seeing them standing so close to the outer edge of trap he’d woven was more than alarming. He hadn’t lied to Moiraine. That thing was deadly. Would it work even here? Did weaves spun in the real world affect _Tel’aran’rhiod_ at all? There were so many things he had yet to learn.

“I gave my word and I will keep it, Daniele Rulonir, but that does not mean you can meet with your friend in the middle of a lesson,” Amys said coldly.

A wide grin spread across Rand’s face. So. She met Nynaeve and Elayne every week, on this night, in this place. And here he had been gearing up to do a whole investigation, perhaps using all the things the Wise Ones were teaching him, to try to figure out how he could contact those two despite Dani’s refusal to help. Sometimes it was good to be _ta’veren_.

“Well, that was a lot easier than I’d thought it would be,” he said.

The Wise Ones showed no surprise at his arrival, but Dani jumped, spun around, glared, and then went, if not pale, then a few shades paler. “You ... you heard that?” Feeling rather smug, Rand let his grin grow wider. “You! Did your mother never teach you not to spy on people!?”

He shrugged easily, too pleased to be brought down by even that topic. “The one died birthing me, and the other died when I was six, so no. Don’t get yourself in a tizzy over it. They’re _my_ friends, too. I’m hardly going to hurt them.”

“I am not—!”

“Enough of this! Do none of your generation have any discipline?”Amys snapped.

Dani ground her teeth at being dressed down, but Rand took it on the chin. He’d heard far worse from Nynaeve back when she was Wisdom. Far worse even on a good day. “Can you tell if Raine is asleep yet?” he asked.

“We could. But it is not we who are being tested here,” said Seana.

“I tried finding her earlier, but it didn’t work. Is that something I should be afraid about?”

“For your development as a dreamwalker?”

“Burn my development. For her! Could she be in danger?” Rand said fiercely.

The three women exchanged looks before answering, and it was Amys who spoke this time. “There is always danger in _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , but this is not something you need to worry over. There is a way to find the dreams of one who sleeps but is not touching _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , but the technique you have been using is not it.”

“And your finding her is not much of a test either. You have already located us, and she is more familiar to you. I think it should be Dani who undertakes this search,” said Seana.

After Amys voiced her agreement, Dani squared her shoulders and said, “I am a Rulonir. And I am Domani. It’s shameful enough that I gave away Nynaeve’s secret. I can find Raine—and I will!”

“Good. Then picture her in your mind. Everything you know about her, how she looks, how she sounds ...” While Amys’ low voice instructed Dani, Seana came to stand with Rand.

“The girl is dear to you, then,” she said. “There is much talk of your behaviour, and much of it confused. But I see that she is more than a pet, as they said.”

Rand frowned. “A pet? Who called her that?” If it was a man, he was in for a busted nose. A woman, of course, would have to be let off with a stern talking to.

“Many returned from the wetlands. We have spoken to all. It is nothing to concern yourself with. Do you mean to marry Raine?”

He looked away, folded his arms, felt _Callandor_ draw and hold his gaze. “I can’t marry anyone. It wouldn’t be right. And it certainly wouldn’t last.”

“Nothing lasts. The Wheel turns, and Ages come and go. As do lives, and wives, and even children. I have buried two husbands in my life. I regret marrying neither of them. If a woman loves you, and you die before her, do you think she will wish she had never married you? Foolishness.”

Her words exposed him, and he didn’t like it. So he tried to turn the talk back on her. “Only two? With all this talk of _harem_ marriages, and the stuff you’ve shown me here, I’d assumed you had a dozen devoted husbands. At least.”

She sniffed. “It was a mistake to show you the ... stuff I no longer possess. It is making it harder for you to concentrate on your lessons.”

“It certainly is,” he drawled.

Seana’s cheeks reddened and she darted a guilty look at Amys, who was still instructing Dani and did not notice. “Do not tease an old woman, you incorrigible boy!” she whispered.

“I’ll have you know my teasing has received a lot of praise,” Rand said, his chin raised in mimicry of Elayne, who had, indeed, had many flattering things to say about the way he used his hands.

Seana laughed softly. “If I was twenty years younger, I would break you of that pride, and show you how it is really done.”

“If I was the age I am right now, I would let you,” Rand said. He probably would, too, if she’d wanted to. She was easy to talk to, for a Wise One, and their shared ... inclinations made him feel a good bit more relaxed with her than he did with most. Besides, some of the things she’d been teaching him were very exciting, and who better to practice them on than his teacher?

* * *

For a moment Nynaeve stood in the Heart of the Stone not seeing it, not thinking of _Tel’aran’rhiod_ at all. Channelling into the iron disk _ter’angreal_ had had the effect she’d anticipated, when she laid down on her bed with Elayne sitting nearby, waiting to wake her up if she stayed in this strange place too long. _Callandor_ sparkled, the crystal sword rising out of the floorstones beneath the great dome, and the massive redstone columns ran off in shadowed rows through that odd, dim light that came from everywhere. Easy to remember the feel of being watched, to imagine it again. If it had been imagination before. If it was now. Anything might be hiding back in there. A good stout stick appeared in her hands as she peered among the columns. Where was Dani? Just like the girl to keep her waiting. All that murkiness. For all she knew, something could be about to jump out at—

“That is an odd dress, Nynaeve.”

Just stifling a yelp, she spun around heavily, rattling metallically, heart thumping in her throat. Rand stood on the other side of _Callandor_ with two women in bulky skirts and dark shawls over white blouses, hair held by folded scarves falling to their waists. Nynaeve swallowed, hoping none of them noticed, tried to make herself breathe normally again.

“What are _you_ doing here!? Sneaking up on me that way! And where’s Dani?”

One of the Aiel women she knew from Elayne’s description; Amys’ face was much too young for such hair, but apparently it had been almost silver even as a child. The other, lean and grey, had pale blue eyes in a wrinkled face, but it was Rand’s face that she focused on.

“She went to find a friend. She should be back soon,” Rand said. “This was a good idea. Meeting up in the World of Dreams. I wish I’d thought of it. I wish you’d included me, too.” There was a question in his voice, but Nynaeve was too busy staring to answer it. He looked odd. Not quite himself. He was less handsome than he was in real life, with lines on his face and dark circles under his eyes that had not been there when she’d last seen him. That was less than a month ago; there was no way he could have aged so much in that time. Was it something to do with _Tel’aran’rhiod_? Elayne had warned her that odd things could happen here. _Wait. What was it he said? Odd dress? I rattled?_

Staring down at herself, she gasped. Her dress looked vaguely like a Theren garment; if Theren women wore dresses fashioned from steel mail, with pieces of plate armour like those she had seen Ragan’s men wear. How did men run about and jump into saddles in these things? It dragged at her shoulders as if it weighed a hundred pounds. Without touching her head she knew she had on some sort of helmet. Blushing furiously, she concentrated, changed it all to good Theren woollens. It felt good to have her hair back in one proper braid, hanging over her shoulder.

“Uncontrolled thoughts are troublesome when you walk the dream,” Amys said. “You must learn to control them if you mean to continue.”

“I can control my thoughts very well, thank you,” Nynaeve said crisply. She glanced at Rand, wondering why he looked that way. Could it be the madness? They couldn’t afford to lose him. _She_ couldn’t afford to. The bodice of her dress suddenly felt too tight.

Rand’s gaze came back up to meet hers. “How have you all been? Everyone’s well, I hope.”

“They’re fine. I’m taking care of them.” Rand’s sanity. There was nothing she could do about that, no healing she could offer. “Elayne worries about that letter she wrote you sometimes; she won’t talk, but I think she’s afraid she said more than she should have.”

He muttered something she couldn’t hear under his breath, but raised his voice to a proper level before she could get her rebuke out. “Will she be here next week? Is that how you do it, one at a time? Or do you both come together sometimes? Whichever it is, since I’m going to be coming to these meetings as well in future, I guess I’ll see her soon. We need to talk.”

Nynaeve shivered. Talk of the three of them together stirred unwanted memories. Rand must have been feeling nervous over meeting Elayne, since he began pacing rapidly. He didn’t get far, though, stopping right between her and the Wise Ones, while shooting the two Aiel women a warning glance. Perhaps she should have been angry with him for disrespecting women like that, but she wasn’t. It was good that he wouldn’t let himself be bullied by those foreigners. He was a Theren man, after all, whatever his blood. Thinking that made her feel warm again, for some reason.

That didn’t make her any less happy with his thinking he could just muscle his way into their meetings. She was going to tell him as much when a very strange voice spoke from out of nowhere.

“You needn’t concern yourself with me, Dani. I may be just a slip of a girl—neither pretty nor smart—but I’m well able to look after myself. I could have found my own way here. I’ve found him before.”

“Well, I haven’t. And we’re supposed to be learning, so ...”

Nynaeve was glad to hear Dani’s voice but, when she looked towards it, she found her jaw dropping. Dani had her arm across the shoulders of another girl, and it wasn’t the fact that said girl was not Ilyena that made Nynaeve gape. She was hairier than even the dumbest of men! There wasn’t even an inch of flesh to be seen, if you didn’t count the bits inside her ears—which were pointed!—and around her eyes, which glowed like a wolf’s in the dim light of the Heart of the Stone. The girl’s mouth was so elongated that it almost looked like a muzzle, and long dark nails tipped her fingers and the toes of her strangely-jointed feet, and— _Light have mercy! Is that a tail!?_

“You are,” said Amys. “I have seen Rand al’Thor move another along with himself, and now I see Dani do the same. This is a skill that you must demonstrate next, Raine.”

“Raine!? Raine Cinclare? Light, girl! What happened to you?” Nynaeve said.

Her ears swivelled like a dog’s, and confusion clouded those yellow eyes. Nynaeve shuddered. No wonder Perrin had been so afraid when his eyes changed colour. “Nothing. I just couldn’t get to sleep,” Raine said slowly.

“It’s how she sees herself,” Dani explained. She rubbed the girl’s hairy shoulder. It was probably meant to be comforting, and Raine certainly leaned into it, but Nynaeve couldn’t help but shudder some more. She might not be Wisdom of Emond’s Field anymore, but there were limits to the kind of behaviour she could or would tolerate. This Raine Cinclare was in dire need of a dosing.

The two Wise Ones did not look much alike, but their expressions were matched for grimness. “If I had interrupted my teachers so often, or chattered of such pointless things during training, I would still be trying to meet my _toh_ today,” said the grey-haired one.

“They are wetlanders. I knew it would be more troublesome, Seana, but had I known it would be like this I might have refused the request for teaching altogether,” said Amys.

“This other we can at least be rid of. She is no student of ours. And the others will be less distracted then,” Seana added, jerking her chin at Nynaeve rudely.

“Be rid of me, will you? You’ll find that easier said than done,” Nynaeve warned, planting her fists on her hips.

“Not to mention that we haven’t even had out meeting yet. You agreed that we could, Amys,” Dani said.

“I do not need to be reminded of that,” Amys said coldly. “I had thought it would have been over by now, however. Perhaps you will be done chatting before dawn comes. Perhaps.”

Dani flushed, but Rand stood as tall and immovable as a statue. Nynaeve refused to even look at Raine. _Girls with tails! What is the world coming to?_ She gave her braid a good firm tug, and showed the arrogant Wise Ones her shoulder. “We have some good news in Tanchico. Some,” she told Dani, while Rand stepped closer to listen. She supposed she could allow that. When she explained, though, it barely seemed to justify “some”.

“So you still don’t know what it is they’re after,” Dani said after she finished, “or where they are. But you know where they are not.”

“It’s progress,” Nynaeve snapped. She fixed the two Wise Ones with a firm, level look. From what Elayne said of Amys’ reluctance to give anything but warnings, she would need firmness to deal with them. “Elayne thinks you know all sorts of tricks with dreams. Is there any way I could get into people’s dreams to see if they are Darkfriends?”

“Foolish girl.” Seana’s long hair swung as she shook her head. “If Aes Sedai, a foolish girl still. To step into another’s dream is very dangerous unless she knows you and expects you. It is _her_ dream, not as here. There, they will control all. Even you.”

She had been sure that was the way. It was irritating to learn differently. And “foolish girl”?

“I am not a girl,” she snapped. She wanted to yank her braid again, but clenched a fist at her side instead; for some reason, pulling at her hair felt strangely uncomfortable of late. “I was Wisdom of Emond’s Field before I ... became Aes Sedai ...” She hardly stumbled over the lie at all now, usually, but Rand was right there, looking at her. “... and I told women as old as you when to sit down and be quiet. If you know how to help me, say so instead of giving me _foolish_ maunderings about what is dangerous. I know danger when I see it.”

Abruptly she realized her single braid had split in two, one over each ear, red ribbons woven through to make tassels on the ends. Her skirt was so short it showed her knees, she wore a loose white blouse like the Wise Ones, and her shoes and stockings were gone. Where had _this_ come from? She had surely never thought of wearing anything like it. Dani put a hasty hand over her mouth. Was she aghast? Surely not smiling.

“Uncontrolled thoughts,” Amys said, “can be very troublesome indeed, Nynaeve Sedai, until you learn.” Despite her bland tone, her lips quirked in barely masked amusement.

Nynaeve kept her face smooth with an effort. They could not have had anything to do with it. _They can’t have!_ She struggled to change back, and it _was_ a struggle, as though something held her as she was. Her cheeks grew hotter and hotter. Suddenly, just at the point when she was ready to break down and ask advice, or even help, her clothes and hair were as they had been. She wriggled her toes gratefully in good stout shoes. It _had_ just been some odd, stray thought. In any case, she was not about to voice any suspicions; they looked far too amused as it was, even Dani. _I am not here for some fool contest. I just won’t dignify them_. Rand, the great lout, had been too busy staring at her legs to even think of helping her. Not that she’d needed any help, of course.

“If I cannot enter their dreams, can I bring them into the World of Dreams? I need some way to find out who I can trust.”

“We will not each you that,” Amys said, hitching her shawl angrily. “It is an evil thing you ask, Nynaeve Sedai.”

“Untrained, they would be as helpless here as you in their dream.” Seana said in a voice like iron. “It has been handed down among dreamwalkers since the first that no-one must ever be brought into the dream. It is said that that was the way of the Shadow in the last days of the Age of Legends.”

Nynaeve shifted her feet under those hard stares, then forced herself to be still. She was not about to let anyone think they had made her uneasy. Not that they had. If she thought of being hauled before the Women’s Circle before she was chosen Wisdom, it was nothing at all to do with the Wise Ones. Firmness was what was ... They stared at her. These women could duel Siuan Sanche stare for stare. Not that they intimidated her, but she could see the point of being reasonable.

“It can be done. And it is still the Shadow’s way,” Rand said quietly. He said no more, but even what little he’d said was enough to make the Wise Ones turn their stares his way. Of course, _he_ only got worried looks instead of ill-tempered old women trying to stab people with their eyes. Men always had it so much easier.

Dani was looking worried, too, but for a different reason. She came to stand nearby, and whispered, “Are you sure you want to do this now? With him here?”

Rand didn’t hear, or he’d have thrown a fit, thinking they were spying on him. It was a question Nynaeve hadn’t considered before. We’re they spying? Getting news of his activities that didn’t come from Rand himself was appealing. Men often exaggerated to try to make themselves look better, especially with women they ... Nynaeve’s dress blurred into a low-cut red affair she’d been forced to wear once. She hastily willed herself back into Theren clothes, and tried to will her cheeks to remain pale. No. They weren’t spying, just getting another perspective. It would be hard to convince Rand of that, however. Perhaps they could get him to alternate weeks with Dani.

For now: “Go ahead and tell me what’s happened since the last meeting.”

Dani complied, but it was plain that she didn’t like doing it, not with Rand standing there listening to her every word. She was stiff of shoulder and of face as she relayed a dull tale of trekking across the Aiel Waste in order to reach a town built into a small mountain. The attack by some Trollocs was the only important part, so far as Nynaeve could tell, and even that was something she’d come to regard as normal since that Winternight, Light help her. Had they been alone Nynaeve would have asked after Rand’s mental state, but she could hardly do that with him listening in. Dani didn’t like speaking in front of the Wise Ones any more than she did Rand, and Nynaeve could understand why. Amys was sharing her husband with another woman? Her and her stares! At least neither Nynaeve nor Elayne had married Rand before they ...

She cleared her throat loudly. “Well, you all may be having an easy time of it, but Elayne and I need help. I had hoped you supposedly wise women might make yourselves useful, but seemingly not. The Black Ajah is sitting on top of something that can harm Rand. If they find it before we do, they may be able to control him. We need to find it first. If there is anything you can do to help, anything you can tell me ... Anything at all.”

“Aes Sedai,” Amys said, “you can make a request for help sound a demand.” Nynaeve’s mouth tightened—demand? She had all but begged. Demand, indeed!—but the Aiel woman did not seem to notice. Or chose to ignore it.

“You never told me about this? Control me? How?” Rand demanded. He suddenly had a sword in his hand and armour on his back. He sounded suspicious and looked afraid. That was all as expected. Which was why she hadn’t wanted to tell him.

“There’s no need to get yourself upset. We’ll deal with this,” she said.

“You should have told me,” he growled.

Nynaeve had no time for his sulking. “And you should trust me to take care of you.” She sniffed loudly. “After all I’ve done, this is how you behave!”

“The Inner Circle—” he began, but she and Elayne had already talked about that.

“Has not met yet. We would have told you all about it at the next meeting,” she finished firmly. “Stop sulking, Rand. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I am not ... sulking,” he seethed. The hairy supposed-girl crouching near him bared her teeth and growled at Nynaeve. Growled! Dosing _and_ paddling was needed there.

“Not a complete fool, then,” Amys said to a dubious looking Seana. “And ... a danger to Rand al’Thor ... We cannot allow the Shadow to have that. There is a way.”

“It is too dangerous for her. Or to speak of in front of these three,” Seana objected.

The two Wise Ones looked at each other. Finally Seana shrugged and lifted her shawl up around her face; clearly she washed her hands of the entire matter.

“It is dangerous,” Amys said. They made it sound as if breathing was dangerous in _Tel’aran’rhiod_.

“I—!” Nynaeve cut off as Amys’ eyes actually grew harder; she would not have thought it possible. Keeping a firm image of her clothes as they were—of course they had had nothing to do with that; it simply seemed wise to make sure her dress remained as it was—she changed what she had been going to say. “I will be careful.”

“It is not possible,” Amys told her flatly, “but I do not know another way. Need is the key. When there are too many people for the hold, the sept must divide, and the need is for water at the new hold. If no location with water is known, one of us may be called to find one. The key then is the need for a proper valley or canyon, not too far from the first, with water. Concentrating on that need will bring you near to what you want. Concentrating on the need again will bring you closer. Each step brings you nearer, until at last you are not only in the valley, but standing beside where water is to be found. It may be harder for you, because you do not know exactly what you are seeking, though the depth of need may make up for it. And you know already in a rough fashion where it lies, in this city.

“The danger is this, and you must be aware of it.” The Wise One leaned toward her intently, driving her words home with a tone as sharp as her gaze. “Each step is made blind, with eyes closed. You cannot know where you will be when you open your eyes. And finding the water does no good if you are standing in a den of vipers. The fangs of a mountain king kill as quickly in the dream as waking. I think these women you speak of will kill more quickly than the snake.”

“I could go instead of Nynaeve,” said Dani. She and Rand had listened to Amys’ explanation as intently as Nynaeve had. There was a light of speculation in Rand’s eyes. She doubted he’d even heard the parts where Amys had pointed out how dangerous it was. But how was she to stop him from getting himself in trouble when there was an entire sea between them?

“That is brave, Dani. But you are not there in Tanchico, you do not know the place, and you cannot have Nynaeve’s need. She is the hunter,” said Amys.

Need. Nynaeve felt warmer toward the Aiel women now that one of them had given her something she could use. “You must keep a close eye on Rand,” she told them. “He will try to do more than he knows how. He has always been that way.” For some reason Seana arched a grey eyebrow at her.

“I do not find him so,” Amys said in a dry voice. “He is a biddable student, now. Is that not so, Rand?”

“If I hadn’t known we were dreaming already, I definitely would now,” Rand said dryly.

Her hour was slipping away, and there were things she needed to say to Rand in private. “In seven days,” she said, “one of us will meet you here again. By then, Elayne and I will have taken whatever Liandrin is hunting away from the lot of them. When one of us sees you next, we’ll have laid them by the heels and stuffed them all in sacks to cart to the Tower for trial.”

“You mean to try taking them alive? That’s ...” Rand trailed off, then started rubbing at his forehead as though it hurt. Though she waited, he never finished what he’d been saying. Men!

“And another thing. There’s no need for there to be such a big gathering here. Elayne and I have only been coming one at a time. You and Dani should, too.” She shot the other Accepted a brief look, and could only hope she took her meaning.

Rand was still rubbing at his head. “I suppose. She is well, then? Truly?”

Nynaeve sniffed. As if she would lie about it! She was about to give him a piece of her mind when Amys cut in again.

“That the World of Dreams should not be so crowded with bumblers is very true. Perhaps, then, we could get back to our lesson. Raine still must learn to move another along with her.”

“I don’t mind it. We can repeat our earlier trip,” Dani said.

“Good. In order to take her with you, you will have to ...” Seana’s instructions grew quieter as Nynaeve walked away from the Wise Ones and their students. One of those students stood apart, visibly troubled by who knew what. But then, Rand usually looked troubled about something these days. It took an annoying amount of effort for her to catch his eye, but at least he understood her follow me gesture immediately.

As she walked into the shadows between the thick redstone columns, she wondered how she could tell Rand that Lan had changed his mind. That he’d kissed her. She should tell him. A kiss wasn’t the same as a wedding oath, but she should still tell him. What would happen then, though? What did she want to happen? She was so caught up in her worries that she jumped when Rand put his hand on her shoulder.


	69. A Fleeting Dream

The Wisdom—it was hard not to think of her that way when she was dressed like a Theren woman—the Wisdom faced him defiantly, but there were questions swimming in those dark eyes. Still, after all that had passed between them, there were questions. And the relentless ticking of the clock.

“You wanted to speak to me in private?” he asked. She nodded, and looked past him to where the Wise Ones were instructing Dani and Raine. Nodded. Said nothing. “I’ll take us somewhere else. Hold still.”

Her eyes widened when he took her by the shoulders. “Wha—?” In the blink of an eye, they went from the Heart of the Stone to the middle of the Green in Emond’s Field. Nynaeve relaxed in his grip, a smile blooming on her face. “It’s been so long ... What is that?”

“That” was a stone column sitting in the middle of the Green. It was carved with names, he noticed as they drew closer. He stopped well short of it, and caught Nynaeve by the arm when she moved ahead of him.

“It’s a memorial to those who died in the fighting,” he said quietly. “Come away. It would be nice to walk the streets with you, even if only in a dream.”

Nynaeve’s hand wavered halfway to her braid. “I want to see it.” He let her go. That was something he kept having to do, and the doing of it never got any easier.

She spent a long time walking around the stone column, examining the names. Rand didn’t want to see them; he already knew who had died, having been there when it happened. What good to drag up the memories? But the sighs and laments that Nynaeve let out drew him like a moth to a flame. He came and put his arms around her from behind when she completed her circuit of the memorial. She did not shove him away, as she once would have.

“So many gone. I should have been there.”

“You had other things to worry about. Important things. And you couldn’t have known what was happening. No-one could blame you. Or did.”

“I should have been there,” she repeated stubbornly.

He sighed into her hair. “There are lots of things that should have happened. I should have danced with you on this field, and tied ribbons in your hair. We should have married and had children in a world that the Shadow could never touch. But here we are.”

“Married,” she whispered. “The Women’s Circle would never have approved. I was Wisdom. If we’d ... If we’d done the sort of things we’ve been doing back then, we would have had to sneak about.”

“The woods ... yes,” he said, imagining it. At his imagining, they moved to those woods, and their clothes changed to the plain woollen garb of their homeland.

Nynaeve didn’t jump at the sudden change in scenery, she just turned to face him. Her braid was held in her hand, but her grip was loose, relaxed, and she was brushing a finger along her lip. “What are you doing, Rand?” she said in a near whisper.

He hadn’t actually been planning to do anything, but with her here, in this place, and looking so beautiful ... “I’m planning to seduce you,” he said roughly.

She giggled. “It’s not much of a seduction if you warn me first.”

“I never said I was good at it,” he admitted with a smile. “Could you show me, them?”

“What? You really are bad at this. Don’t just ask such a thing!”

He carefully brushed some loose hairs back behind her ears, making her perfect again. “I can’t help it. You are so beautiful. And for so long I thought you untouchable. I’d like to see you, all of you, here in this place. Would you strip for me? Please?”

Nynaeve swallowed. “Light. I ... I suppose if you ...” She fumbled with her blouse, loosening it, then pulled its front down and to the side, flashing one soft breast, the stiffening teat of which bumped along knuckles that madly refused to suck upon it.

“Beautiful,” he repeated. “Show me the rest.”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Nynaeve said, biting her lip. But do it she did, lifting her skirt to show him her dimpled sex, and then, under his lustful gaze, turning around to let him feast his eyes on her bottom. The woman who had so often denied feeling any attraction towards him, moaned sexily when she felt his hands upon her soft cheeks.

“I’ve always wanted you, Nynaeve. You have no idea how many times I dreamed of making love to you here in these fields,” he husked.

The former Wisdom took his hand, pulled it around, and pressed it to her wet sex. “Well, this is the right place for dreams to come true.”

It was. And it did.

Their clothes were gone in an instant. In the same amount of time she was on her hands and knees among the wildflowers on a grassy field, and he was behind her, in her. Her moans were sweet but they would have alerted any villagers who passed nearby. He needed to kiss her to silence, so he pressed her against the tree and covered her mouth with his. She wrapped her legs around him as he fucked her, the hands with which she grasped his ass urging him on. _Wait. Tree? Weren’t we ..._ Nynaeve knelt above him, her hands covering both their mouths as she rode him lustily, just the way he’d fantasised all those years ago, when he’d dared to dream she actually liked him but was holding herself back. He let her ride until her breath gave out, then rolled her over and matched her desire with his own.

“Rand. They mustn’t see us,” she gasped as she clung to him with her arms and legs. She had her eyes squeezed shut tightly. All of her was squeezing tightly.

“I never would have cared. Not so long as you were mine,” he rasped.

A barely conscious thought brought them to the Winespring Inn. He stood by the table in the common room, with Nynaeve splayed naked atop it. Her legs were spread wide, her hair unbound, her pussy stuffed full of his thick cock. He fucked her like that until her eyes opened and she saw where they were and she cursed loudly.

“Here? We can’t. Light, I can almost feel their eyes on me.”

“Language, Wisdom. I’m pretty sure you’d spank someone who said that,” he teased. Nynaeve, who was already red in the face, went even redder. Rand bit his lip. Hard. “Well ... I supposed it would be only right ...”

She gasped, her big dark eyes fastening on his. “Don’t you dare!”

But he did dare, and he was more experienced than she in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. Suddenly they were on the Wagon Bridge, with Nynaeve bent over its railing, naked for all to see. That there was no-one there to see but them in this strange reflection of Emond’s Field didn’t stop her from covering her breasts with her arms. Rand was still inside her but it was his hands that made her yelp this time, as they slapped lightly against her bottom, right, left, right, left. For all her protestations, Nynaeve’s hips rocked back against him as she rubbed herself wantonly against the manhood lodged within her body.

“We could have gone anywhere in this village, or in this world, but there would have never been a place or a time when I did not love you. In every way,” he said.

“Rand ... You already did.”

It took him a moment to realise what she meant. “That ... yes, but also ...”

Between one heartbeat and the next, the Wheel turned for them. They were in the house she’d lived in as Wisdom. She was on her knees again, but this time he was probing her back passage while she smiled over her shoulder at him. Her breasts hung heavy beneath her, but not nearly as heavy as her belly, filled as it was with their child.

“I love you, too,” Nynaeve breathed. “Every last inch of me loves you.”

Her words rocked him to his core, even more than the incredible pleasure he felt at what they were doing. He should have basked in that experience, and in what she was saying, but Rand was cursed with a questioning nature. Did she mean it? Could he be influencing her, much as he’d feared Lanfear would him? His traitorous hands crept around to touch her round belly, and Nynaeve’s smiled even brighter. He shook his head fiercely, denying himself. This was a life they could never have now. A dream long lost. As well wish they were children again.

It wasn’t Nynaeve’s bed in which they cavorted anymore, but Rand’s. A bed far from Emond’s Field, off in their farm in the Westwood. A bed that had burned long ago. And in it lay a girl that had never once visited that farm, much less that bed. Nynaeve’s face was rounder now, her body slimmer, her hair in two braids instead of one, with pretty pink ribbons woven into each. She toyed with both as he ran his tongue along the lips of her hairless little pussy. His hands were smaller, too, he noticed, when he reached up to lightly caress her small breasts and circle with his fingers the now-stiff nipples that crowned them. The naked girl smiled down at him as she watched him pleasure her, and he smiled his infatuation back at her.

There were no more discoveries to be made there, not for either of them, but Rand found himself trembling as he so carefully explored her body.

“This feels so strange ... But so, so good,” Nynaeve said in a too-squeaky voice.

It did. It felt so good that when she eventually rose dripping from the bed, and turned around, the better to show him everything that rested between her narrow hips and skinny legs, he could not help but seize her and touch his desperate cock to her warmth. She gasped loudly as he slipped inside what had once been her most private of places. They fell forward onto the bed, his bulk resting atop her, and in her. His kissed her cheek as he moved inside, idly wondering what age they were just then, and if it would have been remotely possible for them to have been together like this in the real word.

“I feel so full,” Nynaeve groaned.

“Should I stop? Is it too much for you to take?” The last thing he wanted was to hurt her.

“I can take everything you have to give,” she boasted. “I bet I could even ...”

Again they moved, this time into the Westwood proper, where tall trees pressed close around them. Rand was up against one of those trees with his breeches around his ankles and his cock held hostage in the hands of the woman kneeling in front of him. A woman she was, too, of her proper age and then some. There was grey in Nynaeve’s hair but it touched only the temples and even then only lightly. It made her look older, yes, but artfully so. Too artfully to seem natural. It also made him wonder which of them, if any, was having the most influence on _Tel’aran’rhiod_ this night.

He didn’t wonder for very long, though, for Nynaeve smiled up at him, opened her mouth, and swallowed as much of his cock as she could. Rand gasped when her wet mouth engulfed him, and gasped louder when her tongue began tracing the contours of his manhood. Nynaeve never closed her eyes, she just stared up at him confidently as she took him deeper and deeper inside. He feared he would choke her, but she feared nothing. Deeper she took him, until he was sure he was long past any point where there could possibly have been room in her mouth. Deep into her throat she took him, licking all the way. Rand’s eyes threaten to roll back in his head. When he saw Nynaeve try to smile at him around the cock that stretched her mouth, he almost came right then and there.

Except ... in all this shifting madness, had she come even once? He hadn’t had the presence of mind to check, but it was unconscionable that she not. He had to hold on, for her sake.

“I need to feel you coming around me,” he told her roughly.

Nynaeve’s hand got busy between her legs as she slid him carefully back out of her throat. She kept hold of his cock once it was free, gripping it almost possessively. “The field,” she growled. “Take us there. Take me there.”

He did. He took her there on her back, as she clutched him to her once more. He pounded her hard, until he ran out of breath, and as soon as he faltered she rolled him over and started rutting atop him. Her nails found his chest. His fingers found the middle of her soft cleft, and suddenly she was screaming, her hair flying free of its braid as she tossed her head back and forth, becoming a wild brown banner that blotted out the unmissed sky above him. If she still worried over those watching eyes and listening ears, it was certainly not enough to quiet her. She came long and hard, and with such sights and sounds and feelings assaulting him, it wasn’t long before Rand was coming, too, a thick flood of cream spilling out to fill the womb of the woman who was not, burn it all, his wife.

She lay atop him afterwards, breathing heavily, her warmth shaming the sun that burned above them. He idly caressed her hair and neck, wishing that this dream would never end. Knowing that it must. “It would have been good,” he whispered. “The two of us. Here in this village. Together forever. It would have been good.”

The arms she had wrapped around his neck tightened. “More so than I ever dreamed,” she confessed. “This feels so nice. Could you stop shaking me, though? I just want to rest here for a while. I’ll go to work in a minute. Ugh. I don’t want to.”

Rand blinked down at her. “What are you talking about?” he asked, but no answer ever came. Nynaeve faded out of his embrace like the dream she was, leaving him alone in a world of dreams that were made a tepid and dull place by her absence.


	70. Unintended Consequences

Nynaeve rolled over and hugged her pillow. She felt so warm, too warm. And ... Oh, Light. She’d never felt so ... worked up before in her life. As she blinked herself awake, images flashed through her mind of the things she and Rand had done in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. When she’d collapsed in his arms, she’d felt so utterly satisfied. So why was her body screaming at her like this?

“Was there any interesting news? Assuming you found time to ask.”

Elayne was sitting in a wooden chair by her bedside wearing a long white nightdress, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, eyes half-lidded, and chin very much raised.

“What do you mean?” she asked. How to make the girl leave quickly? She needed to ... She needed some time alone.

“Please. With all that writhing and moaning?” Elayne sniffed. “The _display_ you were making! I know why, too. You mumbled his name any number of times. How did he find out about our meetings?”

The flush that rose to her face added an extra bit of heat to Nynaeve’s already over-heated body. “They didn’t say. That girl Raine was with them, too. And Amys.”

Elayne’s eyes widened. “You _didn’t_ ... With ...”

“No! It was just Rand and me,” she gasped, then flushed again. Perhaps it shouldn’t have felt embarrassing to admit it, after all that she and Elayne had done, but it did. It was Rand’s fault. He’d caught her by surprise, showing up uninvited like that. And he’d tricked her into doing such scandalous things. She’d thump him the next time they met. And then she’d ...

Elayne sniffed again as she watched Nynaeve chew on her lower lip. “What did he do to you? I’ve never seen you like this. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!”

“Kindly do not lie to my face, Nynaeve.” The girl was younger than her, and spoiled rotten, but she still dared to look down on her as if she was a naughty little girl with her hair in braids, and ... and a pretty boy touching ... Nynaeve writhed on the bed. Why would she not just leave?

Elayne got up and came to stand over her, frowning down worriedly. “Something is amiss. Are you ill?”

“I’m fine!” she snapped, only for the girl to grab her by the shoulders and shake her.

“You are obviously not fine! Tell me what’s wrong!”

“It was the dream, okay!? What happened in it didn’t happen here! It’s feels like I’ve been thinking about a, a whole lot of ... s-stuff, but not doing anything at all. Do you get it now!? Satisfied!?” she shouted. The nerve of the girl. Shaking her. She was old enough to be her ... Well, no she wasn’t, but she was older was the point!

Elayne released her and stood up. A dimpled smile crept its way across her face. “One of us is, yes.” Nynaeve’s glare just made her giggle. She never should have let the girl tempt her into sharing a pillow. She had no respect any more. “I had no idea _Tel’aran’rhiod_ worked that way. I suppose it’s something I shall need to be wary of if ...” She cleared her throat and said no more.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Nynaeve said.

Elayne raised her brows. “Do you? You know that I’m thinking of doing you a favour. And you are still lying there, looking so wanton? Well. I shan’t say I am surprised.”

“What are you on about?” Nynaeve asked, just as the glow of _saidar_ surrounded Elayne. Thin flows of Air flicked the blankets aside. Nynaeve was wearing nothing but her shift underneath. She tugged it down, fearing that the Daughter-Heir would be able to see how wet she was.

“It is a new technique I’ve been working on. Relax. I think you’ll like it,” said Elayne. Before Nynaeve could ask what she meant, more thin tentacles of Air, visible to her eyes alone, seized her by the ankles and pulled her down the bed. She gasped loudly, and her shift rode up, exposing her sex. A few thundering heartbeats later, Elayne spun another tentacle of Air, and sent it to press up against Nynaeve’s slit. The furious protest she’d been about to let loose dissolved into a moan of relief. It was cool to the touch, that thing she’d made, but it was still so very, very satisfying to be touched by it. “As I thought,” Elayne said, with intolerable smugness.

“How dare you!?” Nynaeve groaned as the tentacle rubbed against her. “You spoiled, dirty little ...” Light but it felt good.

“ _Excuse_ me?” Wide-eyed, fists on hips, with her nose raised to high it was in danger of catching flies, Elayne glared down at Nynaeve. “The, the sheer gall of it. You call _me_ dirty after—. I shall tolerate this no more!” More tentacles seized Nynaeve’s wrists, pinning her to the bed. She would have embraced _saidar_ and fought back—she could do that now—but the tentacle at her crotch chose that moment to straighten out, worm its way down to her entrance, and push its way inside.

Nynaeve was bound by wrists and ankles, but it was her own wicked desires that held her in place as Elayne came to join her on the bed. That tentacle kept moving inside her all the while, rubbing against places that desperately needed to be rubbed.

Elayne put her hands on either side of Nynaeve’s head and leant over her, red-gold curls dangling beneath her, and big blue eyes intent. “I should put one in your bottom, too. I’ll wager you let him do it again.” Nynaeve’s face must have given her away, for Elayne nodded knowingly. “And you have the audacity to call _me_ such names! Well, take this!” Her tentacle went deeper, forcing Nynaeve to cry out. But not in pain. “And this!” It slid out, only to return with greater force.

 _I should stop this_ , some still rational corner of Nynaeve’s mind thought. _I can’t let myself be fucked like this by some spoiled brat, so much younger than myself. I should tie her up and spank her soft little bottom. See how she likes being bound!_ She didn’t, though. That thing inside her felt too good, and she was so, so horny.

The tentacles holding her legs pulled harder, spreading her to allow the one in her pussy to writhe with greater abandon. Nynaeve squirmed on the bed while Elayne smirked down at her.

“You love it. I can tell,” the brat claimed. “You want more, don’t you? Ask me nicely.”

Ask nicely? Nynaeve didn’t ask nicely for anything! “Never!” she spat defiantly.

Elayne rolled her eyes. “You are ready to explode, yet you are still as stubborn as a mule.”

The writhing tentacle slowed down, controlled as it was by this cruel young witch. “You ... you’d better fuck me harder than that, if you know what’s good for you,” Nynaeve warned.

The Daughter-Heir muttered something under her breath that a Daughter-Heir should never be muttering at all. “Oh, you want it hard, do you? I can arrange that.” The tentacles holding her legs pulled against her yet again, this time dragging her forward until her feet were reaching for the ceiling and her hips were raised off the bed. Elayne was watching her carefully but Nynaeve had no time to ask after her intent, for she felt another tentacle touching her, this one smaller than the other. It’s narrow end trailed across her cheeks, found the crevice between them, and the tight little hold within, and began pushing.

“Don’t you d—!” she began, but couldn’t finish. Elayne’s second tentacle slid inside her other hole even as her first started writhing even more insistently than before. Nynaeve couldn’t help it. After only a few last moans of denial, she came hard, relief flooding through her tortured body.

She was aware of Elayne smiling smugly down at her as she watched. But the pleasure was such that she could only lie there, twitching feebly, her mind made numb. She barely even noticed when the tentacles dispersed and the glow of _saidar_ faded from around Elayne.

As the silent minutes dragged on, Elayne’s expression went from smug to thoughtful. “It must have been very ... interesting. Dreaming like that. I’ve never seen you like this.”

“ _Tel’aran’rhiod_ is a strange place. The normal rules don’t apply there.” Or after, at least tonight. As she gathered her wits, a frown grew on Nynaeve’s brow.

“Yes. I ... The next scheduled meeting is mine to take. I ...” She trailed off, watching Nynaeve carefully.

It was, indeed, supposed to be Elayne’s turn to meet with Dani next time. Or Rand, if he came. And if he did, and if Nynaeve knew him at all ... She sat up on the bed, her shift falling back into place. _Tie me up, will you? Say such things, do such things, and think you’ll get away with it? Oh, there will be a reckoning, girl_. She said nothing aloud, not wanting to give away her plan. But the longer she stared, the wider Elayne’s eyes went.

The Daughter-Heir gulped loudly.

* * *

Rand woke horny and alone. He had been distracted throughout the rest of Amys’ lesson, his mind being full of Nynaeve, but he didn’t think any of them had noticed. Certainly none of them had asked where he had gone while Dani and Raine were practicing. “To paradise and back” would have been his answer, if they had asked. He wasn’t exactly in a state of paradise just then, though. Twisted around on the bed, he adjusted himself as best he could, but he doubted he could get back to sleep while he remained so uncomfortably erect. He was wondering what Merile or Raine would think if he crept out to visit them in their tents when he became aware of small, regular noises. He held his breath, listening carefully. He was not alone in the room. _Lanfear_.

Frantically he reached for the True Source. For an instant he feared fear itself might defeat him. Then he floated in the cold calm of the void, filled with a raging river of the Power. He sprang to his feet, lashing out. The lamps burst alight.

Aviendha sat cross-legged by the door, mouth hanging open and green eyes bulging by turns at the lamps and the bonds, invisible to her, that wrapped her completely. Not even her head could move; he had expected someone standing, and the weave extended well above her. He released the flows of Air immediately.

She scrambled to her feet, nearly losing her shawl in her haste. “I ... I do not believe I will ever become used to ...” She gestured at the lamps. “From a man.”

“You have seen me wield the Power before.” Anger oozed across the surface of the void surrounding him. Sneaking into his room in the dark. Frightening him half to death. She was lucky he had not hurt her, killed her by accident. “You had best grow used to it. I am He Who Comes With the Dawn whether you want to admit it or not.”

“That is not part—”

“Why are you here?” he demanded coldly.

“The Wise Ones are taking turns watching over you from outside. They meant to continue watching from ...” She trailed off, her face reddening.

“From where?” She only stared at him, her face growing more and more crimson. “Aviendha, from wh—?” Dreamwalkers. Why had it never occurred to him? “From inside my dreams,” he said harshly. “How long have they been spying inside my head?”

She let out a long, heavy breath. “I was not supposed to let you know. If Bair finds out—Seana said it was too dangerous tonight. I do not understand it: I cannot enter the dream without one of them to help me. Something dangerous tonight is all I know. That is why they are taking turns at the door to this roof. They are all worried.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“I do not know why I am here,” she muttered. “If you need protection ...” She glanced at her short belt knife, touched the hilt. The ivory bracelet seemed to irritate her; she folded her arms so it was tucked into her armpit. “I could not protect you very well with a knife this small, and Bair says if I pick up a spear again without someone actually attacking me, she will have my hide for a waterskin. I do not know why I should give up sleep to protect you at all. Because of you, I was beating rugs until less than an hour ago. By moonlight!”

“What have I got to do with that?”

She glared at him as if he’d insulted her. He shifted his feet under her intense look, wondering what her problem with him was. None of the other Aiel, short of Couladin, had been this hostile. His shifting stance drew Aviendha’s gaze downwards to his uncomfortably tight breeches. Her eyes widened even further. Had he thought she’d been glaring before? That had been a friendly smile compared to the way she was looking at him now.

“You dare think I came here for that!? You belong to Elayne, though she is a fool to want you!” She bared several inches of her knife’s blade, and Rand took a hasty step backwards. He’d had women look at him like they wanted to stab him before, but with Aviendha there was a distinct likelihood that she actually would.

“It’s not what it looks like,” he tried to explain.

“Do you think I don’t know what, what—I know! Just because I never wanted ... You will not shame me, Rand al’Thor!” Still gripping her knife’s hilt, she stalked from the room like an angry wildcat, leaving him to mutter curses at her back. There were drawbacks to letting your more solicitous activities become public knowledge. People started assume things that weren’t true.

 _Blood and ashes. You’d think I was a moment away from throwing her down on the bed and ..._ He shifted his feet again. _These breeches must be the wrong size. She makes far too many bloody assumptions about me, is the point. Everyone does_.

Not wanting to give her the opportunity to assume the worst—again!—Rand waited until several minutes after Aviendha left before stepping out himself. The halls and chambers stood silent and empty, most dimly illuminated by the scattered lamps still burning. Here where extinguished lamps meant pitch dark at noon, some lamps were always left lit.

Chion was tidying up the entrance chamber when he arrived there, unsupervised but working diligently nonetheless. She kept her head meekly downcast while looking a question at him. Had she noticed the state he was in, as Aviendha had? He recalled all the things she’d said earlier, and a dark temptation tried to take hold of him. She was a good-looking woman. If he took her back to his room he could ... Flushing, Rand strode past Chion with his hands in fists. It wouldn’t be right.

The cold air went some ways to dousing his ardour when Rand stepped out of Lian’s house to stand in the small circle of light that extended beyond its entrance. Raine had told him that Uno had set up camp near the narrow passage by which they’d entered Cold Rocks Hold. It would be a long cold walk but remembrance of the warmth that might await him when he got there kept him focused.

“That explains why you and this Nynaeve disappeared,” said a voice from the darkness.

For the second time that night, Rand embarrassed himself by jumping at the surprising presence of an Aiel woman. As his eyes adjusted to the moonlight, he saw a vague, dark form standing a little farther down the path. He couldn’t make out her features but he knew her voice.

“I have no idea what you are implying, Seana,” he said stiffly.

He heard her chuckle. “I am well aware of that particular side-effect. There is no need to be so ... stiff. We have shared secrets before, you and I.”

“Well ... Nynaeve is a very proper woman. Publically.”

Though she was older now, and had never been a Maiden, Seana’s footsteps remained quiet as she came closer. As did her voice. “All are. Here we do often speak of such things unless we are private. Even addressing Daniele Rulonir by her preferred name instead of her full one is uncomfortable, as though we were implying a relationship that does not exist. I was always appropriately discreet in my own dalliances, when I was young. I will not speak to others of what may or may not have happened between you and Nynaeve.”

He made his own voice as quiet. “Thank you. Discretion was always a virtue for me, as well. I won’t say anything about what we’ve spoken of either, or tell anyone if I ever see you with ... whoever has your eye these days.”

She huffed a laugh. “Do not be silly. I am an old, grey woman now. Those days are far behind me.” She was standing in the little circle of light by then. It picked out the shining threads of white in her long, grey hair, highlighted the fine bone structure that had served her younger self so well. It served her well still.

“They don’t have to be,” he said quietly. “If you were of a mind to teach some ... private lessons, I’d be more than happy to learn ...”

He was surprised yet again by an Aiel woman that night, when Seana, normally as taciturn as the rest, blushed furiously and let out a girlish giggle. “I could not. I am old enough to be your greatmother.”

“And yet still so beautiful ...” She giggled again, and bit her lip. Her eyes flickered toward the house behind them, considering. Rand decided to take a chance.

“I’m going back to my room now,” he said mock-wistfully. “It’s cold and lonely there, but I suppose I will just have to shiver my way through the night, all by myself ... while wishing that a certain someone would come and join me ...”

As he walked slowly away from her, he heard Seana mutter to herself. “I do not think he needs many lessons at all. Not when it comes to this, at least.”

He was feeling optimistic when he let himself back into the sleeping chamber that had been allotted him. His optimism faded a little when the minutes ticked by and no-one came to join him. His erection faded, too, if not completely. It twitched back into being as soon as the curtains twitched aside and a woman slipped into his room, smiling shyly.

Rand’s welcoming grin was far from shy. His eagerness must have eased some tension in Seana, for she strode right up to him, shyness forgotten, put her hand behind his head and pulled him down into a kiss.

He knew he should be gentle and patient but, with all that had happened that night, he just couldn’t. He kissed Seana hungrily while pulling at her clothes. His cock strained for freedom. Instead of rebuking him for his over-eagerness, Seana strained to match it with her own. She pulled his shirt up over his head, ran her eyes and her hands over the hard young muscles that covered his torso, and smiled to herself. That smile became a grin when she saw how his breeches were tented. Her experienced hand slid carefully down the front, found him, and gripped him gently.

“You really need this,” she whispered.

“I do,” he grated.

Her skirt was already pooled on the floor. Only her long white blouse concealed her nudity, and that not much. Her legs were long and thin and still strong-looking. She pulled her blouse over her head, revealing a pretty pair of breasts that were too small of have sagged noticeably. They fit his hands perfectly when he gripped them. Seana made a small noise of approval, looked him in the eyes and said, “Then take me.”

He did, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her again. He pulled her down onto the bed with him, his cock straining for an embrace that it had been too long denied. No urging was needed to make Seana spread her legs—they went around his waist just as soon as she got into place under the blankets. She took him in her hands and aimed him at her entrance.

“It was not neither of our dreams, then, but reality,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Nevermind.” He was in place by then, and desperate to thrust. She must have seen it, for she smiled and said, “Do not hold back ... Rand. I know how much you need this. Take it. Show me your strength, your youth, and your passion. Fuck me hard.”

“Burn me,” he cursed. Then he thrust into her, and all words and thoughts abandoned him.

Rand pounded Seana every bit as hard as she’d bid him, and then some. His cock went all the way into her wet pussy on the first thrust, and didn’t stay there long before he started rocking his hips back and forth. His hands pawed at her roughly, clutching her soft bottom, her even softer breasts, combing through the long grey hair than fanned out behind her. Her lined cheeks went very red and she gasped for breath, but she gamely took everything he had to give her, while her eyes roved over the body that strained above her, and in her.

“What a specimen,” she whispered. Rand barely heard. He was too filled with the need to come. He was too filled to last very long, as it happened. They had been at it for mere minutes when Rand found himself tensing up, throwing his head back, and thrusting deep into her. Moments later, his seed shot forth and his mind went blank.

When awareness returned he was lying atop the old woman, breathing deeply. The sweat on his body was cooling rapidly, where the blankets did not cover him. Groaning lightly, he pushed himself off Seana to rest by her side.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she responded. Then she giggled again. “That took me back.”

He felt sleepy. But he fought back against it. He might not be Aiel, or follow _ji’e’toh_ —honour and obligation—but he’d never needed a convoluted code of conduct to let him know the importance of reciprocation. Rand kissed Seana’s cheek, then her neck, then further down, across her chest, pausing a moment to suck on one stiff nipple, then down further still. The hands with which he caressed her were gentle now, even when he reached his destination and sent two fingers inside. He beckoned her towards him, and Seana came, shifting her hips eagerly to let him touch what needed touching.

“It has been so long. I missed this ...” she whispered.

“In that case, I’d better make sure to remember all I’ve learned,” he said, his voice muffled by the blankets under which he laboured. When he kissed her little nub, Seana tangled a fist in his hair, and moaned loudly. Rand smiled to himself, and settled in to show her how good a student he had been.


	71. Forgotten Fears

Seana stayed the night. When Rand was woken from a troubled sleep, his first thought was that she must have been the reason. A relatively strange woman sharing his bed, tossing and turning, making noises. There was nothing unexpected in that. But something gave him pause; something urged him not to close his eyes again. There was a feel in the air, a sense of wrongness. Of evil. It could be imagination, residue from his dreams. It could be.

He slid out from under the covers, careful not to expose Seana to the chill air, and reclaimed his boots and breeches from the floor. One of the lamps still burned. The light it gave off was feeble—too much to allow the kind of darkness that welcomed sleep, too little to allow someone to read clearly. Rand dressed quickly. That feeling of wrongness hadn’t faded. If anything, it felt like it was growing stronger.

When he pulled the curtain aside and stepped from his room, he found Aviendha sitting cross-legged in the corridor. She saw the surprise on his face and said, “Do not think that I am here because I like you. The Wise Ones are concerned. And your death would make trouble for the Aiel. That is all.”

He nodded. “I appreciate your honesty.” And then she glared at him, as if he had mocked or insulted her. What did it take with this woman!?

That strange feeling grew stronger still. Or perhaps, it was growing closer ... Aviendha gasped as the flame-red sword appeared in his hands, its slightly curved blade marked with the heron. Lanfear had accused him of using only the tenth part of what he was capable of, yet most of that tenth came by guess and fumbling. He did not know even the tenth part of what he could do. But he knew the sword.

“Stay behind me.” He was just aware of her unsheathing her belt knife as he moved slowly down the corridor, balanced on the balls of his feet. Oddly, the air was no cooler than when he had lain down. Perhaps those stone walls held what heat there was, for the farther out he went, the colder it grew. Even the _gai’shain_ must have sought their pallets by now. The feeling was still vague, but it would not go away. Evil.

He stopped suddenly, in the wide archway leading to the brown-tiled entry chamber. One silver lamp at each end of the room gave a pale light. In the middle of the floor a tall man stood with his head bowed over the woman wrapped in his black-cloaked arms, her head flung back and her white cowl fallen while he nuzzled at her throat. Chion’s eyes were nearly closed, and she wore an ecstatic smile. A flush of embarrassment slid across the surface of the void. Then the man raised his head.

Black eyes regarded Rand, too big in a pale, gaunt-cheeked face; a puckered, red-lipped mouth opened in a parody of a smile, showing sharp teeth. Chion crumpled to the floor as the cloak unfolded, spread into wide, batlike wings. The Draghkar stepped over her, white, white hands reaching for Rand, the long, slender fingers tipped with claws. Claws and teeth were not the danger, though. It was the Draghkar’s kiss that killed, and worse.

Its crooning, hypnotic song clung tight around the void. Those dark, leathery wings moved to enfold him as he stepped forward. One moment of startlement flashed in the huge black eyes before the Power-made sword clove the Draghkar’s skull to the bridge of its nose.

A steel blade would have bound, but the blade woven of fire pulled free easily as the creature fell. For a moment, deep in the heart of the void, Rand examined the thing at his feet. That song. Had he not been shielded from emotion by emptiness, kept dispassionate and distant, that song would have snared his mind. The Draghkar surely believed it had when he came to it so willingly.

Aviendha ran past him to half-kneel beside Chion and feel the _gai’shain_ ’s throat. “Dead,” she said, thumbing the woman’s eyelids the rest of the way shut. “Perhaps better for it. Draghkar eat the soul before they consume life. A Draghkar! Here!” She glared at him from her crouch. “Trollocs at Imre Stand, and now a Draghkar here. You bring ill times to the Three-fold—” With a cry, she threw herself flat across Chion as he levelled the sword.

A bar of solid fire shot over her from his blade to strike the chest of the Draghkar just filling the outer doorway. Bursting into flame, the Shadowspawn staggered back screaming, stumbling across the path, beating wings that dripped fire.

“Rouse everyone,” Rand said calmly. Had Chion fought? How far had her honour held her? It would have made no difference. Draghkar died more easily than Myrddraal, but they were more dangerous in their own way. Would she have lived if he’d taken her to his bed? Probably. How twisted the Pattern was. He had killed a woman by not taking advantage of her. Twisted and mad. “If you know how to sound the alarm, do it.”

“The gong by the door—”

“I will do it. Wake them. There may be more than two.”

Nodding, she dashed back the way they had come, shouting, “Up spears! Wake and up spears!” Rand stepped outside warily, sword ready, the Power filling him, thrilling him. Sickening him.

He wanted to laugh, to vomit. The night was freezing, but he was barely aware of the cold.

The burning Draghkar was sprawled in the terrace garden, stinking of burning meat, adding the light of its low fire to the moon. Even as Rand snatched the leather-padded mallet hanging beside the square bronze gong, pandemonium erupted from the canyon mouth, human shouts and Trolloc howls, the clash of steel, screams. He sounded the gong hard, a sonorous toll that echoed down the canyon; almost immediately another gong sounded, then more, and from dozens of mouths the cry, “Up spears!”

Confused yells rose around the peddlers’ wagons below. Rectangles of light appeared, doors flung open on the two boxlike wagons, gleaming white in the moonlight. Someone was shouting angrily down there—a woman; he could not tell who. And did not care. He needed to get to the mouth of the canyon, where Tam and the others were camping.

Wings beat in the air above him. Snarling, Rand raised the fiery sword; the One Power burned in him, and fire roared from the blade. The stooping Draghkar exploded in a rain of burning chunks that fell into the darkness below.

“Here,” Rhuarc said. The clan chief’s eyes were hard above his black veil; fully dressed, he carried buckler and spears. Rhamys stood behind him, coatless and bareheaded, trying to wrestle her considerable assets into place so she could finish dressing while carrying her weapons tucked under one arm. Ilyena came trotting into the room, still wearing her nightdress. She looked grim and intent, with not a hint of a shiver to be seen. Her talk about having a high tolerance for cold hadn’t been a boast, then. He could hear Loial’s booming voice from further inside the house, and multiple lower ones, but those three were the first to arrive.

Rand took the _shoufa_ from Rhuarc, then let it drop. A bat-winged shape wheeled across the moon, then swooped low on the far side of the canyon, vanishing in the shadows. “They hunt for me. Let them see my face.” The Power surged in him; the sword in his hand flared till it seemed a small sun illumined him. “They can’t find me if they do not know where I am.” Laughing, because they could not see the joke, he ran down toward the sound of battle.

Another Draghkar swooped down at him when he reached the canyon floor, but even in the dead of night it could not hide from his _saidin_ -enhanced senses. And it certainly could not stand against the fire he shot toward it. As if fell careening to the ground, the flames that engulfed it briefly lit pieces of Cold Rocks Hold, like a lamp in a ship’s hold swaying madly in a storm, bringing the cargo from light to shadow and back again. Armed Aiel were spilling out of all the cave-like houses, but the Trollocs didn’t seem to have made it this far inside. Yet.

As he started running towards the canyon entrance, he found another running alongside him. She was clad in white, but no _gai’shain_ ever stared as hard as Ilyena was just then. “I will watch your back,” she said.

They ran in grim silence for a moment. He didn’t want an Aes Sedai—Accepted technically, but it was all the same—he didn’t want one of _them_ anywhere near his back. But ... she didn’t have to be out there at all, risking her life. And she was Dani’s friend, and Dani had been surprisingly decent to Merile and Raine, and even to Rand himself at times. _Dammit_.

“Thanks, but keep your distance. It’s me they’re after,” he said. He couldn’t make himself sound grateful, or welcoming, but he said the words, at least.

She didn’t move out of the light he was casting right away, preferring to alternate looks between his face and the ground they were running across. “Even though you still don’t completely trust me, and you’re more than a little scared?” she asked.

Rand bristled. Scared? He didn’t like that description at all. But what else did he feel when an Aes Sedai got too close, if not fear? “Yes,” he growled.

A bitter smile curved her lips. “Thanks. That means more than you know.” She moved away then, into the shadows where she could watch without being seen.

That was sensible, but there was another girl out in the night who was not as blessed with good sense as Ilyena Volnicoliev. A circle of light bloomed in the distance, much like the one that surrounded Rand. At its centre stood a short, slight girl with long black hair, shivering despite the green dress she wore. She hopped up and down, waving her arms in the air.

“Over here, you—you vile, mean thing!” he heard Merile shouting.

Rand cursed, and put on speed. “Merile! Stop that! I _want_ them to come to me!” he shouted. It was maddening. How were you supposed to protect someone if they insisted on jumping in front of arrows meant for you?

He could see Tam at the edge of Merile’s light. He held his sword in one hand and Raine’s arm in the other, while an Aiel Maiden guarded his back. Raine was trying to pull free of his grip.

“Let me go, curse you! My love is in peril, and I’ll not let the like of you—or anyone—keep me from his side!” she snarled.

“He knows what he’s doing. Those Draghkar will be drawn to him like moths to a flame, and die as easily. This isn’t helping,” Tam insisted.

Warmed by his father’s faith, Rand came to a halt, there on the valley floor. His eyes met Merile’s across the distance that still separated them. Hesitantly, she looked from him to Tam and back again. Then she let her light wink out. Rand smiled, held his ground, and waited for the Draghkar to come.

* * *

Pulling his spear free of a boar-snouted Trolloc’s chest, Mat crouched, eyes searching the moonlit darkness near the canyon mouth for another. _Burn Rand!_ None of the shapes he saw moving were big enough to be a Trolloc. _Always dumping me into these bloody things!_ Low moans came from the wounded. A shadowy form he thought was Moiraine knelt beside a downed Aiel. Those balls of fire she tossed about were impressive, almost as much as that sword of Rand’s, spurting bars of flame. The thing still shone so a circle of light surrounded the man. Was he deliberately showing off, running around shirtless like that with his fancy tattoos gleaming in the night? He was lucky Trollocs didn’t use bows very often; he’d have been a perfect target for any enemy archers. _I should have stayed in my blankets is what I should have done. It’s bloody cold, and this is nothing to do with me!_ More Aiel were beginning to appear, women in skirts come to help with the injured. Some of those women carried spears; they might not do the fighting normally, but once the battle had reached into the hold they had not stood by and watched.

Acavi would be out there somewhere, too. They’d charged out of the Roof of the True Bloods side by side, but had separated almost immediately, with the Aiel running off to some predetermined assignment. He hadn’t even said a word to Mat before going, but that was fine. He wasn’t looking for anything too serious, after all. A word wouldn’t have been too much to ask, mind.

A Maiden stopped beside him, unveiling. He could not make out her face, all moonshadows, but he knew her by her voice. “You dance your spear well, gambler. Strange days when Trollocs come to Cold Rocks.” She glanced at the shadowy shape he thought was Moiraine. “They might have forced a way in without the Aes Sedai.”

“There weren’t enough for that, Rhamys,” he said without thinking. “They were meant to pull attention here.” _So those Draghkar would have a free hand to reach Rand?_

“I think you are right,” she said slowly. “Are you a battle leader among the wetlanders?”

He wished he had kept his mouth shut. “I read a book once,” he muttered, turning away. _Bloody pieces of other men’s bloody memories_. Maybe the peddlers would be ready to leave after this.

He passed Arcaval as he left. There was blood on his spears but none on her clothes. He lowered his veil to grin at the chief’s daughter. “Good for you, Rhamys. It looks like the wetlanders did not confuse you with the Trollocs, and strike you in error.”

Mat rolled his eyes. If the man wanted to get in her good graces, he was doing it wrong. That wasn’t his problem, though. There was too much drama wrapped up with those impressive jugs, and Mat Cauthon had a strict no-drama policy. Besides, there were other girls around.

When he stopped by the wagons, neither Keille nor Kadere was anywhere to be seen. The drivers were all clumped together, hastily passing around jars of something that smelled like the good brandy they had been selling, muttering and as agitated as if the Trollocs had actually come within smelling distance of them. Isendre stood at the top of the steps to Kadere’s wagon, frowning at nothing. Even with her brows furrowed, she was beautiful behind that misty scarf. He was glad that at least his memories of women were his own.

“The Trollocs are done,” he told her, leaning on his spear so she would be sure to notice it. _No point risking having my skull split without getting a little good out of it_. No effort at all was needed to sound tired. “A hard fight, but you’re safe, now.”

She stared down at him, face expressionless, eyes glittering in the moonlight like dark, polished stone. Without a word she turned and went inside, slamming the door. Hard.

Mat expelled a long, disgusted breath and stalked away from the wagons. What did it take to impress the woman? Bed was what he wanted. Back in his blankets, and let Rand deal with Trollocs and bloody Draghkar. The man seemed to _enjoy_ it. Laughing like that.

Rand was coming up the canyon now, the glow of that sword like lamplight around him in the night. Aviendha appeared, running to meet him with her skirts pulled up above her knees, then stopped. Letting her skirts fall, she smoothed them and fell in beside Rand, lifting her shawl around her head. He seemed not to see her, and her face was blank as stone. They deserved each other.

“Rand,” a hurrying shadow called with Moiraine’s voice, melodious, but a cool music. Rand turned, waiting, and she slowed before she could be seen clearly, entering the light regally enough for any palace. “Matters grow more dangerous, Rand. The attack at Imre Stand could have been aimed at the Aiel—not likely, yet it could have been—but tonight the Draghkar were surely aimed at you.”

“I know.” Just like that. As calm as she and even colder.

Moiraine’s lips compressed, and her hands were too still on her skirts; she was not best pleased. “Prophecy is most dangerous when you try to make it happen. Did you not learn that in Tear? The Pattern weaves itself around you, but when you try to weave it, even you cannot hold it. Force the Pattern too tight, and pressure builds. It can explode wildly in every direction. Who can say how long before it settles to focus on you again, or what will happen before it does?”

“As clear as most of your explanations,” Rand said dryly. “What do you want, Moiraine? It is late, and I am tired.”

“I want you to confide in me. Do you think you have already learned all there is to know, little more than a year out of your village?”

“No, I haven’t learned everything yet.” Now he sounded amused; sometimes Mat was not sure he was still as sane as he looked. “You want me to confide in you, Moiraine? Alright. Your Three Oaths won’t let you lie. Say plainly that whatever I tell you, you won’t try to stop me, won’t hinder me in any way. Say you won’t try to use me for the Tower’s ends. Say it plain and straight so I know it’s true.”

“I will do nothing to hinder you fulfilling your destiny. I have devoted my life to that. But I will not promise to watch while you lay your head on a chopping block.”

“Not good enough, Moiraine. Not good enough. But if I could confide in you, I’d still not do it here. The night has ears.” There were people moving all around in the darkness, but none close enough to hear. “Even dreams have ears.” Aviendha tugged her shawl forward to shadow her face; even an Aiel could feel the cold, apparently.

Rhuarc stepped into the light, black veil hanging loose. “The Trollocs were only a diversion for the Draghkar, Rand al’Thor. Too few to be else. Draghkar meant for you, I think. Leafblighter does not want you to live.”

“The danger grows,” Moiraine said quietly.

The clan chief glanced at her before going on. “Moiraine Sedai is right. Since the Draghkar failed, I fear we can expect the Soulless next; what you call Grey Men. I want to put spears around you at all times. For some reason, the Maidens have volunteered for this task.”

The cold was getting to Aviendha. Shoulders hunched, she had her hands shoved into her armpits as far they would go.

“If they wish it,” Rand said. He sounded a touch uncomfortable under all that ice. Mat did not blame him; he would not have put himself in the Maidens’ hands again for all the silk on Sea Folk ships.

“They will watch better than anyone else,” Rhuarc said, “having asked for the task. I do not mean to leave it to them alone, however. I will have everyone on guard. I believe it will be the Soulless next time, but that does not mean it cannot be something else. Ten thousand Trollocs instead of a few hundred. It seems they do not fear us as they once did. Or perhaps their hatred of you is greater than their fear of entering what they call ‘the Dying Land’.”

“What about the Shaido?” Mat wished he had not cracked his teeth when they all looked at him. Maybe they had not even realized he was there until then. Still, he might as well say it. “I know you don’t like them, but if you think there’s really any chance of a bigger attack, wouldn’t it be better to have them in here than outside?”

Rhuarc grunted; from him, that equalled a curse from most men. “I would not bring near a thousand Shaido inside Cold Rocks if Grassburner were coming.”

Mat heard someone clambering out of the wagons, but was disappointed to find it was only Kadere. He came as far as where Mat stood but then hesitated. With Rhuarc, Moiraine and Rand off in that little circle of light, Mat couldn’t blame him for wanting to stay clear. But why had he come out at all? He seemed to be trying to catch Rand’s attention, but hadn’t the nerve to call out to him. Mat watched the frustration growing on the peddler’s face, and watched it turn to anger when Rhamys and a group of Maidens came to escort Rand back to his bedroom. He wasn’t sure what was going on there, but he hoped it meant the peddlers would be asking to leave soon. He wanted to be long gone by the time the next Shadowspawn attack came.


	72. Honour Guard

Casualties in the Shadowspawn raid of the night before had been few, for the Aiel had responded quickly even when taken by surprise. But even that amount of failure was enough to incense the Taardad. The mood at Lian’s table had been angry that morning, enough so that Seana’s presence, and how she came to be sleeping under that roof, went unremarked. For Rand’s part, he wondered at the timing more than the motive.

His pondering lasted well into the afternoon, in part due to all he needed to talk over with Rhuarc, and in part due to Seana’s odd conviction—delivered in a private moment—that he had probably saved her life. News of Draghkar under the roof and on the path outside had troubled her more than he would have expected, given how hard the Aiel in general, and Wise Ones in particular, were. The question of whether she had _toh_ or not took entirely too long to answer, despite Rand’s tendency to just shrug and say, “Of course not.”

As such, it was later than he would have liked when he finally got the chance to attend to some of his private business. Aviendha had already left to visit her mother’s roof by the time Rand squared his shoulders and decided to go shopping.

He would have been content to go alone—would have preferred it, even—but with the remaining _gai’shain_ still scrubbing blood off the floor there had been little chance of convincing anyone that he was safe and should be left in peace. That Rhuarc sent his daughter to gather an escort of Aiel, making sure to insist on representatives of each of the twelve warrior societies, was bad enough, but having Dani and her Accepted insist on tagging along was worse. How was he supposed to get anything done with them listening in?

All five of them followed him out into the heat, though. They crowded together on the narrow path through Lian’s small garden, brought to an almost immediate halt when Rand saw who awaited him there.

“Good afternoon, Uno. Taking in the sights?” he said, smiling wryly. Privacy. He had never realised how precious it was until he lost all of his.

Uno’s return smile was almost sheepish. “Something like that. Me and the men thought we’d best keep an eye out for you,” he said. He adjusted his patch, frowning thoughtfully. “Since the bloody Aiel didn’t stop those Draghkar last night, might be you should have some proven men around you. Burn me; if they were going to get all pissy about us doing the job they wanted, they could at least have done it fucking right!”

Loud sniffs sounded from behind. Rand didn’t bother to look and see which of them was trying to stare the man down. He’d seen it many times before, and could easily imagine. Uno did look, though, but only so he could give the women one of his scowls, the fake red eye and the real brown one looking matched for fierceness. He was well aware that Dani and her girls were not really Aes Sedai, whatever they said. He hadn’t, so far as Rand knew, said anything to them about it, but he’d heard him tell the other Shienarans that he thought it a disgrace for them to be lying the way they were.

Said Shienarans were all with him now, the ones who’d accompanied Rand to the Waste, at least. All save Izana had gotten dark from the sun, and even Izana was no longer as pale as he’d been, despite the white hood and scarf he’d taken to wearing. Their glum looks were saddening, but the reason he’d had for setting them aside still remained compelling. Since none of the Aiel were nearby, he told them as much, but added that there was no reason he couldn’t go walking with some old friends. Their smiles warmed him so much that even the scrutiny of Dani and her lot couldn’t get him down.

They were down on the valley floor, and Izana was recalling his version of last night’s action, when Rhamys came trotting back with two dozen Aiel running behind her. Other than Rhamys herself, Rand recognised a grand total of two of them—Branwen and Mangin—though he thought he might have seen a few of the others watching yesterday’s contest. The Aiel came to a halt just short of Rand, and locked eyes with the five Shienarans surrounding him. Five, when there were only two from each of the societies. Would they find insult in that? He suppressed a sigh. He had no time for this touchy, easily offended, honour-obsessed foolishness. He just wanted to get his job done with as little fuss as possible.

“These are my friends, Rhamys. You brought quite a few friends of your own, I see.”

“I was told to bring _algai’d’siswai_ , not friends, so that is what I did,” she answered solemnly while studying the people with him. “Do you mean the men? Aviendha, who is second-daughter to my near-mother, said that you hate the Aes Sedai, and even spanked one of them.”

Rand followed her gaze and found five very offended Accepted glaring at them both. Ilyena’s smile could have cut glass, while the apples of Theodrin’s cheeks had gone very red. Dani was looking at him suspiciously, as if it had been him, and not Aviendha, spreading tall tales. But why would Aviendha lie? Unless ... “Do you mean Alanna? I just tied her up and threw her over her horse. To get rid of her. I never spanked her. It was the horse I slapped.”

“So you _do_ hate Aes Sedai,” Rhamys said.

Rand hesitated. “I wouldn’t say I hate them. No more than I hate the Whitecloaks. But I’m not their biggest admirers either,” he said slowly. He jerked a thumb at the Accepted. “This lot were sent by a friend of mine, though, so I put up with them.”

None of the Accepted were pleased by his words. Pedra sneered, Mayam turned her face away, and the others looked offended. Rand shrugged it all off. What had he said that was not true?

The mood among his now quite large group remained tense as they walked through Cold Rocks Hold, with far too many people seeing fit to eye each other as though expecting a fight. It made the narrow-eyed Aiel he saw clearing away the last of the debris from the fight look almost cheerful.

It didn’t make the friendly smiles with which Keille, Kadere and the rest greeted his return to the wagons any less predatory, though. Rand kept his face still and his nod cool. The peddlers seemed to be doing a brisk trade, though the Aiel merchants were certainly not being taken for fools. One man, with as close to a pot belly as he’d ever seen on an Aiel, was giving Kadere a hard time, sneering at the goods the man was offering in a way that would have done any Tairen noble proud. Kadere looked as if he wanted to say something when Rand passed by, but between the merchant’s persistent haggling and the small army of people following Rand, he was inspired to swallow whatever comment he’d been going to make. Perched on one of the wagon seats nearby, Natael pressed his lips together and scowled about him as though sick of Cold Rocks Hold already.

Keille’s dark eyes glittered as Rand approached. The merchant with whom she was negotiating was female, much quieter than the man had been but no less stiff of neck. Whatever it was she was offering had Keille laughing raucously. He looked around for Isendre but could not see her.

“Come, come! As well you might,” Keille called when she noticed his steps slowing. “Some others definitely will. The trading here has, I must admit, been quite a bit more interesting than I had expected. Have you ever seen one of these before?”

The item she held up looked to be made from the horn of some animal. Or perhaps wood, mixed with horn. It was a shaft of some kind. A club, he thought at first, though it looked too light to do any damage with. It was not quite the length of a forearm and had been sanded smooth. Oddly, there were several straps attached to the base at one end. Perhaps you swung it around, like the morning stars he’d seen some of the Shienarans use.

Dani, Izana and Mangin were standing closest, but only the Aiel seemed to have a clue what it was, and he was too busy trying and failing to suppress a smile to respond to Rand’s questioning look. The others just shrugged at him, blank faced. Keille laughed even louder.

“Well, it’s no use to a young stud like you, but your red-skinned friend here might enjoy it. What do you say there? Is there a big market for toys like this in Tar Valon?”

Dani drew herself up. “I say that you are a bit too used to the company of wagon drivers.” That won her a wide smile from Keille, but one that didn’t come close to touching her eyes. “And no. I’ve never seen the like.”

“I’ll bet you haven’t!” Keille said, laughing louder still. “Are the _Aes Sedai_ so misandrist that they won’t even use a stand in, then? You don’t know what you’re missing out on. Here. Free of charge.” She tossed the strange thing to Dani before turning her attention back to the merchant. “And I will be buying the rest of your stock, after all. If the women on the other side of the mountains are really this starved for stimulation, then I’ll probably be able to sell them for ten times the price.”

They were ten feet away, with Dani still examining the strange thing in her hands, when Keille called out again. “Come back later, my Lordly Dragon, when things are quieter. I might have something that you will enjoy as much as she’ll like that!”

“What I might or might not enjoy is difficult to know,” he said. He would be back, though. He hadn’t managed to do his shopping yet, after all.

“Ugly old blob. You’d think she was the queen of a rich nation, young and beautiful, the way she talks. I’ve never met a peddler half so smug,” Dani muttered.

“I have,” Rand said quietly. “I’ve vowed to kill him.”

No-one spoke to him after that, though he got his share of weighing looks. The Accepted gathered around Dani, exchanging thoughts on what the gift Keille had given her was for. Ilyena voiced Rand’s earlier thought that it might be a weapon of some kind, which made Mayam’s full lips inch towards the first smile he’d seen from her. She stroked her chin thoughtfully as she stared at the thing. Pedra said she had no idea what it was, and no interest in knowing. Theodrin drew a breath as if to speak but then held it, her face reddening so much that Rand thought for a moment that she might be having trouble breathing. She saw him watching and spun away.

It was to Branwen that she ended up going. The quiet words they exchanged were unknown to Rand, but whatever the big Maiden told her had Theodrin covering her own mouth with her hand. She returned to the other Accepted, and spoke to them just as quietly.

Dani’s response was anything but quiet. “Shut up! You’re joking. Tell me you’re joking!”

Giggling, the other Domani shook her head.

Mayam threw back her head and laughed, while Pedra recoiled from the thing in Dani’s hands, her face screwed up in disgust. Dani had gone very stiff. She held Keille’s gift out from herself as though afraid it might be poisonous.

“Put that thing away, Dani,” said Ilyena.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Mayam said, laughing still.

Eyes bulging, Ilyena brandished a fist at her. “Are you looking for something, Colona? Cause you just might get it!”

“My understanding was that it would be either you or Dani who ... ‘got it’,” Theodrin drawled, trying to fight back a smile.

By then, Mayam was laughing so hard she had almost doubled over. Not for the first time, he noticed some of the Aiel men giving her admiring looks. That was understandable. She was a pretty girl, slender but with curves in all the right places.

“You have all been away from the Tower for too long,” Pedra sighed. “Try to remember your lessons.” Perhaps moved by the other Accepted’s words, Dani snatched her hat from her head, hid Keille’s gift inside, and pressed it to her chest. It was shady enough inside the Hold that she hardly needed the hat anyway. Rand hadn’t bothered with a _shoufa_.

He didn’t much like admitting ignorance, but he leaned close to Izana and whispered, “Do you have any idea what they’re talking about?”

Izana shook his head. “They might as well be speaking the Old Tongue. I’ve always preferred male company, so ...” His dark eyes turned intent for a moment, and Rand nodded understanding.

“I don’t blame you. Men are a lot less complicated, and easier to understand.”

Izana sighed. “Sometimes. Maybe.”

Mangin was looking around at all the people crowded nearby. He raised his brows at Rand and said, “Do you ever think you might be making things more complicated than they need to be, Rand al’Thor?”

Rand snorted softly. “Only every other day or so.”

“He speaks truly,” an Aiel that Rand had never met before said. He was a handsome, yellow-haired man of solemn mien. “Sometimes too many spears can be as bad as too few.” For some reason, Dani and Ilyena glared at him for that, but the Aiel paid them no heed.

“The Stone Dogs could meet this task alone. Who better?” a younger man who looked like he could have been related to the other said. Rand remembered seeing him at the archery contest, but hadn’t quite caught his name. Gil something.

The first speaker frowned slightly. “Why the Stone Dogs and not the Mountain Dancers?”

“You attack. We defend. I can swear right now that I will not let anything happen to him while I live, and every Aiel in every sept will know that I speak truly. Stone Dogs do not retreat.”

“And if I said that Stone Dogs rarely think, most of those same Aiel would nod and laugh. Retreat is an important strategy, especially when you are charged with protecting something.”

Most of the other Aiel nodded agreement. “Judca speaks as a battle leader should, Giladin,” a greying man that Rand didn’t know said. Giladin bowed his head under the weight of all that senior disapproval.

“That does not answer the question unasked,” Judca said. His meaning was not as cryptic as he might have thought. Rand watched Izana walk sullen at his side and suppressed a sigh. He took no satisfaction in having anticipated this problem.

Branwen had listened to the whole exchange with mounting anger. She waggled her fingers rapidly at Rhamys, and then stalked off for reasons unknown, leaving the men to argue the merits of their societies and Rand to wish he was back home with nothing but sheep surrounding him.

He wanted to explore the hold some more almost as much as he wanted to do some shopping, but neither was possible with such a large group crowded around him. From what he could see, the mood in Cold Rocks was angry. He wondered why, exactly, that was so but didn’t ask the men with him. He didn’t know many of them, and they were obviously not of one mind. A dozen different answers could be worse than no answer at all.

When Branwen returned she was not alone. Ten other Maidens of the Spear marched with her, many of them women Rand knew. The other Aiel bristled at the sight.

“ _Far Dareis Mai_ oversteps,” Mangin said angrily.

“ _Far Dareis Mai_ was first to offer,” Rhamys insisted. “I was there when Adelin spoke to my father.”

“And Rhuarc wisely decided to share the duty and the honour. Mangin is right. The Maidens presume too much,” said Judca.

“Your wife should presume more. Perhaps then you would not be so stiff ... of neck,” Branwen declared as she came to a halt before Rand. The smile she gave him was oddly brittle.

The women with her were not smiling at all. Even Renay had a tense look about her, as if readying for a fight she wasn’t sure she could win. Aca and Amindha, Nici and Dhael, the others whose names he did not know, they all looked tense. Even Adelin did. It was she who spoke.

“ _Far Dareis Mai_ has first claim. And better claim. None of you should be here.”

Uno snorted. “ ‘First claim’. Now that’s some horseshit.” He subsided at Rand’s look.

“I do not speak to you, Shienaran. You are allowed to be here, against all custom, only due to your links to He Who Comes With the Dawn,” Adelin said. When she realised how coldly Rand was looking at her, she grew cautious. “I do not speak to offend, but this is a matter for Aiel, which you are not.”

“Neither am I. Not really,” Rand murmured.

“That is not true, Rand. Al’Thor,” said Renay, adding the other half of his name only when some of her spearsisters raised their eyebrows at her, and colouring slightly when she did.

“There are proven ways to decide who is better suited to this task,” said Mangin, casually hefting a spear and rolling his shoulders. “If the Maidens are so certain it is them, then let them prove it.”

Angry mutters sounded from the Aiel men, and angrier were returned by the Aiel women. Rand sighed. Everywhere he went he brought conflict, trouble, destruction. And death. There was violence in the air. He could almost taste it.

“Maybe I should have stuck with my established guards, after all,” he said under his breath. It was the Shienarans’ turn to mutter then, while nodding solemn agreement.

“No!” Mangin and Adelin said at the same time. Then they glared at each other. Rand had to laugh. A world of choices, and every last one of them was wrong.

Nici crossed her arms and gave him what she imagined was a quelling look. It just made her look sulkier. “You do not have much of a sense of humour, do you? This is no time for laughing!”

He had half expected the Taardad to raise their veils over having a Shaido in their midst, throwing her weight around, as it were. But they reacted to her no differently than they had Adelin or Renay. They were a hard people to figure out.

Adelin drew herself up to her full height, which would have been remarkable for a Theren woman, and was above average even for an Aiel woman. She looked Rand in the eyes and said, “You have no society, but your mother was a Maiden. For countless years Maidens who would not give up the spear have given their babes for the Wise Ones to hand to other women, none knowing where the child went or even whether boy or girl. Now a Maiden’s son has come back to us, and we know him. We will protect you, son of Shaiel, a Maiden of the Chumai Taardad.” Her face was so set—all of their faces were, including Renay’s—that he thought they might offer to dance the spears if he refused.

“You will be welcomed under the Roof of the Maidens, as no man has been before,” Aca added.

They had invoked his birth mother. Rand had not the heart to refuse. “Very well.”

Tension leaked visibly out of the Maidens. Even solemn Dhael smiled at him. The Aiel men grumbled but even Mangin allowed that it had been a strong offensive, if a sneaky one. While he and Adelin exchanged barbs, Rand went to Renay and asked her what all this would entail. The last thing he wanted was to be followed everywhere he went, or have people listening in on his conversations.

“Come back to the roof with us and we will show you,” she said. He nodded acceptance.

The Accepted had stood aside throughout the argument, listening. Ilyena put her hands on her hips now, and blew out a breath. “It must be nice being so popular that you start wars everywhere you go,” she said to Rand.

Dani laughed at his grimace, and nudged her friend with her elbow. “Be nice.”

“I take it _they_ are not allowed inside this roof of yours?” he said. When Renay shook her head, he smiled. “What a pity. Show me the way.”

There were sniffs aplenty from the Accepted, and hangdog looks from the Shienarans, but Rand successfully extracted himself from their protection. He was still surrounded as he made his way up the narrow path to the door to the Roof of the Maidens, but at least he was surrounded by a smaller group this time. Some of the Aiel that passed them by, or that paused in their work to watch him, looked less than welcoming. He wondered once again what they thought of last night’s attack, and the person who had provoked it. The Maidens on guard outside rose from their squats at his approach, looked some questions at Adelin, grinned and raised their spears high. The ululating cries they let out sounded triumphant. Which would have been nice, if only it didn’t leave Rand feeling a bit like a boar being brought home for dinner by the hunters.

The inside of the Roof of the Maidens would likely have proven disappointing to any Aiel who’d been raised to see it as a forbidden and mysterious place. It was just another cave-like building, painstakingly carved into the rock in much the same way Lian’s house had been. The doors and corridors were differently spaced, and the furnishings were sparser, with bundles of spare spears and quivers of arrows being much more in evidence than the decorations Lian had displayed. But there was nothing particularly shocking about it that Rand could see. More Maidens lounged on the floor of the entry hall, atop cushions and rugs rather than in chairs. That was as expected, too. What was not expected were the smiles with which they greeted him. Some looked surprised. Others did not. But even the surprised ones started smiling once they recognised him.

Rand grunted, and spoke under his breath. “A warmer welcome than I’m used to.”

Branwen heard, and leaned close. “They can say all they want, those others. Sometimes, when I hear old crows trading dark stories about you, I wish to punch them in the mouth. But I am no crow. I know you, and I trust my heart. I am not afraid of you, Rand al’Thor.” She cleared her throat, and gestured around. “None of us are.”

The women who had escorted him there nodded agreement, from Nici the pest to hulking Amindha, though Rand doubted that last had any reason to fear anyone. “That is true,” said Rhamys.

“Because I am He Who Comes With the Dawn?”

Rhuarc’s daughter shook her fair head. “No, more than that. We only just met, so we still know so little about each other. And if Couladin had the markings, I certainly would not trust him. It is ...” She grimaced. “I am bad at explaining things. My sisters got all the brains in the family.”

Nici scowled her sulky scowl. “Obviously. I hope you used Couladin as an example because he is an idiot, and not just because he is Shaido.”

“Be calm, you two. We are all spearsisters here. Let us try to get along,” said Renay.

“Ah, _I’m_ not a spearsister. And I hope you aren’t going to start calling me so,” Rand said.

The Maidens burst out laughing, except for Renay, who got all flustered. “Obviously I did not mean you. Or the _gai’shain_. Light. This stuff should go without saying.”

“I will have the _gai’shain_ prepare a room for your use,” Adelin said. “You can sleep there during your stay in Cold Rocks Hold. It will be far at the back of the roof, to ensure any attacker has the least possible chance of reaching you.”

She left to do that, and left Rand with a difficult realisation to chew over. Her earlier talk of missing children and being connected to his mother had been all well and moving, but what exactly had he gone and let himself agree to here? She spoke of standing between him and his enemies, and none of the other Maidens had gainsaid her. That would mean women fighting, and possibly dying, to protect him. That was the opposite of the way things were supposed to be! He was supposed to die for them. He imagined how Tam or Marin would react to the idea, and cringed inwardly.

He was preoccupied by such worries as he wandered down the hall after Adelin, so much so that he barely noticed what was going on in the rooms they passed. Some Maidens were eating, others playing games. No few of them were sparring, with spears and bucklers, knives, or their hands and feet, almost always with an older woman watching over them. Others were stretching in a rather involved way, contorting their bodies into shapes that would have done the performers in Valan Luca’s circus proud. It was those last that drew his attention. Lan had taught him the importance of stretching before a fight, but the exercises he’d shown him were nowhere near as elaborate as what he was seeing now. His attention, once drawn, soon became fixed, when he noticed that some of the Maidens had shed their clothes before stretching. Presumably it was so that they could move more freely, but the other effect it had was quite obvious.

He stopped in the doorway, slack-jawed. Naked flesh was on display everywhere. Pale, tanned, sunburned or freckled. All of the women looked strong and fit, their muscles moving visibly under their skin as they strained into a new pose, and held it for several heartbeats before moving again. And yet they were unmistakably feminine, too, with all the curves and softneses a man could want. All that flesh on display brought a warmth to Rand’s body.

He recognised one of the stretchers. She was hard to mistake. The right side of Tuandha’s face was marked by a thick scar, one that twisted the side of her mouth, ran up her cheek and through the socket where her eye had been, only to end somewhere amidst her yellow hair. She was on her back, naked, with an unknown Maiden pushing one of her legs upwards until it almost touched her ear. The pose left little to the imagination. She must have felt his stare, because she turned her head to look his way. The other side of her face was quite pretty; that was part of what made her scar so shocking to see. Whether scarred or smooth, those cheeks blazed when she realised who was watching her. Rand stepped hastily away from the room, his own face burning just as hot.

“Sorry. I was caught by surprise,” he choked to the women with him.

“Why are you sorry? This is a private place, not a public one,” said Amindha. Rand could only stare at her. How that possibly translated into it being okay to walk in on someone naked was beyond his understanding.

The sight of all those women exercising naked had been shocking enough, but that was nothing compared to the shock he felt when a laughing Lidya burst out of one of the rooms ahead and went running down the corridor, the cheeks of her wide and very naked bottom pressing together in a most eye-catching way. Ayla followed right on her heels, grinning eagerly. She was naked, too, except for something strapped around her waist, something almost identical to the toy that Keille had given Dani. It was, he suddenly realised, an imitation cock. And Ayla was chasing Lidya intent on ...

“Blood and ashes!” Rand stumbled, but the Maidens walking with him strolled along as if nothing was out of the ordinary at all. Ayla and Lidya weren’t the only women he saw in the midst of a tryst either. And not a one of them saw fit to hide what they were doing.

Maidens both familiar and otherwise watched him pass, and some came to the doorways of their rooms to look after him, no doubt wondering why a man had been permitted into their private enclave. A few even tagged along, following as Rand did to a large room in which several lamps cast a warm light over the multitude of pillows and rugs that covered the floor. It was empty of people, save for Adelin, who stood by a smooth, raised slab of stone that served as a table. On it was a large silver pitcher and ten matching silver cups.

Adelin drank from one, then refilled it from the pitcher and offered it to Rand. “Remember honour.” He took it from her, only to frown down at the contents. “ _Oosquai_ ,” she called it. “We make it from _zemai_.” The stuff looked like faintly brown-tinged water. And tasted like liquid smoke.

No sooner had Rand downed it than Branwen was offering him another one, while urging him to remember honour. His initial escorts all did the same, drinking some themselves before offering Rand a taste. Ten Maidens; ten little cups. By the time they were done his head was swimming and his coat felt much too hot. He swayed on his feet as he was trying to get rid of it, which made the Maidens laugh. Some more of them came, to drink and offer a drink in turn. It would have been rude to refuse. It was rude of them to tickle him, too, but telling them so was too hard, short of breath as he was. They made a game of tickling him, and took his clothes off to make it easier, laughing at him, no matter how he protested, as much as he could with all of them tickling him so he could barely breathe for laughing himself. He was not able to walk straight, but they got him to bed. They made a game of that, too, a woman named Chiarid cooing at him as though he was a little boy. He wasn’t a little boy, though, as the effect all those naked women had had on him testified.

 _Oosquai_ , it turned out, was stronger than double-distilled brandy. Rand could barely think straight by the time the Maidens lowered him to the bed and rid him of the last of his clothes. He was vaguely aware of the giggles coming to an end, and of a multitude of women staring at his crotch, but the way the lights were swirling around was too fascinating to pay much attention to that.

“We may have gone too far,” Renay said. She had her arms crossed. Or maybe she was touching her breasts. Who could say?

“Or just far enough,” said Branwen.

“You are shameless,” Nici scolded. She backed away until her shoulder thumped into the wall by the door, but her gaze remained fixed on Rand’s crotch.

“We have never had a man under the roof before. Someone we could ... relax with,” said a strong-looking redhead he’d never met before. She was licking her lips.

“They train their men well in the Theren, I can swear to that.” He recognised the speaker this time. It was Dorindha. He grinned at her. She’d always been nice, back in the Stone. Where had she come from, though? Where had all those other women come from, for that matter? She grinned back at him, more confident now, and began taking off her _cadin’sor_. “Why are you lurking back there, Harilin? Do you not want another go?”

He hadn’t even noticed Harilin until Dorindha pointed her out, and didn’t get the chance to ask what was meant because the lanky Maiden ran red-faced from the room. Some of the others chuckled over that but most kept their attention on Rand. He saw Tuandha loitering by the doorway, her good eye looking even wider when compared to the sewn shut ruins of her other one.

“I do not know if this is right,” Renay fretted.

Amindha was shorter than her, but may well have weighed twice as much. When she slapped her on the back, Renay staggered forwards. “Do not be coy, spearsister. I have seen the way you look at him. And I understand. It is quite the sight.”

“No, I ...”

Branwen stepped into his view then, proud in her nakedness. Her breasts were large, her hips wide. Her arms and legs were thick with muscle. She let him look at her for a moment, and then raised her chin and said, “Do you like what you see, Rand al’Thor?”

It took him a moment to realise she was speaking to him, and a moment longer for his thoughts to take form and a response to stumble from his lips. “Oh, Light yus. Gorgess, y’are.”

She smiled and knelt beside him. “I desire a moment with you, if you... um, please.”

“’Course. M’lady of Battles,” he said, smiling goofily.

She smiled back, and leaned down to touch her lips to his, and made the room spin even worse. When she leaned back, and began to trace her fingers down his chest, he saw several of the Maidens turning to leave. Dhael proclaimed it not to her taste, while Aca opined that it would complicate things too much. Luaine had been among the watchers, too, but she left without a word.

Many others stayed, though, even Nici and Renay. And many of those who did stay began stripping. He would have liked to have watched, but the strong hand that gripped his hard cock demanded his attention.

“You cut a fine figure yourself, Rand al’Thor. I have never doubted that you would make an excellent romp between the sheets, but it was not the proper time,” Branwen said. She threw her leg over his waist and positioned herself above him. “The time has come now, and so, I hope, will I.” Her wet pussy slid slowly down his shaft, and a low groan slid from her lips. “Thick and long. No wonder all those girls were trying to catch your eye.”

Some distant voice insisted that Rand should be doing something with his hands and fingers, but the way Branwen’s breasts shook while she rode him was too fascinating. So he just stared at her herness until some new herness pressed close and distracted him.

Dorindha’s breasts were much smaller, but no less pretty. He smiled welcomingly at them, and suddenly remembered a use for his hands. In between her thighs one went, with upthrust fingers seeking and finding a lovely softness, then seeking and finding a wetness in the middle of that softness, then ... Dorindha groaned in pleasure. Jula of the golden curls came to kneel at his other side. She was very slender, with breasts as small as Dorindha’s and a pussy just as wet and welcoming. Her lovely oval face broke into a smile as he stimulated her. He liked that smile, so he did it harder.

Chiarid was naked by then, her eyes shining merrily as she whispered something in Renay’s ear that had the younger woman pressing her knees together. For all that she was old enough to be his mother, Chiarid had a fine figure still. Renay, by contrast, was lanky and flat-chested, her body as heavily freckled as her face. Rand wished he had a third hand. If he’d had one, he’d have used it to push Chiarid aside in order to get to Renay. She was such a nice girl.

“Ride him harder, sister!” Amindha called. She was naked, too, a bulky, tanned milkcow of a woman, with a pair of udders that he’d have been happy to suck on. Her cheery smile made him smile back, but only until Branwen took up her challenge. Then he was too busy gasping to smile at anyone.

Surrounded by naked women, watching her and urging her on, perhaps envying her, Branwen was flushed with effort and bright-eyed with excitement already. Her hips rose and fell energetically, stiff-nippled breasts flying free.

“Gonna come?” he asked. She flushed, but nodded rapidly. “Gud. Like t’see girls come. Show us.”

She did, too. Branwen rubbed the front of her pussy shamelessly as they all watched. Rand’s cock was still lodged deep inside her, but her hips only moved sporadically now. It was her hand that brought the doughty Maiden to a screaming climax. He liked the feel and the sight of her, but didn’t get to enjoy it long. Dorindha had been pushed to the limit, and decided to push back, shoving a still gasping Branwen off Rand so she could climb atop him herself. He had only a brief moment to savour the sight of her before her eager pussy sank down his shaft. The utter relief on her face was sweet to see, but he didn’t get to enjoy that for long either, because Jula was no longer content with just fingers either. The hair upon her sex was darker than that on her head, he saw, in the brief seconds before he lost the ability to see anything. Even in his addled state, he knew what she wanted. His tongue probed her folds, searching for her weakest spots. Despite having her thighs on either side of his head, muffling sound, he could hear the way her moans grew more frantic.

There was no great gushing when she came, but come she must have, for the other Maidens hauled her off him, eager to take a turn of their own.

Dorindha was still going strong, but Amindha and Chiarid pushed Renay towards him anyway, telling her that she should take her chance before it was too late. He didn’t know what they meant, and didn’t really care. There were naked woman all around, some just sitting and watching, some playing with themselves or with each other. That couldn’t distract him any more than the way the room spun. There was a look of uncertainty in Renay’s normally cheerful grey eyes that smote his heart. He sat up and pulled her wordlessly into his embrace, kissing her deeply. Her breath sighed warmly against his face, and she melted into his arms. In moments, she was kissing him back, her arms across his broad shoulders and her stiff little nipples pressing against his chest.

Dorindha was a nice girl. So nice that, as soon as she’d finished herself off, she climbed off Rand, took hold of Renay’s hips, and eased her into his lap.

“You do not have to,” Renay whispered when she felt his wet hardness press against her.

“Burn me. Why would I ever not want to? You’re one of my favourite people,” said Rand, as he guided her onto her back and climbed atop her.

Renay spread her long legs, and gripped the cushion behind her head in anticipation of what was coming. Even so, she cried out loudly when she felt him spread her lips and slide into her tight body. Despite the pleasant numbness that the _oosquai_ had filled him with, Rand was pretty worked up by then. Too worked up, and too drunk, to be gentle. He clasped Renay’s face between his hands, his fingers resting amidst her spiky orange hair, and looked her in the eyes as he fucked her. Renay said nothing with words as she let him take her, but the way she clung to him said much.

“He has a pretty bottom, too,” he heard Tuandha mutter from the doorway. Nici nodded wordlessly. They were fully clothed, but their hands had strayed between their legs.

They weren’t the only ones. Rhamys was sitting against the far wall, naked, one huge breast jiggling constantly from contact with the arm that worked so energetically between her spread legs. With so much femininity on display, Rand couldn’t help but stare.

Rhamys looked at slender Jula, who had sprawled on the cushions nearby. “Uh, is ... is my chest turning him on? It could not be ... No man could find me attractive besides a particular kind of eccentric.”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “You could not be that stupid, no matter what your sisters say.”

“Leave her be, Shaido,” Adelin said warningly. She had not taken off her clothes, and stood tall in the midst of all that nakedness, her arms folded as though refereeing a contest at Bel Tine.

“I feel all ... warm,” Rhamys whispered as she watched Rand watch her. “Being compared to my superior sisters probably has me flustered. That is it. That ... oh ...” Her eyes drifted shut, and she began squeezing her breast with her free hand.

When Rand blinked his addled brain back into working order, he found Renay looking up at him sadly. Too late, he realised how little she would like being compared to the voluptuous Rhamys. Though he stroked her cheek with his fingers, and kissed her lips tenderly, the limbs that had clung to him did not cling as tightly for some time, not until the steady rocking of his hips caused her to stiffen in his embrace. Then she tossed her head in insincere denial as her long legs pressed against his bottom. He sped up and was rewarded with a long, high-pitched cry as her juices flooded out to coat them both.

He let her lie gasping beneath him for a while, savouring it all, but muttered words and strained noises from the women in the room soon drew his attention. Old or young, red-haired or yellow, he saw a lot of frustration on those faces.

“I feel good, like ... weirdly good,” Renay sighed.

“It does,” he agreed. He would have been happy to stay like that, but a deep-seated sense of duty drove Rand to kiss Renay on the brow and climb off her. He didn’t even know most of the women watching him, but he’d started something here, somehow, and once he’d started a job he hated to leave it unfinished.

Time stretched such that he could not tell how long he spent in that room, with the Maidens. He fucked women he’d never met before, from a greying, almost motherly Maiden, whose wide shoulders promised and delivered an almost preternaturally strong hug, to a sternly pretty woman with lovely green eyes who touched him as tenderly as if she actually knew him. He learned some of their names, from listening to their conversations or by asking them himself. That was the strangest of things, to ask a woman’s name while you were balls deep inside her, but that was how he learned that the tender woman was Shyala, of the White Cliff Shaido, and that the muscular redhead whose thighs were threatening to crush his hips was Amili, of the Nine Valleys Taardad. He never did learn the name of the long-faced woman who’d sat alone, playing with herself. Pale of skin and red of hair, she’d waited until he was between partners before rising to her feet, coming to take his cock in hand and sit atop it matter-of-factly. A brief rocking of her hips was enough to finish her off. She came on him, got up, and left without a word. Strange woman. Easy on the eyes, though.

They all were, each in their own way, but the climax that he’d thought was imminent when he took Renay was slow to arrive. Whether it was the _oosquai_ or the lack of emotional connection, Rand was able to bring Maiden after Maiden to orgasm without ever feeling that he was in danger of losing his stiffness. Good for them, and it won him admiring looks, but it got pretty frustrating after a while.

By the time he’d finished bringing a grinning Amindha off, the initial kick of the _oosquai_ had mostly faded. She had such a body on her, with thick thighs and a trunk as strong as Perrin’s. Her ass and breasts were as soft as any woman’s, though, and welcoming to the hand. A smiler whom he had good reason to trust, he’d enjoyed being with her enough that he almost felt his usual sensitivity return. He was reluctant to ease her out of his lap, but the tanned woman with the lazy yellow curls, who had watched so patiently, now spread her legs at him, a challenging look on her handsome face.

Rand got up and went to her. He pushed her down onto the rugs, met her slight smile with one of his own, climbed on top and slid inside.

Like himself, she was slow to feel pleasure at a stranger’s touch. While he rode her steadily, he had time to drag Chiarid over by the ankle, and bring his tongue to bear against her neglected pussy. The first woman was almost silent throughout, Chiarid anything but. She made little high-pitched cooing noises at him, encouraging him on. She even called him a naughty boy and asked if he liked the taste. Rand wasn’t sure what to think of that. He told her he did, despite there being little taste at all even when she grabbed hold of his hair and started shaking so violently. He left her gasping on the ground, turned his full attention on the silent one, and fucked her all the harder. That, it turned out, was just what she needed. Ever alive to the desires of his partners, he spun her around, got a good look at her skinny little ass, and got a good tight grip of her hair. Being held down and pounded like that finally forced a sound from her lips, and not one of complaint. It didn’t take too much of that before she was coming, her pussy clamping hard around him and reawakening that feeling of imminent climax.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” he whispered in her ear.

“Agirin,” she groaned. “But do not think this is more than it is.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He was tempted to come in Agirin. He thought he could, with just a little more stimulation. Rhamys had already finished herself off, and was now hugging her knees to her chest. He wasn’t sure if she’d wanted him to approach her anyway, and was even less sure that it would be a smart move to fuck Rhuarc and Amys’ daughter. No-one else was looking neglected either. Save for Adelin—who looked singularly disinterested in Rand—the room was full of smiling, naked, satisfied women. Which was a great way for a room to be filled. He was tempted to come in Agirin ... but then his eye met Tuandha’s.

She was still standing there in the doorway, as fully dressed as the nearby Nici.

Said Nici was looking very flushed, but turned her face away as soon as Rand glanced at her. “Do not flatter yourself. I am just waiting here for a friend.”

Rand took her at her word, and thought it probably for the best besides. No, it was Tuandha who held his attention, she of the half-ruined face. There was an unmistakable longing in her eye but all she had done was watch. Rand, who had a soft spot in his heart for anyone who doubted themselves, as he so often did, dared to think he knew her thoughts.

He got up. He stood naked in the middle of the room, his cock jutting out before him, and offered her his hand. “Why don’t you come join us?”

Tuandha just stared at his hand. She neither entered the room nor left the doorway. So he went to her and took her by the hand. “I’d like you to join us,” he said softly. Her hand trembled in his grip, but she gave a small nod.

He led her into the room, took her in his arms, and kissed her in front of the others. She tried to steer his lips away from the scarred side of her face, but Rand refused to be steered.

“You do not have to do that,” she said.

“I know. And yet ...” he kissed her again. A smile struggled to break out, in defiance of the wounded flesh that pulled tight upon her upper lip. He kissed it, and kissed her neck, too, as he stripped her down to her skin. She was pale and slender underneath her _cadin’sor_ , with soft breasts that welcomed his hands. He wondered how long it had been since she’d been with a man—she was not young—for even cupping those breasts in his hands was enough to make her squeal.

He took his cue from that, and eased her down onto the cushions. Her legs he placed upon his shoulders, recalling how she’d looked earlier, all stretched out like that. He saw her from a different perspective now, as he positioned himself above her and slowed eased himself inside her sopping wet pussy. Taut muscles stood out upon her body, but she welcomed that stretching, of legs and pussy.

“You’re a sexy woman, Tuandha,” he said. She shook her head in wordless denial, then turned her head so that he could only see the pretty half and not the scar. “You don’t believe me? Well, let me prove it, then.”

And prove it he did. Tuandha had already come twice by the time Rand’s elusive orgasm finally arrived. Of all the women there, it was in her that he planted his seed. He lay with her afterwards, stroking her hair gently, not wanting to get up for fear he’d hurt her feelings. He was worried he’d hurt Renay’s already, but that big-hearted girl was the first to scoot over and join the embrace. Amindha was the second.

“This was unexpected,” Rand sighed as he lay there, blanketed by naked Maidens. Considering how taciturn they were, he hadn’t expected the Aiel to be so ... open when it came to intimacy.

“But not unwelcome, I hope,” said Renay.

He laughed softly. “Definitely not on my part.”

“Or on mine,” said Amindha.

A chorus of agreement followed, and Rand felt Renay hug him harder. “It is great when we all get along,” she said.

With Amindha hugging Tuandha from behind, and Renay hugging him, with a head still half-full of _oosquai_ and a body now exhausted from use, Rand feared he might fall asleep despite the early hour.

He was right, too.

He slept soundly well into the night, waking only in brief fits inspired by an unfamiliar sleeping pattern. On the first such waking, he found himself alone, the nowhere near as drunk Maidens having left for parts unknown.

The third time he woke he was not quite so alone, but a lazy glance showed that it was only Nici, looking furtive. Rand rolled over and went back to sleep.

“Oh, hi. My spearsister forgot her veil,” she explained. “I know she would not want anything to happen to it. She is a little bit out of it, because of the _oosqai_.” Rand didn’t respond. Sleep was calling and he was well on his way to answering by the time she spoke again. “Are you not going to say anything?” He figured not saying anything was answer enough to that. “Well, fine then! I did not want you to anyway. I just came here to collect a veil; that is all.”

As he drifted back to sleep, he thought he might have heard her tell him not to get too full of himself, that not all Maidens were as easily impressed. But by then he was far too deep in slumber to care.


	73. A Soft Wetlander

It was still a bit stifling, being surrounded by people, unable to go where and do what you wanted, but it was a lot more enjoyable when so many of those people were pretty girls that you’d been so intimate with. Rand emerged from the Roof of the Maidens the next morning feeling pleasantly relaxed, if a bit on the sticky side. Half a dozen Maidens came with him, Renay, Amindha and Tuandha among them. Adelin led, but it was Rhamys who walked in front with Rand. He’d told them he needed to speak to her father, after all.

Naturally, he had no intention of saying anything to Rhuarc about the things his daughter had watched him do, or the things he’d seen her do to herself.

“I have to admit,” he said as they walked through the already hot morning, “that very little about you Aiel is as I’d imagined.”

Rhamys frowned slightly. “It should be ‘we’ Aiel, should it not? Since you are the son of Janduin, who was chief before my father. Or did I get that wrong?”

Rand was careful in his answer. He suspected people had been telling Rhamys she was dumb so long that she’d come to believe it herself. That annoyed him. It reminded him far too much of the way people back home went on about how stupid men were, and how hard it was to believe that they could all be wrong. “I have Aiel blood, yes, but I don’t know that that is enough to consider myself Aiel. I wasn’t raised here and don’t share your customs and beliefs. Those things are at least as important as blood when it comes to deciding what you are. Probably more.”

“I see. You are very intelligent, Rand al’Thor, I need to learn from you,” she said solemnly.

Rand’s first instinct was to check for mockery. He saw none. His second instinct was to smile shyly. “You really think so?”

Rhamys was looking at him oddly. “Of course.”

“You might well be the first woman to ever say such a thing to me. Or any other man in my hearing. Usually it’s the opposite. They always go on about how dumb men are.”

“Intelligence is not determined by gender. I think. But I am not the brightest, so I could be wrong,” Rhamys said, trailing off into a sigh.

Rand was more moved that he cared to admit. And encouraged. It made him hopeful for the future. It also made him regret not trying to get closer to her last evening. “I think the people who told you that—like that Arcaval character—were treating you very unfairly,” he said.

“Of course he would say that,” he heard Adelin say. “Were it otherwise, her flattery would be made questionable. The vanity.”

“To be fair, it is a vanity that is not unearned,” Amindha said. When he looked back, she was smiling a cat’s smile, and staring at his backside. “I like the way their trousers are so much tighter than ours. It displays things.”

The other Maidens giggled, leaving Rand to face resolutely forwards. Strangely, what had happened last evening had left him more easily flustered instead of less. It should have been the opposite, he couldn’t help but feel.

When they arrived at Lian’s roof, they found Rhuarc and his family sitting on the floor of the front room, in conversation with Tam, Uno, Geko and Heirn. Other than Rhamys, the Maidens did not enter along with Rand. He wondered if it would have been taken as an insult to Rhuarc if they had. So many questions. So many things to try to figure out. There were times he wanted to just rush off to Shayol Ghul and get it over with, if only to simplify things.

Geko was sitting very still while Amys’ youngest examined the stump of his left arm. “It is a terrible injury. How did it happen?” she asked in the serious way of the very young.

Geko watched her out of the corner of his eye as she leaned close to examine the arm, not quite touching. “I lost it to a Myrddraal.”

Rand wasn’t about to let that modesty stand. “More accurately, he lost it to a friend’s axe, after being wounded by a Myrddraal he’d killed. And refusing to ask for Aes Sedai Healing for fear it would tire them out and prevent them from continuing the fight into the next day of the siege.”

Uno grunted agreement. “That’s how I remember it.”

It was hard to tell, but he thought Geko might have blushed slightly. Shinobha nodded. “There was much honour in it, then.”

“Thank you,” Geko said tightly, still not quite looking at her.

Rand sat on a cushion beside Tam, while Rhamys went to sit beside her mother. “Any news?” he asked.

Tam took so long to answer that Rand grew worried. After a good minute of his father’s examination, he drew breath to demand they tell him what had gone wrong, but Tam raised a hand to forestall his outburst. “No news. Nothing to concern yourself over, at least. Not in that way. We were just discussing the past. And the present. And maybe the future.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Tam sighed. “Since you never asked yourself, I thought I’d ask for you. About your family. Your relatives. Janduin’s kin.”

Rand could only stare at him. He had no idea what he felt in that moment. He hadn’t wanted to betray Tam by giving such people—if they even existed—more importance than they should have. Tam was his father, and that was that. He’d wanted a bigger family when he was growing up, true, but that was then. Now ... he had no room in his life for relatives. More importantly, why was Tam doing this? Did he want rid of him? He’d done everything he’d wanted, and more!

“I won’t be a burden on you, lad. I’ve made enough mistakes in my life, and yours. I won’t make another,” Tam said quietly. “I know you always wanted a bigger family. Would have liked one myself, but Kari and I had bad luck in that regard. So I asked Amys here about Janduin’s people. She had some interesting answers.”

“Answers I will now give to you, as well,” the Wise One said. “Janduin, of the Iron Mountain Taardad was the second of five siblings. He had two first-brothers and two first-sisters of his blood. The eldest of those brothers died during the hunt for Laina Treekiller, but the other, and both sisters are currently in Iron Hold.”

“I have an uncle, and aunts? What about grandparents?” he asked, intrigued despite himself.

“A second-sister-father and two second-sister-mothers, more properly,” said Lian.

“Bit of a mouthful, to be honest,” Tam muttered.

Lian pretended not to hear. “As to what I assume are Janduin’s parents, they have both woken from the dream. As they were only related to you on the male side, I did not think it would matter.”

Every time he thought he was coming to understand them, they offered up some new mystery. Why would it make a difference whether they were related through the mother or the father? That wasn’t what he asked, though. They had his attention now. “Are there any other relatives I should know about?”

“Jherilan, Janduin’s eldest first-brother, married into the Goshien clan, but his eldest child, Rhutar, married Chisa, of the Iron Mountain sept and lives in Iron Hold with her and their daughter. Janduin’s younger first-brother, Jecht, has never married, but both his first-sisters have. Dana, who is a dreamwalker like us, lost her husband in battle and was left to raise their two children alone. Sunadai has a husband, a wife, and three children,” Amys explained. She cocked her head at Rand. “You have already met one of them.”

He almost didn’t dare ask. Who? Aviendha? The thought was disturbing in all manner of ways. Amys waited him out, until curiosity forced the word from his lips. “Who?”

“Harilin, of the Iron Mountain sept. A Maiden of the Spear. I have heard that she helped defend the Theren from Shadowspawn, and fought in the Stone of Tear.”

“Yes. It was very nice of her,” he choked. _Harilin_ was his cousin? Blood and ashes! The first time he’d met her, she’d tried to stab him! And she hadn’t exactly gotten much friendlier in the time since. Why couldn’t it have been someone like Renay? She’d make a great cousin. _I guess you can’t pick your relatives_.

He hadn’t realised he’d muttered the words out loud until the lounging Aiel burst out laughing.

Even Rhamys cracked a rare smile, though a glum one. “I would not have chosen Edesa and Sealdre as sisters, if it were my choice to make.”

Amys patted her daughter’s knee. “You make it too easy for them. You must stand up to Edesa more, if you are to win her respect.”

Lian nodded. “And think a bit more carefully before you speak, if you want Sealdre’s.”

Rhamys bowed her head. “I will try.”

“Families are complicated, it seems,” Rand sighed. Too complicated, perhaps. He wondered if he could afford to have one. There was so much work to do. Or ... there would be, once Rhuarc’s month had passed, and he could meet with the rest of the chief’s at Alcair Dal. But even if there _was_ time now, he should probably avoid the Iron Mountain sept. Anyone connected to him would be a target for the Shadow. Wouldn’t they?

“Rhuarc tells me that Iron Hold is only a few days’ journey from here,” said Tam. “I think you should go visit them.”

Again he pushed Rand towards the Aiel. Again he pushed him away. “Why?”

“Because they are your family, lad. It would be good for you,” Tam said. It was an answer, if not to the question Rand had asked.

Amys nodded fiercely. “It is good and right that you should meet them, the kin of your blood.”

“Maybe they wouldn’t want to meet me,” he said. However he imagined the scene, he could not picture it being anything but awkward, meeting a bunch of strangers that he had just found out he was related to.

Looks were exchanged, and shrugs shrugged. “Some may not, and some may. It is the way of things with all people,” said Rhuarc. “Iron Hold is closer to Alcair Dal than Cold Rocks is, if that matters.”

“It does,” Rand said readily. Perhaps too readily, but he didn’t want to think about that too carefully just then. “I suppose if it gets me closer to my goal, there would be no harm in it.”

“It is agreed, then. I will inform the other Wise Ones that we will be leaving soon. Seana will not be pleased. She slept as a guest under this roof last night, and will not be eager to trade the comforts here for those of the tents, but she is Aiel. She will endure,” said Amys.

“I’m sure she will,” he said, trying to keep his face straight. Was that just a coincidence or something he’d have to make up to her later? “If we’re going to be paying this Iron Hold a visit, I wish I could pop back to Tear for a bath. I have to confess, I’ve been cleaner.”

“Have you not visited the sweat tents?” Lian asked.

“I’m wishing I was less dirty, not more,” he said wryly.

Again the Aiel exchanged those looks. “That is what the tents are for ...” Lian said slowly. She leaned close to her sister-wife. “Is this a wetlander thing?”

Amys shook her head. “Moiraine Damodred and the other Aes Sedai have shown no such confusion.”

Lian’s knowing nod put Rand’s back up, all the more so when he noticed how disappointed Rhamys looked. “Perhaps I should pay these sweat tents a visit before we depart, then,” he said stiffly.

Heirn nodded. “I could use a good sweat myself. Especially if we are to be marching again. You should join me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Rhuarc nodded. “Yes,” he said. Something about his tone gave Rand pause. The Taardad chief had done a great deal to help Rand. Both in Tear and among the other Aiel. His advice was usually worth noting. If Rhuarc thought he should, then he would. Besides, it really had been too long since he’d had a proper bath and even washing with the little basin worth of water he had used made him feel guilty in this parched land.

“I would be glad to,” Rand said. He rose and followed the Aielmen out into the hold.

When they arrived at their destination—a large, low-hanging tent of dark canvas—Rand’s _Far Dareis Mai_ escort took position at the entrance. The Aiel bathed communally, like Shienarans, but unlike Shienarans they at least had separate facilities for men and women. Rand smiled at Renay and the rest as he parted from them, and got a collection of hard stares in return. Very different from how they’d behaved when no-one else was around.

He followed the Aielmen into the outer section of the tent, this part airier and cooler than the main area would be. There he found Rhuarc and Heirn in various stages of undress. A moment’s hesitation did not, he knew, go unnoticed. Very little did where Aiel were concerned. Keeping his face smooth, Rand unbuttoned his fine red coat, folded it neatly and set it on the blankets laid out for that purpose. He unlaced the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head, dropped it on top of the coat. That was the easy part. A quick glance to the side revealed that the older men were already almost naked, a pair of pale bodies and tanned faces. They were both heavily scarred. Veterans of many battles, some doubtless fought long before Rand had even been born. The Dragon on Rhuarc’s left arm glittered as brightly as those on Rand’s. He was still partially clothed, and as Rand watched he matter-of-factly pulled down the breeches of his _cadin’sor_ and stepped out of them, manhood swaying in the wind.

 _Right then_ , Rand thought. _I’ve fought Forsaken, this should be easy_.

He quickly unbuckled his belt and yanked down his dark breeches, smallclothes coming with them. Too late he remembered that he hadn’t removed his boots. Blushing slightly and trying to pretend he wasn’t, he balanced on one foot and bent to pull off one boot while his breeches tangled between his knees. He was acutely aware of the older men watching him. No-one made a sound, but he knew if he was to look in their direction he would see mirth in their shining eyes and tightened lips. He hopped to the other foot and removed his last boot, tossing both in the general direction of his coat, then hastily finished removing his breeches along with his stockings and adding them to the pile.

Rand turned to face the men, naked as the day he was born. Unlike them his body was unscarred but for one circular wound in his left side, tender and unHealable. Having regular access to Aes Sedai Healing spared him such things. Sure enough, the Aiel seemed to have found the show entertaining. _How am to lead these men if they see me act the fool_ , he thought. Fear wouldn’t do it. That might serve for the wetlander kingdoms, but Aiel feared nothing so far as Rand could tell. Even a male channeler prophesized to destroy them all merited no great concern. _How, then?_

Rhuarc gestured him towards the entrance to the sweat tent proper and Rand followed. Rhuarc bent slightly as he ducked through the entrance flap, muscles on his back and buttocks tightening; he moved inside quickly, the better to prevent the steam from escaping, so Rand bent and did the same, slipping into the sweat tent.

The heat hit like an angry Ogier. Rand was temporarily blinded by the steam, and his body broke out in a sweat without even the courtesy of waiting for him to do a decent day’s work. He stood in the entranceway, staring sightlessly ahead, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. When they did he saw that the tent was already occupied by Taardad Aiel of various societies, ranks and ages. All male, of course. They were all watching the strange wetlander who had suddenly joined them. A presence at Rand’s back alerted him that he was preventing Heirn from getting into the tent. He sought Rhuarc in the crowd and found him already sitting cross-legged not far from the burning coals. Rand moved to join him.

“I see you, Rand al’Thor,” said a familiar voice. A group of handsome young Aielmen were relaxing naked in the heat. Rand recognised a few of them but the speaker was the only one he knew at all. He was a tall youth with an almost permanent half-smile, whom Rand had met in the Stone.

“I see you, Mangin,” Rand said, “well met.”

Mangin stretched out on the warm stone ground the better to see past his chief. He was taller than Rand, mostly hairless and covered in sweat. “It would be difficult not to,” he said, smiling.

Rand nodded, confused. “I missed you at training these past evenings. Lan says I should vary my sparring partners as much as possible so as not to fall into any bad habits. ‘To be predictable is to wear a breechclout of chainmail and nothing else; it invites death’,” he shrugged. “To use his words.”

“ _Aan’allein_ is wise and has much honour,” Mangin said, his look almost solemn. “I will join your sessions whenever my duties allow, Rand al’Thor.” His eyes flickered down Rand’s body. “I am glad to know you regretted my absence.”

The trickling sweat was causing Rand’s skin to tingle. “Your friends are welcome to come as well,” he said, looking to the others.

Mangin laughed easily. “I’m sure they would be glad to do so. Zell especially has spoken often of his interest in meeting you.”

The yellow-haired youth he gestured to grinned. “Nice to meet you,” he said, the phrase tripping a bit awkwardly from his tongue. Was he trying to sound like a wetlander?

Giladin, one of the few he knew by name, nodded agreement. “I enjoyed watching you shoot. And won handsomely by betting on you.”

“What made you decide to bet on _me_?” Rand asked.

“You were humble towards Lian, yet looked confident when preparing to shoot. And you have a reputation as a warrior.”

 _I do? Since when?_ It couldn’t have come from watching Lan, Tam and Rhuarc schooling him every day, that’s for sure. “Reputations rarely match reality,” Rand said carefully, unsure if he was being flattered or mocked.

“Your reputation is at least partially true, Rand al’Thor,” Zell said, his eyes never leaving Rand’s face.

Rand noticed a twitching movement. His eyes moved instinctually to track it, then widened. He gaped for a moment then jerked his gaze away, face reddening from more than the heat. Zell was partially erect, his manhood creeping up one muscular thigh, almost ready to salute the blonde thicket of hair above.

 _Oh_ , he thought, inanely. Then, _Mangin, too?_ He didn’t dare look; instead, he fixed his gaze on the glowing coals while moving to join a more familiar presence.

When he reached Rhuarc he found the chief covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, the light hair on his chest turning a darker shade of red. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be meditating. Or perhaps simply enjoying the heat. Rand sat down beside him, and folded his arms around his knees. The light from the coals made the creatures twined around his arms glitter even more than usual.

Out of the corner of his eye he could tell the Aiel youths were still watching him. Their hands were still, they made no move to cover themselves. They, like everyone else in the tent, seemed content to let the heat loosen tired muscles and cleanse the dirt of the day. No-one remarked the exchange. The background murmur of conversation did not cease.

Rand was glad of his position, his raised knees. Whether due to the heat or something else, his own flaccid manhood had begun to stir a little and he didn’t want anyone to see. He willed it to stay down, embarrassed by the reaction.

The heat in the tent was like a warm set of hands, kneading every knot in Rand’s muscles. He had to breathe deeply to get enough air. Little rivulets of sweat running down his body tickled. He tried to think of other things, to meditate as Rhuarc was. He thought of Aviendha, her fierce green eyes and aggressive stride. So pretty, and like to kill anyone who told her so. No, that definitely didn’t help. He felt himself stirring even more. Mat, then, his once best friend who now wanted nothing to do with him. Constant japes replaced by wary glances. They had been close once, very close … Mangin reminded him of Mat a little. _No. Stop_.

As his inner vision refused to play nicely, he cast his gaze without. The various Aiel were lounging about the tent. Naked, glistening and not a one of them who wasn’t obviously a warrior bred and trained. More than one of them seemed to be experiencing a dilemma akin to Rand’s. Though those that did hid their shame well. One leanly muscled Taardad was sitting on a rock with a raging hard-on, seemingly unconcerned with his exposure, his eyes fixed on something on the other side of the fire. Rand glanced over his shoulder and was shocked to see Judca and another man masturbating openly. Each had a hand on the other man’s penis and they were stroking with even firmness while talking about something. Threads of their conversation drifted to Rand’s reddened ears. Ambush tactics. They were talking about ambush tactics while …! And no-one in the tent seemed to think it anything unusual! More, hadn’t Judca mentioned a wife while arguing with the Maidens yesterday? The fellow with the white-streaked hair he was currently masturbating was certainly not her!

He jerked his eyes away, hoping they hadn’t noticed him looking. Then he was horrified to feel another jerking sensation. His rebellious cock, no longer content to simply swell, had begun to get hard. It slapped embarrassingly against the back of his raised thigh, well on its way to a full erection. An involuntary twitch sent it poking outwards, the head half-revealed. He would have moved to hide it against his belly, but it was already too late.

Conversation had all but died in the sweat tent. Familiar faces like Heirn and Arcaval had noticed Rand’s arousal and looked towards him. Unfamiliar ones had done the same. Soon even Judca and his friend fell quiet, no doubt wondering what the fuss was about. Mangin had been moving to feed the fire and as he did so his eyes fell on Rand; face first, then the rest. He sucked in a sharp breath.

Rand had never felt so ashamed in his life. _No wonder the Aiel used stuff like this as a punishment_ , he thought. _Better by far to take a simple beating_. His heart pounded so hard he was sure everyone in the tent could hear it. His face was scarlet, he knew. His eyes probably looked as big as teacups. For some mad reason the thought made him even harder. Rand’s cock thickened and extended as the Aiel watched.

“We got a big one on our hands!” said Zell, too loudly, causing several of the men to chuckle.

It was a struggle not to cringe. A struggle he lost when a man’s hand touched his knee. Rand had not even realised Rhuarc was watching, but the Taardad chief at Rand’s side seemed to have been studying him for some time. He moved Rand’s knee downward in a firm but gentle grip. “There is no shame in this. Especially not here,” he said exposing Rand more fully to the watching Aiel.

 _It’s rather liberating really_ , Rand thought, his head light.

“Your wetlander customs are strange indeed,” Rhuarc mused. “You blush like a young girl-child over the most natural things,” more chuckles greeted this, “and yet are strangely unmoved by that which you should be concerned with. We have as much to learn of you as you do of us.”

Rand lowered his eyes from the Aiel, many of whom were looking at him with undeserved warmth. His eyes fell on his own leg, the pale skin much smoother than average among these people. Water-fat, they called it. Rhuarc’s leg was muscled much more wirily. And his penis … his penis was standing tall and proud at the centre of the fort his crossed legs made.

Shock pushed all thought from his mind.

Rand’s grey eyes ran up the older man’s muscled torso to his chiselled jaw and were captured by Rhuarc’s blue ones. He had always admired Rhuarc. Wise and strong. Fair but firm. A handsome man, even with the grey sneaking into his hair. Not quite a father, not quite a friend, but precious in a way that either would be. He could only stare at him now, heartbeat hammering at his chest, eyes wide like the girl-child Rhuarc had named him. Mouth hanging slightly open. The Aiel chief seemed to be measuring Rand, not his body, but his mind and soul. The moment stretched excruciatingly. Rand could not speak and he could not look away. Finally, Rhuarc seemed to come to a decision. He unfolded his legs, leaned in towards the young would-be chief of chiefs. Unashamed, he took Rand’s face in his hands, one along his jaw and the other brushing in amongst the red curls at the back of his head. Then he kissed him on the lips.

Rand was lost. He was lost in an alien land among alien people. And most of all he was lost in the arms of another man.

There had been others in the sweat tent, he recalled dimly. There had been words exchanged, too. But just now his awareness had room only for the lips on his. It was an older man, trusted, respected. He had never imagined anything like this would happen between them. And he could not imagine asking Rhuarc to stop.

Unbidden, his left hand rose to clutch at the Taardad chief’s muscled shoulder, the right was needed to support his weight as the intensity of Rhuarc’s kiss pushed him backwards, fingers digging into the heated earth that floored the tent.

Rand learned a great deal about kissing in those moments. Rhuarc’s experienced lips kneaded the younger man’s. His tongue would dart out, now and then. There and gone, teasing. Until Rand, maddened, thrust his own tongue into the chief’s mouth to seek out his tormenter. Rhuarc wrapped both arms around Rand’s head then, the better to claim him.

How long they remained bound so Rand could not say. The kiss was broken only when Rand, involuntarily, threw back his head. His breath came in a shuddering moan. There was a hand on his erect penis, its grip assured, neither too tight nor too loose. Rhuarc’s hand.

Reality came crashing back. They were in a sweat tent. And they were surrounded by watchful Aiel warriors. Rand’s eyes darted about the tent.

There was Heirn, watching Rand make out with his chief. Rhuarc, watching Rand, rubbed his hand down the younger man’s shaft. A gasp escaped him and Heirn smiled.

Beyond was Arcaval, watching with his arms folded. Judging? Another stroke and Rand glanced away.

He didn’t know the handsome fellow who stepped towards them. He was young and his cock was utterly flaccid. There was neither interest nor condemnation on his face; he simply poured water on the coals, sending up more steam, before walking back to his seat. Another. Rand bit his lower lip.

Judca and his friend leaned forward intently to watch the show. Two hard men with hard cocks. Rhuarc stroked him twice before Rand could look away, heart pounding with mixed embarrassment and excitement.

The Aiel sat and lounged all around. Almost all of them watching Rand and Rhuarc. Two of the younger men, Mangin and Zell, looked positively jealous as they sat not far away from Rand, their own hardened manhood’s resting in their eager fists. Rand met Mangin’s eyes for a moment just as Rhuarc ran a callused hand down his tender flesh; he shivered. The youth’s gaze was almost hot enough to burn him.

Various men in various stages of arousal, but all staring at Rand.

He rested a hand on Rhuarc’s forearm, which was wrapped in a glittering tattoo like Rand’s, and stared at the older man pleadingly, though he could not have said what exactly he was pleading for.

Rhuarc nodded. Then matter-of-factly bent his head and took the tip of Rand’s manhood into his mouth.

Rand gasped. The man’s mouth was warm and wet, his skilled tongue playing with Rand’s already over excited nerves. One hand held Rand’s long shaft in place as the other cradled his fruits.

“Rhuarc,” Rand whispered, “you don’t … I want … you don’t have to do …” A slight brush of teeth silenced Rand’s meagre protests. _Have to, yes, that’s the wrong word to use. Choose to. Want to. Light have mercy!_

The chief of the Taardad began to work Rand’s cock. He could not swallow it all, but hand took care of what mouth could not. Forbidden pleasures surged through Rand. He couldn’t seem to move to make the other man stop. And soon the very thought of resistance faded beneath Rhuarc’s attack, faded and died.

Rand knew he was not going to last long under Rhuarc’s administrations. He was too excited. But he had to hold on at least a little while. He might lose _ji_ or incur _toh_ or whatever they wanted to call it. He might be shamed. Wasn’t that the Aiel way? Yet, the watching people didn’t seem to think he was being shamed or incurring _toh_. Quite the opposite. The pressure built within Rand, he tossed his head in his efforts to contain it. He didn’t understand these people, but perhaps this was a way of learning. Rhuarc seemed to feel his distress but whether due to misunderstanding or perverse Aiel humour he only increased his efforts. The older man ran his fingers along Rand’s balls, rubbed his shaft with increased zeal and swallowed the would-be _Car’a’carn_ ’s cock as deeply as he could. Just like that, Rand was done.

He shouted incoherently as his seed shot forth. He bit his lip once more, and rocked back and forth where he sat. Only Rhuarc’s iron grip upon Rand’s hips preventing unfortunate injuries to one or both of the men. He came in Rhuarc’s mouth, and kept coming for what felt like a good minute. The chief swallowed all of it. Rand collapsed on the warm earth, legs and arms outstretched, mind blank.

He drifted with the smoke of the tent. Rhuarc’s warm mouth left him as he softened. The chief wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, sat up. He gave Rand a fond look. Rand smiled back dopily.

From his odd vantage point he could see Judca and his friend. They were having sex. One muscular man bouncing in the lap of another, only the base of the hard shaft he was bouncing on visible. Rand gave a happy little laugh. He sucked in a deep breath, the heat was making his head spin.

“It’s been a long time since anyone thought Rhuarc handsome enough to get that excited, Rand al’Thor,” Heirn said with a smile. The sept chief hadn’t moved from his place. He was still flaccid as well, though several more Aiel in the tent had developed erections, Arcaval included.

“I couldn’t help it,” Rand murmured. “I wanted …” A chorus of deep-voiced chuckles silenced him.

“The body wants what it wants,” said Heirn dismissively.

Just then, a strangled grunt announced Zell’s climax. The young Aiel was staring at Rand passionately as he bent forward to direct his spurts into the earth. Rand gave him a smile. He hadn’t realised the other man was masturbating to the sight of him.

Mangin was doing so as well, it seemed, though he was doing it nice and slow. “You are beautiful, Rand al’Thor,” he said simply.

Around the tent he could see at least three strangers pleasuring themselves. And the lean fellow he’d noticed earlier was on his knees with another man pounding away behind him. Both seemingly oblivious to the world. Several other Aiel were scrubbing themselves with sand, unconcerned with the lewd displays. Truly, they were a strange people.

Rand got up on his elbows to find Rhuarc sitting over him, watching with that calm, measuring gaze of his. The chief’s cock was still jutting up out of its thatch of dark red hair. _Honour and obligation_ , Rand thought, _debts and favours, trust and trust_. He sat up beside his chief, smiling with poorly concealed nervousness. “How do you want me?”

Rhuarc held out his hand with a pleased smile and Rand took it promptly. The older man shuffled over to the fireside, never rising from his knees, and the younger one crawled after him. When they drew to a halt, Rand was awash in excitement and trepidation. _Whatever Rhuarc asks of me today, I will do_ , he resolved as they knelt before one another in the flickering light of the red-hot coals, _even if it means doing it front of all these people_.

Rand wondered if Rhuarc would ask to be sucked in turn. He didn’t particularly like doing that, but he would for Rhuarc. Masturbating would be the easiest. They sat on their heels, face to face. _He is handsome, whatever Heirn says_. The lines on his face make him seem distinguished rather than old. And most men half his age would be jealous of that physique.

Rhuarc was studying the youth before him as intently as Rand was he. At last he gestured to the ground beside them, close to the fire. “Lay down on your back,” he said in his deep voice, “and spread your legs.”

Rand gulped, but only because his mouth was dry from the heat, or so he told himself. Heart hammering, he scooted over beside Rhuarc and stretched out on the ground, his pale skin a stark contrast to the red earth. _He’s going to fuck me_ , he realised, _right here on the floor of this tent_. He felt himself begin to stiffen again. Rhuarc raised an eyebrow. Rand blushed slightly as he spread his legs, then hesitated over whether to raise his knees, as well. Smiling, the chief simply knelt between his outstretched legs and took a gentle grip of the back of either thigh. He pulled Rand’s legs further apart and pushed them up, exposing the hairless cleft between his cheeks to anyone there who cared to look. Rand had rarely felt so exposed, but he made no effort to resist.

Instead, he lay there and watched Rhuarc as he came close, admired the rough skin, light hair, hard muscle and well-earned scars that fought for attention on the chief’s torso. His breaths were coming in long drags this close to the heat, but Rhuarc seemed unwinded despite the thick sheen of sweat that covered them both. His callused hands drifted down to Rand’s buttocks, gripped them and lifted his hips from the floor to rest in his lap. Rand spread his elbows the better to support his weight, which now rested mainly on his shoulders.

Rhuarc worked his clever fingers among the muscles of Rand’s bottom, prying the cheeks gently apart. He stroked his fingers around the tender edge of Rand’s hole, drawing a light gasp from his prone plaything. They were both so covered in sweat that lubrication hardly seemed necessary. At first, he contented himself with sliding a finger of each hand inside a shivering Rand and pulling his cheeks steadily away from each other, loosening him a little. Then he seized his own cock and quickly inserted the head into the gap.

Rand felt the looming threat at his gateway but did not want to stop it. It promised a mingled pain and pleasure; and above all it promised intimacy. It shocked him sometimes how much he hungered for that—from anyone, man or woman. But who would be crazy enough to love the Kinslayer Reborn? Rhuarc had the door ajar, all he had to do was push his way inside. _Inside my heart, or my ass, or both, I don’t know_.

But Rhuarc did not push. Instead he looked deep into Rand’s eyes and said, “We can stop now if you wish. There is no _toh_ , Rand al’Thor, if that is what you are thinking.”

Rand shook his head. “I don’t want to stop. I want …” What _did_ he want, apart from the obvious? “I want to know you, Rhuarc. I want to know more of my people through you.” That felt right.

A murmured approval greeted that. Mangin was still touching himself as he stared at Rand. Zell was catching his breath but he was watching, too. Even Giladin was, and stroking himself as he did, despite the way he’d drifted shyly away when this all began.

Rhuarc smiled. “Good,” he said. Then he leant forward and buried himself inside Rand in one long, firm movement.

Rand gritted his teeth and whimpered just a little as he felt himself stretched and penetrated by his Aiel teacher. Soon he could feel Rhuarc’s hairy balls pressed up against his smooth bottom. The chief let out a hissing sigh of satisfaction as his long-neglected member settled into its tight sheath. His eyes were squeezed shut.

Mangin had seized Zell and was eagerly attempting to mount him, which the other man didn’t seem like to mind. Rand was only dimly aware of the rest of the tent, though. His eyes, and other things, were full of Rhuarc.

When the chief opened his eyes to find Rand staring at him, he grinned widely. “You really are strangely sweet …” he whispered, “Rand.” He reached down a hard hand and placed two fingers upon Rand’s face. The gestured was at once oddly formal and thrillingly tender. Then he took a firm grip on Rand’s raised hips, got up on his knees and began to ride him at an even, assured pace.

Rand lay naked and gasping upon the floor of the sweat tent. He was surrounded by nude men whom he barely knew and completely misunderstood. His legs were dangling in the air in a most undignified manner. His ass was stretched wide by the intrusion of a man old enough to be his father. He was exposed and vulnerable. And yet, somehow, for reasons he could not begin to explain, he felt safe.

Rhuarc fucked Rand until the youth could not contain his moans of pleasure. There was a … spot, something Rand had no name for, but Rhuarc was hitting it consistently and Rand’s pleasure surged each time he did. His manhood, only partially engorged, flapped in the steam after each firm thrust. Sweat was pouring off both men. Rand was so wet he might as well have been swimming in the Waterwood. His torso glistened in the flickering firelight, smooth and hairless. Rhuarc’s own battered body glistened no less so to Rand, as he watched it looming above him, the hard muscles of the chief’s stomach scrunching up and then relaxing again and again.

Soon even Rhuarc’s stamina began to fade in that heat. Each time he gasped out a breath, a groan of pleasure escaped with it. His face was no longer the blank mask that Aiel habitually wore; instead, a dozen emotions flitted across it. Compassion, worry, pride, acceptance, others. Lust coated them all, however. His thrusts were becoming more and more primal, tenderness and concern for Rand’s comfort giving way to the desperate need for release.

Rand felt no worry. He still felt unaccountably safe with Rhuarc. Even as his chief stared at him so fiercely and the pounding of his ass began to hurt, Rand still felt strangely at peace.

Mangin was finishing, fucking Zell with the same wild abandon Rhuarc was now fucking Rand, eyes fixated almost disturbingly on the other couple.

Rhuarc’s gaze met Rand’s, his eyes held desperation as he took the younger man roughly. His thrusts slowed, his teeth gritted, his breath came in one long hiss.

Rand reached up both hands to clasp his chief’s where they held his hips in place. “I think I love you,” Rand said, so softy it could barely be heard. The wonder in his tone seemed to surprise his lover as much as it did Rand. But Rhuarc had only moments to gape before his pleasure took him. The chief squeezed his eyes shut, seemingly in pain and then he spurted hard within his young lover’s ass. He drew shuddering breaths as the waves of pleasure swept over him; his muscles clenched up, locking Rand and Rhuarc’s bodies together his orgasm reached its peak. All too soon the tableau was broken and the chief, spent, fell back onto his heels, dragging the still held youth back towards him. Rhuarc bowed his head and sighed as Rand felt the spurting sensation within him slow to a trickle.

All the tension had leeched out of Rhuarc in the aftermath of their lovemaking. He seemed peaceful, his expression open. Not at all the reserved and deadly killer Rand had thought him when they first met back in Tear. Rand watched him with a slight smile, waiting for the familiar fog to clear.

When it did, Rhuarc’s eyes found Rand’s and he smiled down upon him fondly. “Well,” he breathed, still a little winded, “this was not how I imagined spending my morning. But it was certainly a welcome surprise.”

A chorus of agreement arose from the Aiel in the tent, from those who had watched the _Car’a’carn_ being fucked by the Taardad chief, to those who had simply gone about their business. Those nearest were sprawled upon the ground, sated.

Rhuarc reached out to Rand, and when he had Rand’s hands in his, pulled him up off the ground. He ended up squatting in the chief’s lap, Rhuarc’s mouth below his. They kissed, and Rand kneaded those lips firmly, his tongue darting out now and then, provoking. Rhuarc rumbled a soft laugh and said, “You learn quickly, Rand al’Thor.”

“Yes, chief, I do,” Rand said. Then he wrapped his arms around his teacher and hugged him tightly.

After a long moment, the two men broke apart. Rand rose carefully to his feet, abandoning Rhuarc’s slackened penis. He tottered as he made his way towards the rocks at the edge of the tent and took a seat. The cooler stone was soothing on Rand’s still-throbbing ass.

Rhuarc soon came to join him, sitting at his side. “You were shy at first, Rand. I assume this sort of thing does not happen in the wetlands?”

Rand hesitated. “It’s not forbidden, not exactly. It’s just something that people rarely speak of. Everyone knows it happens, though. I think. And when it does it’s never … in public like this.” He considered for a moment. “At least, not in any places that I know of.”

“What happens in the sweat tent, stays in the sweat tent,” intoned Rhuarc. Rand searched his eyes in silence. The Taardad’s mask was back in place, but echoes of what had passed between them remained. Rhuarc was concerned about something, conflicted, perhaps even afraid. Shockingly, the chief could not hold Rand’s gaze. He fixed his eyes upon the tent flaps instead. “Usually,” he grated. Rand’s heart felt curiously light.

“That’s still the case. I’ve always valued discretion,” Rand said. An exciting thought occurred to him. “Are the women’s sweat tents anything like ours?”

Rhuarc laughed uproariously. “Their activities are as hidden from us as ours are from them,” he said with playful exasperation. “Many a brave young _algai’d’siswai_ has attempted to learn the truth, however. Most spent their remaining days with two braids in their hair.”

Rand frowned. Shinobha wore her hair in two braids. Was that a tradition? He frowned slightly. “Do you know why Dani suddenly started wearing her hair that way?”

Rhuarc snorted. “Amys does not discuss her work so openly, even with me. As it should be. Still ... your ‘Dani’ does spend quite a lot of time in the sweat tents. The Wise Ones like to hold meetings there. Who can imagine what takes place?”

The two men sat in silence for a time, imagining.

In the end, it was Rand who broke the silence. “I really enjoyed what happened between us, Rhuarc,” he said hesitantly.

“Yes, Rand. You did,” the chief replied, deadpan. He waited a few heartbeats, then added, “And so did I.”

Rand leaned his elbows on his knees and smiled down at his own feet.

“Will it ever happen again?” he asked, flicking a glance up at the still-naked man beside him. Rhuarc glanced quickly away, but Rand could not help but notice how his manhood had begun to stir again. _He thinks me charmingly coquettish_ , Rand realised, in a flash of insight. _They are such a reserved people, for the most part, that seeing someone who looks like one of them behave with such openness as I do must be bizarre… and enticing_. He widened his eyes a little and stared at Rhuarc imploringly. When the older man finally looked back at Rand, he gave a little start. Rand hid his pleasure, and amusement, as best he could.

“Outside of the sweat tent, things are different, Rand,” Rhuarc said reluctantly. “I would like to keep you, but my wives …” He choked off, unable to meet Rand’s eyes. At last he sighed deeply, “I can tell Amys. She might give consent since it is not another woman and you are … you. But she is unlikely to be pleased.”

Rand grinned happily. It was the best he could hope for. Amys wasn’t likely to object, in Rand’s estimation. The Wise Ones were eager to place anyone close to Rand who might ferret out his secrets.

He sighed extravagantly and stood, gripping Rhuarc by the elbow and hauling him up, too. Side by side, they walked towards the exit to the sweat tents, where the outside world awaited. All that happened here would apparently remain a secret out there, a custom which pleased Rand immensely. When he glanced back, he saw some of the Aiel still watching him, and found himself shivering despite the great heat. He wondered if he’d ever have the nerve to come back, and what might happen if he did ...

“Is it always like this?” he ventured to ask.

Rhuarc chuckled. “Not always. Sometimes it is worse. Or better, depending on your preference. This is truly strange to you, I see. You have much to learn.”

 _Yes, but now I have a teacher_ , thought Rand. He was still smiling when he stepped of the tent.


	74. Revelations in Tanchico

Elayne fumbled with the two slim red-lacquered sticks, trying to set them properly in her fingers. _Sursa_ , she reminded herself. _Not sticks; sursa. A fool way to eat, whatever they’re called_.

On the other side of the table in the Chamber of Falling Blossoms, Egeanin frowned at her own sursa, one upright in each hand as if they really were sticks. Nynaeve held hers nestled in her hand the way Rendra had showed them, but so far she had managed to lift one sliver of meat and a few sliced peppers as far as her mouth; her eyes were tight with determination. The other Accepted were struggling just as badly. It was just their luck that the two Domani among their number had been sent off with Rand. A great many small white bowls covered the table, each filled with slices and tiny slivers of meat and vegetables, some in sauces dark or pale. Elayne thought it might take the rest of the day to finish this meal. She gave the honey-haired innkeeper a grateful smile when the woman leaned over her shoulder to position the sursa properly.

“Arad Doman is a foreign land,” Egeanin said, sounding almost angry. “Why do you serve the dishes of your enemy?”

Rendra shrugged, making a moue behind her veil; she wore the palest possible red today, and beads of the same colour woven into her narrow braids made soft clicks when she moved her head. “It is the fashion, now. Four days ago the Garden of Silver Breezes began it, and now almost every patron asks for the Domani food. I think maybe it is just because it is different. Maybe in Bandar Eban they eat the lamb with the honey sauce and the glazed apples, yes? In four days more, perhaps it is something else. The fashion, it changes quickly now, and if someone whips up the mob against this ...” She shrugged again.

“Do you think there will be _more_ riots?” Elayne asked. “Over what sort of food inns are serving?”

“The streets, they are restive,” Rendra said, spreading her hands fatalistically. “Who can say what will spark them again? The uproar the day before yesterday, it came from a rumour Maracru had declared for the Dragon Reborn, but does the mob turn on the people from Maracru? No. They rampage through the streets, pulling people from the carriages, and then burn the Grand Hall of the Assembly. People, they fear the war will follow them even here. Perhaps the word comes that the Domani have become Dragonsworn, and the mob rises against those who serve Domani food. Or maybe it burns warehouses on the Calpene docks. Who can say?”

“No proper order,” Egeanin muttered, thrusting the sursa firmly between the fingers of her right hand. From the expression on her face, they might have been daggers she was going to use to stab what was in the bowls. A bit of meat dropped out of Nynaeve’s sursa short of her lips; growling, she snatched it from her lap, dabbing at the cream-coloured silk with her napkin.

“Aah, order.” Rendra laughed. “I remember order. Maybe it will come again one day, yes? Some thought the Panarch Amathera would put the Civil Watch back at their duties, but were I she with the memory of the mob brawling outside my investiture ... The Children of the Light, they killed very many of the rioters. Perhaps this means there will not be another riot, but perhaps it means the next riot, it will be twice so big, or ten times. I think that I, too, would keep the Watch and the Children close around me. But this is no talk to disturb the meal.” Examining the table, she nodded to herself in approval, the beads in her thin plaits clicking. As she turned toward the door, she paused with a small smile. “It is the fashion to eat the Domani food with the sursa, and of course one does what is the fashion. But ... there are none here to see save yourselves, yes? Should you perhaps wish the spoons and the forks, they are under the napkin.” She indicated the tray on the end of the table. “Enjoy.”

Nynaeve and Egeanin waited until the door closed behind the innkeeper, then grinned at each other and reached for the tray with decidedly unseemly haste. Keestis and the other three still managed to get their spoons and forks first. Elayne quite understood; neither Nynaeve nor Egeanin had ever had to eat in the few minutes between a Novice’s chores and lessons. She reached for her own with only the barest of nods towards decorum.

“It makes me glad that Theodrin is not here, to see us make fools of ourselves,” Shimoku said.

“Speak for yourself. I never make a fool of myself,” Nynaeve declared. Elayne’s were not the only eyes to turn flat and be drawn to the stains on her dress, but hers was surely the only mind to conjure images of the woman in some very uncompromising positions. _Really. She can be intolerably full of herself at times_.

“It is tasty enough,” Egeanin said after her first mouthful, “when you can put any on your tongue.” Nynaeve laughed with her.

In the five days since meeting the dark-haired woman with her sharp blue eyes and slow drawl, they had all come to like her. She was a refreshing change from Rendra’s chatter about hair and clothes and complexions, or stares in the street from people who looked as if they would slit a throat for a copper. This was her third visit since that first meeting, and Elayne had enjoyed every one. Egeanin had a directness and an air of independence she admired. The woman might be only a small trader in whatever came her way, but she could challenge Gareth Bryne for saying what she meant and bowing to no-one.

Still, Elayne wished the visits had not been so frequent. Or rather that she and the other Accepted had not been at the Three Plum Court so often for Egeanin to find. Almost constant riots since Amathera’s investiture made moving about the city all but impossible, however, despite their escort of soldiers. Even Nynaeve had admitted as much after they had had to flee a shower of fist-sized stones. Ragan still promised to find them a carriage and team, but she was not too certain how hard he was looking. He and Juilin both seemed insufferably pleased that the Accepted were mired inside the inn. _They come back bruised or bleeding and don’t want us to even stub a toe_ , she thought wryly. Why did men always think it was right to keep you safer than they kept themselves? Why did they think their injuries mattered less than yours?

From the taste of the meat, she suspected Ragan should look in the kitchens here if he wanted to find horses. The thought of eating horse made her stomach queasy. She chose a bowl containing only vegetables, bits of dark mushroom, red peppers and some sort of feathery green sprouts in a pale, tangy sauce.

“What shall we discuss today?” Nynaeve asked Egeanin. “You have asked almost every question I can think of.” Nearly every one they knew how to answer at any rate. “If you want to learn any more about Aes Sedai, you’ll have to go to the Tower as a Novice.”

Egeanin flinched unconsciously, as she did at any words linking the Power to her. For a moment she stirred the contents of one of the small bowls, frowning at it. “You have not made any real effort,” she said slowly, “to keep secret from me that you are looking for someone. Women. If it does not intrude on your secrets, I would ask who you seek.”

All of the Accepted grew still. That was one question they could not be answering. But how to deflect it without undoing all their efforts to convince the women that Aes Sedai were not as frightening as she had thought them? While Elayne was still framing an answer, there came a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” Keestis called, doing a poor job of hiding her relief.

The door opened, and Areku strode in, grim satisfaction warring with uneasiness on her face. “We have found the Darkfriend sisters,” she began, then gave a start at the sight of Egeanin.

“ _Atha’an Shadar marath’damane_!” Egeanin gasped. Shockingly, she knocked over her chair leaping up, and ran for the door. Blinking, Areku stepped between it and her, so she threw a fist at the other woman’s hard middle almost too fast to see. Somehow Areku caught her wrist in a hand, twisted—there was a flurried instant where they seemed to be trying to hook each other’s ankle with a foot; Egeanin attempted to strike her in the throat—then somehow, she was facedown on the floor, Areku’s boot on her shoulder and her arm levered up hard against the Shienaran’s knee. Despite that she snatched her belt knife free.

Elayne wove flows of Air around the pair before she even knew she had embraced _saidar_ , freezing them where they were. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded in her best icy tone.

Nynaeve spared Areku only a brief frown before coming to look down at Egeanin worriedly. “Egeanin, why did you try to hit her? Why did you run?”

Eating utensils discarded, all of the Accepted came to gather around the frozen women. All save for Elayne. A horrible thought and an even more horrible feeling was slithering through her. That thing that Egeanin had said. _Marath’damane_. She’d heard it before. Her stomach was threatening to bring up everything she’d eaten that day, but she made herself speak anyway, “Egeanin is Seanchan. We have been fools. _I_ have been a fool. Of all of us, I should have realised sooner.”

The dark-haired woman lay there with eyes shut and mouth tight; her knuckles stood out bloodless from her grip on the knife hilt.

“Are you certain?” Nynaeve asked slowly, quietly. She sounded as stunned as Elayne felt.

Egeanin made no effort to deny it, only lay there gripping her knife. Seanchan. _But I like her! Or liked!_ Carefully, Elayne shifted the weave of flows until Egeanin’s knife hand lay uncovered to the wrist. “Let go of it, Egeanin,” she said coldly. After a moment Egeanin’s hand fell open. Elayne picked up the knife and backed away, loosing the flows completely. She did not release _saidar_ , though. She might need it do deal with Egeanin. Would need it. _I should do to her what Min did to Rendra. I should_. Her stomach got even queasier at the thought. “Let her up, Areku.”

The female soldier hesitated only briefly before releasing Egeanin’s wrist and stepped back. She remained braced for an attack, should the Seanchan come at her again. It was unnecessary. Egeanin would not make it that far if she tried. The dark-haired woman—the _Seanchan_ woman—merely stood, though. She worked the shoulder Areku had wrenched, eyeing her thoughtfully, glanced at the door, then raised her head and waited with every outward appearance of calm. It was hard not to keep on admiring her, but Elayne managed. She had only to recall her experiences in the _damane_ kennels to kindle a righteous anger in her heart. The others were looking at her with pity in their eyes. She’d told them a little of the Seanchan, not all of it, but enough to impress on them the need to be wary. What she _had_ told had evidently been enough.

“Seanchan,” Nynaeve growled. She clutched a fistful of her long braids, then gave her hand an odd stare and let go, but her brows were still furrowed and her eyes hard. “Seanchan! Worming your way into our friendship. I thought you had all gone back where you came from. Why are you here, Egeanin? Was our meeting really an accident? Why did you seek us out? Did you mean to lure us somewhere your filthy _sul’dam_ could lock their leashes around our throats?” Egeanin’s blue eyes widened fractionally. “Oh, yes,” Nynaeve told her sharply. “We know about you Seanchan and your _sul’dam_ and _damane_. We know more than you. You chain women who channel, but those you use to control them can channel too, Egeanin. For every woman who can channel that you’ve leashed like an animal, you walk by another ten or twenty every day without realizing it.”

“I know,” Egeanin said simply, and Nynaeve’s mouth fell open.

Elayne thought her own eyes were going to pop out of her head. “You know?” She took a breath and went on in something less like an incredulous squeal. “Egeanin, I think you are lying. I’ve met many Seanchan before. Seanchan don’t even hate women who channel. They think they are animals. You’d not take it so easily if you knew, or even believed.”

“Women who can wear the bracelet are women who can learn to channel,” Egeanin said. “I did not know it could be learned—I was taught a woman either could or could not—but when you told me that girls must be guided if they are not born with it, and that you could combine your power in a Link, I reasoned it out. May I sit down?” So cool.

Elayne nodded, and Emara and Ronelle, still haloed by _saidar_ parted to let the Seanchan woman pass. “She might as well be a Black sister herself, from what Elayne said,” Ronelle whispered to the smaller woman. Emara whispered back, wondering what they should do with her, but Ronelle could only shrug. Elayne wondered, too.

Egeanin’s world had to have been turned upside down by her own reasoning, but she was taking it matter-of-factly. Elayne could not imagine what would spin her own world topsy-turvy that way, but she hoped that if she ever found out she could face it with Egeanin’s calm reserve. _I have to stop liking her. She is Seanchan. They collared me for a pet. Light, how do you stop liking someone?_

Nynaeve appeared to be having no such difficulty. Planting her fists on the table, she leaned toward Egeanin so fiercely her braids dangled among the small bowls. “Why are you here in Tanchico? I thought you had all fled after Falme. And why have you tried to wriggle your way into our trust like some egg-eating snake? If you think you can collar us, think again!”

“That was never my intention,” Egeanin said stiffly. “All I ever wanted from you was to learn about Aes Sedai. I ...” For the first time she seemed hesitant, unsure of herself. Compressing her lips, she looked at each of the Accepted in turn and shook her head. “You are not as I was taught. The Light be upon me, I ... like you.”

“You like us.” Nynaeve made it sound a crime. “That answers none of my questions.”

Egeanin hesitated again, then held her head up, defying them to do their worst. “I stayed with you after Elayne revealed herself because you said it could be taught. I had to know, to understand, about women who could channel.” She took a deep breath. “What do you mean to do with me?” Her hands, folded on the table, did not tremble.

Nynaeve opened her mouth angrily, and closed it again slowly. Elayne knew her difficulty. Nynaeve might hate Egeanin now, but what were they to do with her? It was not clear she had committed any crime in Tanchico, and in any event the Civil Watch seemed interested in nothing beyond saving its own collective skin. She was Seanchan, she had used _sul’dam_ and _damane_ , but such things were neither known of nor illegal here. For what crime could they punish her? Asking questions they had answered freely? Making them like her? They could turn her over to the Queen of Falmerden and let her be executed for her part in the invasion, but Falme was so very far away.

“If she is an enemy combatant, then our duty is obvious,” Shimoku said. Her voice was soft, though her words were anything but. Keestis’ lips thinned, but she nodded slowly.

Nynaeve spared them a taste of her glare, too, fumbling at those braids, “Are we savages!?” She didn’t wait for an answer, for it was Egeanin at whom her ire was truly directed. “I’d like to stripe your hide till you glow like a sunset,” she growled at the Seanchan woman. Abruptly her head swung toward Areku. “You found them? You said you found them. Where?” She shifted her feet, shooting a meaning look at Egeanin, eyebrows rising in a question.

“I do not believe she is a Darkfriend,” Keestis said when Elayne and Nynaeve hesitated.

“I certainly am not!” Egeanin’s stare was fierce-eyed and offended.

“No. Just a Seanchan,” Elayne snapped. There wasn’t much in the way of difference between the two, so far as she was concerned.

Folding her arms as if to keep from tugging her braids, Nynaeve glared at the woman, then shifted an accusatory frown to Areku, as though this entire mess were her fault. “There isn’t anywhere to lock her,” she said finally, “and Rendra would surely demand reasons. Go ahead, Areku.”

She gave a last, doubtful look at Egeanin. “Katsui and I saw two of the women on your list at the Panarch’s Palace. The one with the cats, and the Saldaean woman.”

“At the Panarch’s Palace?” Nynaeve said. “Are you certain? More women than Marillin Gemalphin like cats. And Asne Zeramene is not the only woman from Saldaea, even in Tanchico.”

“A narrow-faced blue-eyed woman with a wide nose feeding a dozen cats in a city where people eat cats? In the company of another with that Saldaean nose and tilted eyes? That is not so common a pair, Nynaeve.”

“It is not,” she agreed. “But the Panarch’s Palace? Areku, in case you have forgotten five hundred Whitecloaks guard that place, commanded by an Inquisitor of the Hand of the Light. Alsalam Arca and his officers at least must know Aes Sedai on sight. Would they remain if they saw the Panarch sheltering Aes Sedai?” She opened her mouth, but Nynaeve’s point was telling, and nothing came out.

There came a rap at the door. With a cautioning look at the others, Nynaeve snapped “You sit quiet” to Egeanin, and raised her voice. “Come.”

Juilin stuck his head into the room with that silly cylindrical cap on. The gash on his dark cheek, the blood already dried, was not an unusual sight these days; the streets were rougher now by daylight than they had been by dark in the beginning. “May I speak to you alone, Mistress al’Meara?” he said when he saw Egeanin sitting at the table.

“Oh, come in,” Nynaeve told him sharply. “After what she’s heard already, it won’t matter if she hears a little more.” Areku grimaced at the implied rebuke, though it was fairly given—she should have checked before speaking, as Juilin had. “Have you found them in the Panarch’s Palace, too?”

In the act of shutting the door, he shot an unreadable, tight-mouthed glance at Areku. “So the Shienarans are ahead of me,” Juilin muttered ruefully. Ignoring Areku, he addressed Nynaeve. “I told you the woman with the white stripe would lead me to them. That is a very distinctive thing. And I saw the Domani woman there, too. From a distance—I am not fool enough to wade into a school of silverpike—but I cannot believe there is another pair like that in all of Tarabon.”

“You mean they _are_ in the Panarch’s Palace?” Nynaeve exclaimed.

Juilin’s face did not change, but his dark eyes widened slightly, flickered toward Areku. “So they had no proof,” he murmured in a satisfied tone.

“You both found them, and you both brought proof,” Elayne said. “Very likely neither would have been sufficient without the other. Now we know where they are because of you both.” If anything, Juilin looked more disgruntled than before. Men could be absolutely silly at times.

“The Panarch’s Palace.” Nynaeve jerked a fistful of braids, then flung the long plaits over her shoulder with a toss of her head. “What they are after must be there. But if they have it, why are they still in Tanchico? The palace is huge. Maybe they haven’t found it yet. Not that that helps if we are out here while they are inside! For all I know, Amathera is helping them search it from cellar to attic.”

“You make friends quickly and are remarkably free with them,” Juilin said flatly.

“She’s not my friend, she’s a Seanchan,” Nynaeve told him. “Close your mouth before you swallow a moth, Master Sandar, and sit down. We can eat while we try to figure out what to do.”

“In front of her? Seanchan?” His eyes bulged as though he was strangling. He had heard some of the story of Falme from the Shienarans—some of it—and he had certainly heard the rumours here; he studied Egeanin as if wondering where she hid her horns.

“Do you suggest I ask Rendra to lock her in a storeroom?” Nynaeve asked calmly. “That _would_ cause comment, wouldn’t it? I’m fairly certain a big, hairy man can protect us poor women if she pulls a Seanchan army out of her pouch. Sit, Juilin, or else eat standing up, but stop staring. All of you, sit. I mean to eat before it grows cold.”

They did, Juilin looking as ill-contented as she’d ever seen him. Sometimes Nynaeve’s bullying manner did seem to work. Perhaps Rand would respond to occasional bullying.

Putting Rand out of her mind, Elayne decided it was time to add something of worth. “I cannot see how the Black sisters can be in the Panarch’s Palace without Amathera’s knowledge,” she said, pulling her chair under her. “As I see it, that makes for three possibilities. One, Amathera is a Darkfriend. Two, she thinks they are Aes Sedai. And three, she is their prisoner. In any case, she will help them look for what they seek, but it seems to me that if she thinks they are Aes Sedai, we might be able to gain her help with the truth. And if she is a prisoner, we could gain it by freeing her. Even Liandrin and her companions could not hold on to the palace if the Panarch ordered it cleared, and that would give us a free hand to search.”

“The problem, then, do be discovering whether she be ally, dupe or captive,” Emara said.

Juilin raised his chin in a rather obnoxious way. He did not, she had learned, think very well of nobles despite how deeply he bowed to them back in Tear. He had a measure of that Tairen dislike of Aes Sedai, too, and a bigger measure of their vendetta against Illianers. As Emara was all three, he never missed an opportunity to try to correct her. “The real problem is to reach her, whatever her situation,” he said firmly. “Alsalam Arca has five hundred Whitecloaks around the palace like fisher-birds around the docks. The Panarch’s Legion has nearly twice that, and the Civil Watch almost as many. None of the ring forts are held half so well.”

“We are not going to fight them,” Ronelle sniffed. “Stop thinking with the hair on your chest. This is a time for wits, not muscle.”

Nynaeve nodded firmly. “That’s just what I was going to say. As I see it ...”

The discussion went on through the meal, continuing after the last small bowl was emptied. Egeanin even offered a few cogent comments after a while spent silently, not eating and not seeming to listen. Unfortunately, knowing where the Black sisters were did little good without knowing whether or not Amathera was with them; that, or what they were after. In the end, almost two hours of discussion came to not much more than that and a few suggestions as to how to find out about Amathera. Most of which, it seemed, was to be used by Juilin and his spiderweb of contacts crisscrossing Tanchico.

The only suggestion that Elayne could see how to help with involved the Meridarch’s Aes Sedai advisor, and that was a woman she was very reluctant to reach out to. They had had Juilin hire someone to watch Nataly and report on who she met with, but the reports were suspect at best. None of the Accepted could follow her without being noticed, of course, and the Shienarans were only slightly less conspicuous. Whether the man Juilin had found was useful or trustworthy remained a question whose answer they would never know until it was too late. Perhaps the former Panarch’s advisor would be a better prospect, if they could fine her. Especially if Amathera proved to be in league with the Black Ajah.

Juilin didn’t want to leave them alone with one of the Seanchan—until Nynaeve became angry enough to wrap him in flows of Air while he dithered before the door. “Do you not think,” she said icily, surrounded by the glow of _saidar_ , “that one of us might be able to do the same to her if she says boo?” She would not release him until he nodded his heads, the only bit he could move.

“You keep a taut crew,” Egeanin said as soon as he door closed behind himself.

“Be quiet, Seanchan!” Nynaeve folded her arms tightly; she seemed to have given up trying to pull at those braids when she was angry. “Sit down, and—be—quiet!”

It was frustrating waiting there, staring at the plum trees and falling blossoms painted on the windowless walls, pacing the floor or watching the others pace, while Juilin was out actually doing something. Yet it was worse when the man came back at intervals, to report another trail faded away to nothing, another thread snapped, hear what the others had learned, and hurry out again.

Though she, too, stayed behind—she and her fellow soldiers not being suited to investigating a noblewoman—Areku showed none of the nervous frustration that was affecting the Accepted. She just leaned against the edge of an empty table, arms crossed, watching Egeanin. With her padded doublet and leather trousers, not to mention that outlandish haircut, it would have been hard to tell she was a woman if you didn’t already know. Elayne gave over listening to Emara and Ronelle argue about whether contacting Nataly was wise or not, and went to speak to the armswoman.

“You handled Egeanin well. There are few female warriors in the world, but I have admired all those I have met, yourself included.”

Areku bowed her head. “You are too kind, my lady.”

“Not so. We have known each other for some time now, yet I am only now saying what I should have said back at Tarcain Cut.”

“We all had a lot on our minds back then. I expected no praise for doing my duty.”

Elayne smiled. “Spoken like a true soldier.” She looked like one, too. There were scars on the hands she had folded across her breasts. Elayne admired female warriors, but she couldn’t help but wish there was a way to be a formidable warrior and still look glamorous.

A wry little smile found its way onto Areku’s normally stern face. “There’s a reason I’m like this, you know.”

“Do tell.”

“My father served with the army. It filled him with pride. He dreamed that one day his son would follow in his footsteps. Unfortunately, my parents struggled to have a child. When they were finally successful, they had me. A girl.”

“How did your father react?” Elayne asked. She had never known her own father. She had been little more than a baby when he died.

“One doesn’t rise to the rank he held without a surplus of tenacity. Despite the concern of my mother and others, he raised me as a son.”

A frown creased Elayne’s brows. “That is ... rather outrageous, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Don’t sound so sad. I’ve never had any qualms with my upbringing. I’m thankful for the unique opportunities it has afforded me. I’m proud of who I am. If things had gone differently, I wouldn’t be here, helping Rand in his important work.”

Rand. Not the Lord Dragon. Just Rand. Given what she knew of his predilections ... “Are the two of you close?”

Areku looked at her sharply. “I would never get involved with a superior officer. I take my job seriously.”

“Of course, of course. I meant no offense.” She smiled a glum little smile. “Being involved with someone so famous, so handsome and so amorous is not easy at times.”

“I imagined it would be that way,” Areku said, with a wistful sigh that Elayne decided not to read too much into.

The day wore on, with nothing to do but talk about the things they should be doing. Once a clamour penetrated the thick walls, brutal shouts and cries from the street. Rendra bustled into the room just when Elayne had decided to go down and see for herself what it was. “Some little trouble outside. Do not disturb yourself. The men I hired, they keep it away from us, yes. I did not want you to worry.”

“A riot here?” Nynaeve said sharply. The immediate neighbourhood of the inn had been one of the few calm areas in the city.

“Not to worry,” Rendra said soothingly. “Perhaps they want food. I will tell them where the soup kitchen is, and they will go away.”

The noise did die down after a while, and Rendra sent up some wine, with Ragan acting as an impromptu serving man. That provided a break from the monotony, as they explained Egeanin to him. Then it was back to waiting and pacing, pacing and waiting. When Juilin came back, a good three hours after sunset, spinning a thumb-thick staff of ridged wood and muttering about some pale-haired fellow who had tried to rob him, the rest of them were already slumped disconsolately at the table with Egeanin.

“I mean to look on tonight,” Juilin said, reversing a chair to straddle it, “I found a roofman who says the woman he keeps company with was another of Amathera’s tirewomen. According to him, Amathera discharged all of her tirewomen without warning the same evening she was invested Panarch. He will take me to talk with her after he finishes some business of his own at a merchant’s house. This woman is the first person I have found who’s actually seen Amathera since she was raised.” He relayed to them all he’d learned that day, though it all sounded like nonsense to Elayne. Supposedly Amathera was fond of singing bawdy tavern songs, and was involved with two other noblemen besides Andric. Supposedly she was plotting with the Dragon Reborn, too. Nonsense and rumours, but she had no need to say it twice. Once he was done unloading said nonsense in their laps, Juilin took himself off to say goodbye to Rendra. He’d been spending most of his free time in her company lately.

“Since we have nowhere else to keep the Seanchan woman, she will have to sleep with us,” Nynaeve said. “Elayne, will you ask Rendra to have a pallet made up? On the floor will do nicely.” Egeanin glanced at her, but said nothing.

“You might want to ask for several pallets. It would be best if we all shared the same room. Just in case,” Keestis said.

Rendra was clearly surprised they requested only a pallet, but accepted the tale that Egeanin feared to risk the streets at night. “Those fellows, they did not get inside however hard they tried. I told you the soup kitchen would take them away, yes? Guests at the Three Plum Court have no need to fear.”

“I am sure not,” Elayne told her, gently trying to push her out with the door. The room was crowded enough, with six Accepted and a Seanchan prisoner inside.

As soon as the door closed, Nynaeve immediately turned to Egeanin, who was spreading her pallet on the far side of the bed. “Take off your clothes, Seanchan. I want to be sure you don’t have another knife hidden away.”

Egeanin calmly stood and undressed down to her linen shift. Nynaeve searched through her dress thoroughly, then insisted on searching Egeanin as well, and none too gently. Finding nothing did not seem to soothe her.

“Hands behind your back, Seanchan. Bind her with the Power, Elayne,” Nynaeve said roughly, “or I’ll cut strips from her dress and bind her hands and heels. You remember how she handled those fellows in the street. Probably her own hirelings. She could probably kill us in our sleep with her bare hands.”

Ronelle shook her head disapprovingly. “Really, Nynaeve, with all of us here—”

“She’s Seanchan! Seanchan, Ronelle! Nynaeve is right. We cannot be too careful when it comes to them.” Elayne shuddered, as upset by the fact that she’d lost control enough to shout like that as by the way being around a Seanchan again made her stomach churn. While Ronelle’s brows climbed to her hairline, Keestis put a hesitant hand on Elayne’s shoulder and rubbed it soothingly.

Egeanin had already placed her wrists together in the small of her back, compliant if not meek. Elayne wove a flow of Air around them and tied it off; at least it would be more comfortable than bindings cut out of her dress. Egeanin flexed her arms slightly, testing the bonds she could not see, and shivered. She could as easily have broken steel chains. Shrugging, she laid herself down awkwardly on the pallet and turned her back to them.

Nynaeve began undoing her own dress. “I’m using the iron disk tonight.”

“Are you sure, Nynaeve?” She looked at Egeanin in a significant manner. The woman seemed to be paying no attention to them.

“She’ll not go running to betray us tonight.” Pausing to pull the dress over her head, Nynaeve sat on the edge of the bed in her thin silk Taraboner shift to roll down her stockings. “There’s something I want to try. We can’t be relying on Juilin Sandar to get the job done.”

Nynaeve fished the _ter’angreal_ out of the hidden pocket she’d sown into her dress. Keestis and the others, settling down on their own pallets for the night, studied it curiously. There had been some talk of allowing them to try it out as well, but Nynaeve had been as reluctant to part with her _ter’angreal_ as Elayne was with her own.

“Give me an hour after you are certain I’m asleep,” Nynaeve said, stretching out atop the blue coverlet. “It should take no longer than that. And keep an eye on her.”

“What can she do bound, Nynaeve?” Ronelle hesitated before adding, “I don’t think she would try to harm us if she were loose.”

“Don’t you dare!” Nynaeve raised her head to glare at Egeanin’s back, then lay back on the pillows again.

Elayne gave Ronelle a cool look. “She will remain bound, you have my word.”

“Good. An hour, Elayne.” Closing her eyes, Nynaeve wriggled to make herself more comfortable. “That should be more than enough,” she murmured.

Hiding a yawn behind her hand, Elayne brought the low stool to the foot of the bed, where she could watch Nynaeve, and Egeanin, too, though that hardly seemed necessary. The woman lay huddled on her pallet with her knees up, hands securely fastened. It had been a strangely tiring day considering that they had never left the inn. Nynaeve was already muttering softly in her sleep. With her elbows jutting out.

Egeanin lifted her head and looked over her shoulder. “She hates me, I think.”

“Go to sleep.” Elayne stifled another yawn.

“You do, too.”

“I was held as _damane_ once. Nynaeve helped free me.” In a way she had, even if Rand and Min had gotten to the kennels first. She hoped they were both well. “You can hardly expect me to think fondly of my tormentors.” Egeanin said nothing. “You are taking this very calmly. How can you be so calm?”

“Calm?” The other woman’s hands moved involuntarily, twisting at her Air-woven bonds. “I am so terrified I could weep.” She did not sound it. Yet it sounded the simple truth. She could feel the eyes of her fellow Accepted on her, silently weighing her. What would she do to this Seanchan woman? What did she want to do? _I wish I’d never met her_. But justice was justice, and Egeanin had not committed any crime that she knew of.

“We won’t harm you, Egeanin,” Elayne said at last. Whatever Nynaeve wanted, she would see to that. “Go to sleep.” After a moment Egeanin’s head lowered. Ronelle sighed in relief, and the smile Keestis gave to Elayne was flatteringly admiring.

An hour. She wished that hour could be spent on their problem instead of wandering uselessly in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. Quite why Nynaeve thought it would help was beyond her. Her own investigation of Tanchico’s reflection in the World of Dreams had proven a waste of time. If they could not find out whether Amathera was prisoner or captive ... _Set that aside; I won’t puzzle it out here_. Once they did find out, how could they get inside the palace with all those soldiers about, and the Civil Watch, not to mention Liandrin and the others?

Nynaeve had started snoring softly, a habit she denied even more heatedly than she did flinging her elbows about. Egeanin appeared to be taking the long, slow breaths of deep sleep. Yawning into the back of her hand, Elayne shifted on the hard wooden seat and began planning how to sneak into the Panarch’s Palace.


	75. Transition

“She had four husbands. Four! At once! Can you believe it?”

The only thing that Dani couldn’t believe was that even Mayam could be made to lower her voice to a scandalised whisper if the topic in question was outlandish enough. And the Aiel were nothing if not outlandish. She peered out from under the pleasant shade of her hat as they rode through the parched land, watching her companions out of the corner of her eye. The now tan Pedra remained as staunchly conservative as ever, while Theodrin grinned widely.

“So long as they are all free to chose not to, what does it matter?” her fellow Domani said. Pedra rounded on her, citing the usual list of Aes Sedai customs and prohibitions. Theodrin was not as chastened by that recitation as she once would have been.

Neither was Dani, for that matter. She had become a bit reluctant to talk about it with her companions, but she was enjoying her time in the Aiel Waste more than she had her years in Tar Valon. Learning _Tel’aran’rhiod_ with the Wise Ones in the company of her fellow students there, and learning other things from them in Aviendha’s company, was somehow more satisfying than learning from the Aes Sedai had been. The Wise Ones were demanding taskmistress’ but they were still ... grounded somehow. They did not make a show of how superhuman they were, as the Aes Sedai tended to. She’d actually come to like them. She hadn’t liked any of her teachers in Tar Valon. It was the same with the Maidens. They might leave her battered, bruised and exhausted after their training sessions, but there was always a sense of camaraderie with it. Well, almost always. There were a few of them that she thought might be taking a special satisfaction out of beating on “the wetlander”.

And when she got tired of always being the student, there was Merile to teach. The Tinker had proven to be a sweet little thing. Very cooperative, very appreciative, very eager to learn. She wasn’t at all as simple as Dani had first thought her either. She was learning quickly, rarely needing to be shown or told a thing more than once or twice before memorising it. Dani had never really envisioned herself as the teaching type. In her mind she was a doer not a talker. But there was a certain satisfaction in teaching, too, she was finding. That was yet another thing her time in the Waste was opening her eyes to. She felt as if she was becoming a different person.

Still silent, she studied the beautiful Volsuni at her side. Talking about these things with Pedra and the rest would have been difficult. Talking about them with Ilyena was frightening. What would she think of her? The Borderlanders in general were very loyal to the White Tower—each of the nations sent a yearly tribute in gold to Tar Valon, despite them being the poorer nations. Would Ilyena think her a traitor if she admitted that she felt freer here among the “savage” Aiel than she had in years? Or maybe she wouldn’t say anything at all. She had grown quiet since Tear. Withdrawn. Dani’s efforts to draw her out and engage her in conversation rarely won her a response of more than a few words. She had named the white mare she acquired in Tear Nienda. In the Old Tongue, it meant “lost girl”. Dani was worried about her.

“Trollocs, Draghkar ... what do you think it will be next time?” Ilyena asked, cutting short the others’ discussion of Aiel _harem_ marriages.

Dani followed her gaze to where Rand rode at the head of their column. The Ogier was with him now, making Merile and Raine look even shorter by his presence. Even Rand himself, impressively tall, looked more like a cute little boy when Loial was around. She shared Ilyena’s worry. If there had been any doubt left in her mind as to whether he truly was the Dragon Reborn, the Shadow’s continued efforts to assassinate him had dispelled it.

“Grey Men, would be my bet. They tried a direct attack, then a distraction. Full stealth would be the logical next step,” she said.

“I never would have taken you for a future White, Dani,” said Theodrin.

Mayam sniffed. “Don’t give in to the stereotypes. Not all Whites are bloodless ice sculptures, any more than all Browns are dreamy bumblers. And Dani’s right. It will be Grey Men. Count on it.”

“So many experts on the Shadow,” Ilyena sneered. “And if it is one of the Forsaken? What will happen then? Be’lal is still out there. He is not done with us.”

Despite the oppressive heat, Dani found herself shivering. And she was not the only one.

“They can be killed. Rand proved that in the Stone,” she said.

“With _Callandor_! That he stupidly left behind. Our supposed saviour ...” Ilyena was a very pretty girl but it was hard to see it just then, hidden as it was behind her bitterness.

“Al’Thor is no-one’s saviour. He is a man who can channel. Never forget that,” said Pedra.

Dani fell silent again. That was another thing her companions wouldn’t like to hear her talk about. Rand was not at all what she would have expected him to be, going by the prophecies concerning him. He was actually quite sweet when you got to know him. Or he was sweet with the people close to him, anyway. With her, he remained wary and withdrawn, even in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. But a man who would treat Raine so lovingly even when she looked only half human was hard to picture as the breaker of worlds. He was telling the Ogier something now, something that he scribbled down on one of his notepads. She was tempted to ride forward and join his group, but he’d probably clam up if she did.

Talk died down after that. The odd rock structures of the Aiel Waste stood silent sentry as they passed by, sparse vegetation and even sparser animal life drawing the eye when they appeared. She wasn’t sure why they’d left Cold Rocks Hold to go to this Iron Hold instead. Her understanding was that Cold Rocks was essentially the capital for the Taardad clan. Why move, after having only been there for a few days? Rhuarc and Amys had been as close-lipped as Rand when asked. The Taardad column was much larger now, more than the equal of the Shaido one that paralleled it. The peddlers had come as well, though Dani wondered why. They had spoken of their desire to sell their wares at Alcair Dal, where the clans were supposed to meet. Shouldn’t they be on their way? Why stick close to Rand, knowing what he was?

She felt her cheeks colour when she thought of the item in her saddlebags, the one that Keille had given her. They hadn’t used it, and she well knew that a proper Aes Sedai never would. A fake copy of a man’s ... thing? No woman with any self-respect would use such a thing. Or so it was taught in Tar Valon. Here in the Waste ... Dani worked her throat, trying to get some moisture into it. Ilyena certainly wouldn’t want to use it. Would she? She hadn’t wanted to do much of anything lately.

She certainly hadn’t responded to the Cauthon boy’s efforts to flirt with her. That one was incorrigible. She had thought they’d set him straight back in the White Tower but he persisted in flashing his grin and waggling his eyebrows at Ilyena whenever they came close. Oddly, it was only Ilyena he pestered like that. He’d tried it on with Dani as well, in Tar Valon ...

The day wore on. People came and went around Rand. Moiraine lectured him again, Aviendha scowled at him some more, Raine rode close and touched her hand to his thigh suggestively. Once, Rhuarc gestured to a far off rock formation and launched into an unheard explanation. And all the while a group of Maidens surrounded him, shooting hot looks at any other Aiel who came too close. The sun dripped towards the horizon, the light growing dim enough that she knew they would have to stop soon. She’d heard Aiel complain about that. Left to their own devices they would keep going long into the night, but the wetlanders could not be trusted to avoid the stinging creatures that came out then so stop they must. It put her back up a bit but not so much so that she didn’t long for the comfort of a tent as soon as the sun went down. Ilyena might be at home in the cold but Dani hated it, and nights in the Aiel Waste were _cold_.

The Wise Ones sent _gai’shain_ to help the supposed Aes Sedai set up their camps. Helping wasn’t required but Dani did it anyway. She felt bad enough about lying to them, without standing around shirking her chores in the bargain. She didn’t duck into the tents once they were erected, though, as the others did. She had lessons to attend.

Rand hadn’t arrived yet when she came to the Wise Ones’ own tents but Raine was already waiting outside, rubbing her hands together vigorously but looking relaxed for all that.

“Glad to be out of the sun, carrot-top?” Dani asked.

Raine smiled shyly. She hadn’t tanned from the sun, merely sprouted a few more freckles. “I’m still not used to the summer heat here. It’s beastly!”

“I know. It’s that way for me, too, and I grew up in a hot country. You should see if Kadere has any more of these hats. They’d look cute on you, especially with your new freckles,” Dani said with a tentative smile.

“Aww. Do you really think so?” Raine asked, her yellow eyes shining in the dim light. “Rand said so, too, but I thought he was just trying to get me in the mood for mating. But if you say it, it must be true.”

Dani looked away, not quite sure how to respond to that, even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Even the Aiel, for all their open-mindedness when it came to people’s romantic entanglements, did not speak of such things as openly as Raine.

“Don’t you trust him to be honest with you?” she asked before the silence could become too awkward.

Raine scratched her head, frowning. “Don’t know if I want him to be,” she said slowly. “I mean, I know I don’t have curves like Berelain or Elayne but I still wouldn’t want to hear him tell me so.”

“I suppose I can see what you mean,” Dani allowed. “There is such a thing as too much honesty. Has he ever said anything to you about me and my friends? I don’t think he trusts us.”

“Hmm. Merile told him you were nice to her. He was pleased about that. Doesn’t say much about the others, though. Why?”

She set her jaw. “I want to help, but he’s too blasted proud. He won’t let me. We’re too much alike, he and I. Maybe that’s why I care.”

Raine nodded. “Shadowkiller is a mighty hunter but he needs his pack around him. You would be a good packmate.”

Before Dani could ask what she meant by that, she heard voices approaching. She recognised Rand’s immediately but she struggled to place the other one. They were talking about the Aiel, specifically the ones who’d taken to prowling around exchanging hard stares with the Maidens lately. Rand was tiredly explaining that they’d all just have to put up with it.

When they drew close she realised who he was speaking to. It was Izana, the youngest of the Shienarans who followed him around like lost puppies. No sooner had she thought it than she winced. Did anyone think the same of her and her companions? It was not a flattering thought.

“Why does Giladin always talk so big? Peace! We’re the same age,” Izana asked, annoyed.

By far the taller and heavier of the two, Rand rested a gentle hand on the other boy’s shoulder. “There’s a lot of talking and posturing going on lately. It’s more like the bloody politics in Tear than I’d ever realised before. Try not to let it get to you.”

“I liked the way it was before, with just a few of us,” Izana sighed.

“Me too. But the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and I think this is going to be my life now. Trying to appease warring factions. It’s annoying, but it’s the job I have to do,” Rand said as he approached her and Raine. “Speaking of jobs ... Are we ready?”

“Ready!” Raine said chirpily. Dani’s own response was more reserved. She didn’t much like having her company described as a job.

The four dreamwalking Wise Ones were waiting for them inside the tent, gathered around the fire in the centre. The three students found their places on the scattered cushions, with Raine cuddled up close to Rand. She was obviously feeling frisky tonight. _How nice for him. And for her_.

Once Dani had taken her seat, alone, Bair got things underway. “Tonight we will show you how to fight in _Tel’aran’rhiod_. The beginnings of it. Do not expect us to make experts of you immediately.”

“Good. That is the most important thing,” Rand said, nodding firmly.

Melaine sniffed. “If you think that then you have not been paying attention to our lessons.”

“I have to agree,” Seana said, a little smile tugging at one corner of her mouth.

“I’m not saying there aren’t other, useful, things to be found in the dreamworld, I’m just saying that those things won’t count for much if one of the Forsaken kills you there,” Rand said.

“Won’t let that happen,” Raine growled.

“You will have to get there first,” Bair continued. “And since none of you is able to do that at will yet ...” She clapped her hands loudly, and several _gai’shain_ entered carrying cups. Dani knew by now what was in them. She was glad that her _ter’angreal_ put her to sleep as soon as she channelled into it, and silently urged her companions’ tongues to be brave.

“Once you are in the dream, bring yourselves back to Cold Rocks Hold. We will meet you there,” said Amys. She stretched out on the pillows, her skirts neatly arrayed and her fingers laced together at her waist, and closed her eyes.

Once she’d downed her sleeping draught, Dani curled up by the fire. She embraced _saidar_ and felt its thrilled touch war against the lassitude that Amys’ potion tried to force, then channelled Spirit into the _ter’angreal_ that she took from the pouch at her belt. Lying there, she waited for her eyes to grow heavy. Raine’s head was pillowed upon Rand’s heavy chest, her arms around his neck, his big hand resting in the little hollow of her waist. It looked cosy. _Burn me, am I jealous?_ The answer came embarrassingly quickly. _Blood and ashes, I_ am _jealous!_

But of who?

Despite her troubled thoughts the sleeping draught worked fast. She found herself dreaming of home. She was back on the farm, working with the animals, riding her horse across the vast grassland, her hair streaming in the wind. So free. She didn’t want the dream to end, which was perhaps why it took her so long to realise that it was a dream, and not _Tel’aran’rhiod_. Fighting against the lull of her own dream, Dani made the transition into the World of Dreams, annoyed at herself and hoping she would not be too late for tonight’s lesson.

Jumping from Arad Doman to Cold Rocks Hold was easy for her now but she still gave a start on finding that it was daytime there. It had been night on the _Tel’aran’rhiod_ reflection of her farm ... She saw right away why the Wise Ones had made this change, for Rand was standing in the middle of the canyon, deflecting the spears they hurled at him.

“Not with your hands!” Amys called. “You do not need them here. Simply will that the spear not touch you.”

Rand scowled. “Let it come, and just _hope_ that it doesn’t kill me!? Burn that!”

Amys tossed her head. “Rhuarc can teach you these things in the daytime. Here is for a different lesson. You must control your mind to control the dream.”

Muttering something to himself, Rand kept dodging and deflecting the spears, but with his hands, not his mind, as Amys wanted. He was a stubborn one.

Raine, all befurred and wolf-like as before, looked to be having an easier time of it. The spear that Seana flung at her became a kaleidoscope of butterflies, one that a laughing Raine chased through the canyon on all fours.

“You are late, Daniele Rulonir,” said a voice by her ear.

Dani jumped. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

“Being distracted is a good way to become dead,” a reedy voice said by her other ear.

Dani jumped again, and wished she hadn’t. The knife that Bair was holding to her neck was close enough that her sudden movement caused it to draw blood. Cursing, she clapped a hand to her neck. The cut wasn’t deep, but still! The skinny old woman didn’t even looked concerned, or offer her a bandage!

“Consider that a warning. Go and join the others. You can see what the current task is,” Bair said. Current task? How much had she missed? Dani didn’t bother asking. She’d have to get Rand or Raine to tell her later.

At first, she found it as hard to stand still while the spear was coming at her as Rand did. But she got the hang of it long before him. If indeed he could be said to have gotten the hang of it. Causing the spear to erupt into a fireball midflight might have counted as willing it away. Sort of. The Wise Ones didn’t look very impressed, though.

She was feeling confident when they moved on to the next exercise, despite the Wise Ones’ cautions that it was much more complicated. The trick, they said, was to focus on the person you were targeting. If you could tie a thin enough rope to them, and tug on it gently, you could tease out their own thoughts and fears. It was almost impossible to do this to a trained and experienced dreamwalker, but it could be devastating against an inexperienced one. The nature of _Tel’aran’rhiod_ could cause those fears to manifest before them. The Wise Ones didn’t expect them to have much success at it, but settled in to demonstrate the technique on Raine.

Rand watched, hands in fists, as the already wolf-like girl changed before them, becoming a wolf in truth, lean and brown, with staring yellow eyes.

“Don’t do that to her! Change her back!” he demanded angrily.

“Calm yourself, Rand al’Thor. We are not causing this. It is her own fear made manifest,” said Amys.

“And can it be permanent!?” he snapped.

Amys’ answer was merciless. “Fear can be permanent, yes. If you are a coward.”

Cursing, Rand went and knelt by the wolf. He wrapped his arms around it, careless of its jaws, and mumbled against its fur. “This isn’t you. You won’t become this. Come back to me. Please. Come back, my Raine.”

She did, slowly melting into his embrace, and drifting back to her true self as she did. The wolf became the wolf-woman and then became the woman in truth. A naked woman, kneeling in Rand’s embrace with her eyes closed. Slender, with small breasts, the curves she had claimed not to have were very much visible, just smaller than the other women’s she’d compared herself to. Dani flushed and looked away, her body heating up immediately.

“You see. No lasting harm has been done,” Seana said reassuringly.

“I still don’t like this,” Rand sulked.

“I’m okay. Nothing has changed,” said Raine. That rough timbre was back in her voice, and when Dani looked again she saw that she had returned to her hybrid form. The flesh she had flashed so tantalisingly was hidden behind her fur once more. She touched a clawed hand to Rand’s face with tender care. “I’ll show you later.”

There was no doubt in Dani’s mind that she would indeed be showing it to Rand later, from the way they were clinging to each other. “Among other things, looks like. You sly, sneaky minx, you.”

Raine giggled at her teasing but Rand just gave her that suspicious look again. It was aggravating. She had done absolutely nothing to deserve such treatment. Blood and ashes, she’d done things for him and his that would get her in a lot of trouble once she returned to Tar Valon, if the Aes Sedai ever learned of it. What did he suspect her of? Being a Darkfriend? She’d helped fight a bloody Forsaken! She glared at him. Why did he keep pushing her away like this?

“Here is a good opportunity for them to practice what they have seen. Since Rand al’Thor and Daniele Rulonir are so closed to each other, there should be little danger of one drawing out the other’s fears. And should they manage it anyway, it will not be difficult to shore up their defences.”

Amys nodded at Bair’s words. “Agreed. The two of you must stand apart. Dani, you must concentrate on Rand al’Thor. You do not need to know what he thinks or feels, only that he is there. Focus on his presence. Picture it expanding beyond the natural bounds of his body. Picture it leaking out into _Tel’aran’rhiod_ , to stain the dream as a crushed herb might stain a cup of water.”

They did as instructed but nothing happened at first. Rand stood before her with his arms crossed and chin raised, a perfect sculpture of young male pride. She focused on him, trying to tease out some kind of reaction other than stubborn aloofness.

She felt ... something. A delicate thread connecting her to him. It was just as Amys had said. Dani tugged on that thread as gently as she could. The reaction was immediate, surprisingly easy, and shocking in its effect.

Figures surrounded Rand. Faceless figures, grey of hair all, older. Male or female it made no difference, all had a man’s parts, erect and threatening. They grabbed him, tried to push him down. Teeth bared, he fought back, elbows flying. “What the hell to you think you’re doing!?” he yelled, but not at his faceless attackers, at Dani.

“I—I didn’t mean to!”

“Make them stop!”

“I don’t know how!”

“Then I will,” Rand growled. A fiery shell bloomed around him, hiding him from view for a moment, and vaporising his faceless attackers. Raine was up on her toes, hopping, afraid. Dani, too, feared for a moment that those flames had killed him along with the dream wraiths, but when they died down Rand stood where he had been, unburnt. His glare was such that Dani was almost surprised that she escaped a similar scorching. “What was _that_ supposed to be, Rulonir?”

“I’m sorry!” she said, then surprised herself by turning and running. Heart pounding with guilt and shame, she fled Cold Rocks Hold, her legs carrying her only a few steps before her mind took care of the rest. It was home she fled, to the great open fields in which she’d felt so free. She collapsed to the ground there, sitting with her face in her hands, trying to make sense of what had happened. Fears, the Wise Ones had said. She’d thought to tease out something silly. Spiders or mice or who knows what? She hadn’t intended to make it so horrible.

“Are you okay, Dani?” a familiar voice said.

When she let her hands fall away, she found Raine crouching before her, concern shining in her eyes. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?” Dani said.

Her feeble lie didn’t convince Raine at all. “You ran away so suddenly. Without explanation. I was worried.”

“Did the Wise Ones send you?”

“No. I came on my own,” she said with a smile.

“They didn’t care, huh?” Rand certainly wouldn’t. And the Wise Ones ... Well, he was a bit more important than her. If they had to choose, they’d choose him.

Raine shook her head. “Don’t be silly. It’s just that they had no idea anything was wrong.”

Dani blinked at her. “And you knew better?”

“Aye. I could tell from your scent. You have a very nice scent, you know. I like it. Oh, Dani. The changes would be so wonderful if I didn’t have to worry about losing myself. I can see and hear and taste and smell so many things as a wolfsister that I never dreamed existed.”

“I’m glad your talents make you happy, Raine. Mine have a habit of making things worse,” she sighed. Becoming an Aes Sedai was a dream for many girls, but when you were as weak in the Power as she was it meant years and years of study with no great prospects at the end of it all. Mastering _Tel’aran’rhiod_ had seemed an exciting prospect, too, but look at what her skill here had caused.

“Is that why you’re so miserable?” Raine asked.

Dani winced. “Can you tell that from my scent?” What else could she tell? Blood and ashes, when she’d been naked earlier, had she been able to ... _smell_ Dani’s reaction?

“I think so. I’ve not quite worked everything out yet.” Raine didn’t look horrified or embarrassed. She just crouched there, unashamed of the way her brown-furred body showed through the rips in her dress. “It’s scary but tempting at the same time, being a wolfsister. Life’s so simple and uncomplicated for the wolves that sometimes I find myself wishing I could be one forever, and never be human again.”

“I’d miss you,” Dani said quietly.

Raine smiled. “Oh, I’d never leave my friends, Dani. No matter what! You all keep me grounded. You saved me, I think, you and Rand and Merile. I never had any friends to speak of, back before. Maybe that was why it was so hard not to listen to the wolves.”

“We have that in common,” Dani confessed. “Our farm is a long way from the nearest town, so there weren’t many other kids to play with when I was little.”

“Aww. That’s just like Rand. He said it was lonely.”

Dani didn’t like to admit it—and was surprised that a man would—but she nodded her head. “It got worse when my ability to channel came into being. Even my siblings didn’t want anything to do with me then. It—I—drove them away. Almost overnight, I became an outcast, disowned by everyone I knew and loved. My folks, bless them, reached out to the Aes Sedai in Bandar Eban but it took a long while for dad to reach her, or for her to come and find me. By then, I had fled to the mountains, to live as a hermit. When the Aes Sedai asked me to join them, I hated the idea at first. But later, once I’d met Ilyena and the others, I thought I would finally get the chance to have some real friends. Sometimes people tell me I get too serious about this sort of thing, but that’s only because I know what it’s like to be alone. I hate messing up like this. Not only have I hurt Rand, but I’ve disgraced my name and my heritage—I’m a coward, Raine! I couldn’t face something the rest of you handled with ease.”

“I was scared, Dani,” Raine said, meeting confession with confession.

“But _you_ didn’t run.”

Sighing, the wolfsister came and sat beside her. The arm she put around her shoulders was surprisingly strong, but she didn’t need much in the way of force to make Dani lean into her. “You mustn’t blame yourself for something that isn’t your fault. None of us really know what we’re about in the wolfdream. We’re all learning. Is not that why we’re here? Please believe me, Dani, Rand does not blame you. He knows it was an accident. The Wise Ones told us what would happen. He reacted the way he did because you caught him by surprise. And if he were beside me, he’d tell you so himself—What’s that!?”

The air not far from Raine shimmered for a moment, until a familiar figure appeared standing over them. Rand looked around for a moment, until he spotted Raine sitting on the ground with her arm around Dani’s shoulder. “There you are. Amys says we’re calling it a night.”

Raine’s smile showed her sharp teeth, but was far from threatening. “Good. I was worried we’d go on so long we got tired.” Dani suppressed a sigh. Subtlety and Raine were not the best of friends. The wolfsister bounced to her feet, her bushy tail brushing briefly across Dani’s face. “I’m going to wake up now. See you soon,” she told Rand, just before she vanished from the dream.

That left her alone with Rand. He didn’t leave at once, though he’d mastered the ability to wake at will during an earlier lesson. Instead, he stood frowning down at her as if he had something he wanted to say but couldn’t get it out. Dani got to her feet. She didn’t much like having him look down on her.

Instead of spitting it out, he spent a minute surveying the farm. “It’s a nice place. Do you miss it?”

“Yes and no.”

He sighed softly. “That about sums it up.”

His jaw was clenched very hard. It made him sound particularly angry when he said, “About what happened back there ...”

Dani thumped him. Just on the arm, but she had to let it out somehow. “I said I was sorry! What more do you want? I didn’t pick those images. I would never pick something like that!”

He hadn’t winced when she struck him, but he winced at that last. “I get that. It was my own fears you drew out. I see why they use that technique. It’s worse than if someone tried to throws out what _they_ think would frighten you.”

“I’m sorry for whatever causes you to fear such things, too,” she whispered.

His eyes, that could be as cold as ice, were as soft as a morning mist just then. “And I’m sorry we didn’t capture the Stone quicker,” he said, before looking away.

She shivered. “I wish you had,” she said, hugging herself to try to ward off the memories.

The hand on her shoulder rested there tentatively. It was warm and strong, though, and she found herself stepping towards its owner. Their arms went around each other. For a hug, just a hug. A reassuring hug, from someone who perhaps didn’t despise or distrust her as much as she’d feared. From someone who wasn’t at all as bad as people said. Who was actually quite nice really. His cheek rested atop her head. Moved, relieved, Dani craned her neck up to kiss that cheek ... and touched his lips instead. Their eyes shot open, light grey staring into dark brown. Shock drove all words of explanation from her mind. Then Rand closed his eyes and pulled her hard against him and kissed her deeply and drove thought from her entirely.

She had no idea how long it lasted. When he finally came up for air, she was flushed and thrilled and very, very confused. “Blood and ashes,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that.” Dani could only stare back at him, her heart hammering for reasons she didn’t dare understand. “I have to go,” he said as he turned away from her.

He disappeared from the World of Dreams, leaving her standing there on her lonely farm with a hand held out towards him. After a long moment, Dani blew out her breath and put her hands to her head. “What just happened?” she asked the passing clouds.

They gave her no answers, but they did remind her to wait a while before leaving _Tel’aran’rhiod_. She wanted to make sure that Rand and Raine were long gone from that tent by the time she woke up. Who knew what might happen otherwise?


	76. The Iron Mountain Sept

The mountains had held Rand’s eyes since they first came in sight the day before, not snowcapped, not so tall as the Mountains of Mist, much less the Spine of the World, but jagged slabs of brown and grey stone, streaked in some places with yellow or red or bands of glittering flecks, tumbled about so that a man might think to try the Dragonwall afoot first. It was in those mountains that he would find Iron Hold, home of his ... of the man whose blood was in his veins. Aviendha strode along at his stirrup, lecturing him on how to introduce himself to the sept chief. She was quite adamant that he not do as he had with Lian. Since Rhuarc agreed with her, Rand was resolved to alter his approach accordingly. Telling her that didn’t stop Aviendha from lecturing, of course.

“Being humble towards the chief’s roofmistress was charming enough,” she grudgingly admitted, while shooting him a glare to make sure he didn’t think she meant that _she_ had been charmed, “but you must take a stronger stance with the sept chiefs. They will not respect you if you show yourself as weak or cringing.”

“I understand,” he said absently, ignoring her hiss. Some of the sept names he’d heard were just random words cobbled together, as best he could tell, but the Iron Mountain sept seemed to have named themselves more literally. It was very much a mountain that Rhuarc was leading them towards, tall enough that he had to strain his eyes to see the buildings carved into its upper slopes. If it was anything like Imre Stand, there would be defences at the foot, and a narrow path leading upwards.

“That would be a hard place to attack,” Mat said, studying the mountain much as Rand was.

It was not the first time he’d sounded off on war and battle lately. It was strange. Mat had never had much interest in such things before.

“All holds are hard places to attack,” Aviendha scoffed. “That is why they are holds.”

Mat took off his hat long enough to wipe his forehead before jamming it back on. “The sooner these peddlers finish their business here the happier I’ll be,” he muttered.

The peddlers would not be making the climb, Rand knew. Keille had said as much when the mountain first loomed over the horizon. He could see her in the distance now, along with Kadere and Natael, all three watching him sourly. Rand barked a laugh. “Oh, I don’t think it’s happiness they’re selling. No. Not that at all.”

Mat looked askance at him, shaking his head and muttering some more. He didn’t understand, but that was okay. Natael had visiting each evening of their journey from Cold Rocks, always talking about the epic he would compose, but he displayed a morbid streak, digging for how Rand meant to face madness and death. His tale was meant to be a tragedy, it appeared. Rand certainly had no desire to root his fears out into the open; what was in his heart and head could remain buried there. Finally the gleeman seemed to tire of hearing him say “I will do what I must,” and stopped coming. It seemed that he did not want to compose his epic unless it could be full of pained emotion. The man had looked frustrated when he stalked off for the last time, cloak fluttering furiously behind him.

The fellow was odd, but going by Thom Merrilin, so were all gleemen. Natael certainly demonstrated other gleeman’s traits. For instance, he certainly had a fine opinion of himself. Rand did not care whether the man called him by titles, but Natael addressed Rhuarc, and Moiraine, the few times he was around her, as if he was plainly their equal. That was Thom to perfection. And he gave up performing for the Taardad at all, beginning to spend most of every night at the Shaido camp. “The Shaido have not heard my stories yet,” he had explained to Rhuarc as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. A more appreciative audience. None of the Taardad liked it, but there was nothing even Rhuarc could do. In the Three-fold Land, a gleeman was allowed anything short of murder without being called down for it.

“I do not think you will be able to rely on the terrain for defence. Or the Aiel,” said the third of his current companions, Theodrin. “Dani thinks it likely the Shadow will send Grey Men after you next. You will need channelers around you to make sure they don’t get within knife range.”

“I’ve dealt with Grey Men before,” he said. It would normally have been Dani herself who came to speak for the Accepted, but today she had sent Theodrin. That had to be because of what had happened last night. He didn’t know what had come over him, kissing a strange Aes Sedai. Or, almost Aes Sedai. Madness. Had he learned nothing from Alanna? She had been so genuine, though. A real person, instead of the carefully crafted mask that Moiraine always showed. And it had felt good ...

Theodrin sniffed. “Do not let pride be your downfall. However strong you are, a knife can end you as surely as if you could not channel at all. Nynaeve is the strongest woman I have ever met, perhaps the strongest the Tower has ever known, but even _she_ was almost killed by a Grey Man just after her return. Even if she had not been held back by her block, I think the danger would have been just as great. You are no more safe than she was.”

“She told me,” he said, frowning. The idea of Nynaeve being stabbed was horrifying, even knowing she’d come through it with nary even a scar. “Her block’s gone now, though. Any future assassins won’t get so close. I hope.”

“As do I. How did you know her block was gone? Do you know how she managed it?” Theodrin asked, leaning forward in her saddle to peer at his face.

Rand tried not to blush. “I was there when it happened,” he said stiffly. He had been even stiffer then, of course.

Theodrin grew suspicious. “And how was it done?”

He set his jaw. “Never you mind.”

She sat back, tutting in annoyance. “I put a lot of effort into helping her, to no avail. Why will no-one tell me what I should have been doing?”

Rand snickered, trying and failing not to picture Theodrin ... helping Nynaeve the way that he had. Somehow, it was hard to imagine Nynaeve responding favourably to the offer. She fell silent when Rand refused to answer but did not glare the way that her fellow Domani would have. She was quite even-tempered, Theodrin. Gracious, even. Likeable, if he was being honest. For an almost Aes Sedai. He sighed to himself. The uncomfortable truth was that most of the women Nynaeve had sent were pretty decent sorts. It was hard not to feel that he was being an ass towards them. Not all Aes Sedai were like Alanna. Or Liandrin. Or Moiraine.

 _Enough of them are. These ones could just be pretending to be nice_.

As they drew closer to Iron Hold, the Aiel who formed their vanguard began to make the same unholy racket they’d made when approaching Cold Rocks Hold. It was even louder this time, though, with Rhamys, Renay and the rest of those who had joined them there adding their own voices to the din. As before, the Shaido stopped well short of the hold itself, while Rhuarc led the Taardad out to meet their fellow clansmen.

“Remember. Do not show yourself as a fool. All will know I have been teaching you. You will shame me as well as yourself,” Aviendha said.

“I haven’t forgotten,” Rand sighed.

With so many of the Maidens having gone off to let the Iron Mountain sept know they were there—as if they hadn’t already known—some of the other societies took the opportunity to come closer. Though no longer a Maiden, Aviendha still tried to stare them down on her spearsisters’ behalf.

One of those was a man he recognised from the sweat tents. Loud by Aiel standards, Zell’s presence added to the nerves that meeting his relatives had already woken in Rand.

“Rand al’Thor, do you know anything about the Iron Mountain sept?” Zell asked.

The crystal spire _ter’angreal_ in Rhuidean had only given him a brief infusion of Janduin’s memories, as with the others. He must surely have known a lot about this place, but he hadn’t been discussing it or thinking about it when Rand rode along behind his eyes.

“No. But I suspect I will find out soon,” he said.

Zell scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Come on, Rand al’Thor. Do not be like that... I want to tell you what I know.”

“If I could only see and not hear, I would think you ten years younger,” Aviendha scoffed.

“Whatever,” Rand said, feeling suddenly contrarian. “Tell me about them, Zell.”

Zell grinned. “Yes, that is what I wanted to hear. Allow me to explain briefly. The Iron Mountain sept live in Iron Hold, on Iron Mountain. There is a lot of iron in the mountain, so they do a lot of mining. The mountain is very high, too, so it is hard for rival septs to get to them. They have been part of the Taardad clan for as long as anyone can remember.”

There was a long pause, in which a still grinning Zell waited for a response. “Thanks ... that was very helpful,” Rand lied.

Zell nodded briskly to himself, while Aviendha rolled her eyes. “This is why you do not ask _Rahien Sorei_ to do more than run,” she said.

By then, Rhuarc had concluded his business with the Aiel sept leader, as Renay came running back to tell Rand. He put his heels to Jeade’en, though part of him still wanted to just go back to Cold Rocks. Why was he doing this? What did he hope to achieve? He was a grown man now. The days in which he needed kin where behind him. Weren’t they? He made the very conscious effort not to look around for Tam. On the one and only time since leaving Cold Rocks that Rand had been able to arrange a moment alone with his father, he’d remained solemnly distant and maintained that it would be for the best if Rand got to know “his people”. When pressed on the matter, he’d lowered his voice and asked if any of the other Rand’s he’d seen when using the Portal Stone had been notably different from him, less promiscuous, more faithful. Rand had been forced to allow that it was so, but wondered why it mattered. “It matters,” Tam had said quietly, leaving Rand to look at the camp around them, where he could see Merile and Raine and Mat going about their business. “Not to me. I have no regrets there,” he’d said, just as quietly. It hadn’t been enough to convince Tam then, and he doubted that his father would be accompanying him on his climb today.

Others came in his stead, riding out to join him when he moved forwards. Amys, Moiraine, Lan and Loial’s presences were no less than expected, but it was a surprise to see Izana riding with them, especially since he was the only one of the Shienarans to come. The surprise was no more unwelcome than Merile’s smiling presence, though.

As predicted, a stout little fort had been built around the start of the path up the mountain. There were arrow slits in the brick walls and what he could see of the path beyond had a multitude of platforms carved into the rock face, with stones placed on the side facing outwards, behind which the defending archers could crouch in the event of an attack.

The man Rhuarc stood with was in his middle years but no trace of grey could yet be seen in his dark red hair. He was a handsome fellow, but the woman at his side would more fairly be described as striking rather than pretty. Thin of body and face, she seemed to be all lines and no curves. Her lips grew even thinner when her gaze came to rest on Aviendha, trotting along at Rand’s stirrup.

“Is there something I should know about?” he asked quietly.

“It is nothing. She is Tamela, my sister-mother and the Wise One of Iron Hold. She can be difficult at times, but she is an honourable woman,” Aviendha said. If this Tamela was someone that even the self-appointed burr in Rand’s saddlecloth considered difficult, he thought it best to steel himself for trouble.

“A lot of your sister-mothers seem to be roofmistresses,” he said.

She growled wordlessly. “Tamela is not roofmistress, she is the Wise One! Teresa, Duncan’s other wife, is the roofmistresss. Did you listen to nothing that I told you!?”

He hadn’t even noticed the other woman until Aviendha nodded her way, half hidden behind her spouses as she was, only a few steps ahead of the throng of Aiel that had accompanied them down the mountain. She was pretty, with dark yellow hair and full breasts, and she smiled in greeting when Rand drew rein before them.

“This is Rand al’Thor, the man I spoke of,” said Rhuarc. Duncan, the chief of the Iron Mountain sept, smiled no smiles of greeting, preferring to limit himself to a tight nod.

Rand swung down from his horse, handed the reins off to Mat, and stepped up to the roofmistress, Teresa. “I ask leave to enter your hold, roofmistress,” he said loudly.

“You have leave to enter my hold, Rand al’Thor, _Car’a’carn_ ,” she announced.

Duncan and Tamela didn’t look very pleased that she’d added the title but neither of them gave voice to any objections in the few moments before they moved on to marvelling over the presence of two Aes Sedai, as they saw it. Moiraine took it all in stride, while Theodrin gave Rand an almost apologetic smile in between assuring the rulers of his supposed home sept that there was no need to fuss over her. Rand himself stood off to the side, shaking his head wryly, forgotten already.

As they were forewarned of her status as one of the Lost Ones, Merile passed between the Aiel as easily as if she had been a ghost. Smiling to himself, Izana trailed along in her wake, using her supposedly invisible presence to clear a path for him to Rand.

“It seems you did not come from so small a family as you thought. Are you looking forward to this?” he asked, while Lan and Loial were being greeted and marvelled over. Duncan actually bowed to Lan, a gesture that the Warder hesitated only briefly before matching.

“You’d think I would be, wouldn’t you?” Rand sighed.

“You’re nervous?” Merile said, surprised. She didn’t think to lower her voice but Rand couldn’t find it in himself to complain, not when she immediately seized his arm and hugged it to her. “Don’t be. Even if they end up being mean, you’ll always have us.”

Izana’s smile faded for a moment, but only a moment. “I doubt they will be mean anyway. I heard the roofmistress acknowledge you are their _Car’a’carn_. Meeting a long lost relative who is also the leader of the Aiel? No, they won’t be mean at all.”

Rand knew he was trying to be comforting, but he raised more questions than he knew. There had been plenty of High Nobles who’d been eager to ingratiate themselves with Rand, with the intent of using him for their own ends. A certain Mayener had even succeeded at it. Was it possible that his Aiel relatives might try the same? It reminded him of something Elayne had told him once, about not having any friends other than her brothers while growing up in Caemlyn because every interaction she had with the other nobles was tainted by the knowledge that they might be lying to her in order to win her favour.

“At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if my long lost aunts spend more time fawning over the Aes Sedai than bothering about me,” Rand said, as he tried to banish his morose thoughts.

He would find out soon enough. Duncan led the way into the fort, his Aiel mixing easily with those that Rhuarc—or perhaps Rand—had brought. Not so easily that Rhamys and the others didn’t feel the need to close in around Rand, though, he couldn’t help but note.

They left their horses with a group of Aiel at the entrance, who were charged with leading them to the camp that was springing up at the foot of the mountain. Mat handed Pip’s and Jeade’en’s reins to a dismayed Zell before stuffing his hands in his pockets and slouching off with Rand.

“What? At least it will be something new to see,” he said to Rand’s raised brows. “Don’t go thinking it means anything.”

“I wouldn’t,” he muttered as he followed Duncan and Rhuarc into Iron Hold.

The path up the mountain was as narrow as he’d expected, with ambush points aplenty and covered positions from which the defenders could rain arrows on anyone who tried to force their way up. Aviendha walked with her sister-mother, fending off questions with a stubborn look on her face. Rand wondered if he should shoulder into the group around Rhuarc. The narrow path would have made it difficult, but letting himself be pushed aside in favour of Moiraine and Lan was hardly the display of strength she had urged of him. The sword that rode his hip, and the supposedly invisible girl whose arm was interlocked with his, wouldn’t be doing much to endear him to the Aiel either. Would a good and smart ruler do something about that? Rand worried that he was neither. He worried even more that if getting rid of the sword or, worse, Merile was what was required to be a good ruler, then good ruling was not something he could ever aspire to. The _shoufa_ around his shoulders was concession enough for even his relatives, he decided.

As they climbed the path, often having to go single file to ascend narrow stairs cut into the rock, Rand cautioned himself not to expect too much of this meeting. It wasn’t hard to get into the right mindset. Harilin was among the Maidens that accompanied him, after all. He’d sought her out during their journey here, to reintroduce himself. She hadn’t been particularly interested in talking to him, though, even after he’d assuaged her worries. It turned out that she and the other two Maidens that he’d met at Stedding Tsofu were concerned that he would speak of what had happened at that meeting. Almost stabbing the person they’d been sent to find would result in a loss of honour and a gain in shame for them, if it became public knowledge. Rand had promised not to bring it up, which had forced a thank you from his new cousin, if a grudgingly given one. She’d said she would introduce him to her mother, and that had been that. They hadn’t spoken much since.

 _Too late to turn back now_. He wished he hadn’t let Tam talk him into this.

At several points during the climb he saw paths branching off from the one Duncan chose. They met Aiel miners coming and going down those paths, burly men in a thinner type of _cadin’sor_ than the warriors wore. They had just passed one such branching when the path ahead abruptly widened, allowing Duncan and the others to fan out. Ahead of them was a wide caldera with buildings reminiscent of those he’d seen in Cold Rocks Hold built against the walls all around. The hardiest Aiel were gathered in the open space in the middle of the caldera, where the sun was hottest. There they fought and trained.

Even this high on the mountain, Aiel stood guard, though it was the younger ones here, squatting off to the sides with their spears across their knees. The arrival of so many wetlanders was cause for scowls and the exchange of outraged looks. One yellow-haired youth looked Rand up and down, and sneered.

“Well, well. Look what has come in from the wild. A motherless outcast,” he said. “Aw, you even try to dress like a real Aiel. Not that it fools anyone.” The young Aiel with him smirked knowingly.

That actually stung a little. Only a little, but still more than Rand had expected. “There were always going to be people that were like that,” he muttered to himself, slowly shaking his head.

The Aiel heard him. “This is how it is going to be with everyone, outcast. You belong in the wetlands, not the Three-fold Land. And you definitely do not belong in Iron Hold.”

He was content to ignore the fool, but Rhamys was not. “You shame yourself, Bast, but are too stupid to know it. I will not tell you who he is. You will learn that for yourself soon enough. How you will meet your _toh_ , I cannot say.”

Some of the youths looked worried by the rebuke of their chief’s daughter, but Bast only sneered even harder. Rand walked away, striding over to the adults.

Duncan gestured to the buildings before them when Rand joined him. “Iron Hold. Here live most of the Iron Mountain sept, of which your father was a member.”

It was a strange moment for him. Here was the home of his father, which some might say was his home. Perhaps he should have felt some great surge of feeling or connection. But he didn’t. The most he could dredge up was a fey delight that it was built on a mountain. He’d always liked the mountains.

“A fine place,” he said politely.

“Dailin always thought so.” Rand looked at the sept chief curiously. Dailin. She’d been one of the Maidens who died in the fighting in Tear, he knew, though he had not spoken to her often. “My eldest daughter,” Duncan explained.

 _More grief. I bring it with me everywhere I go_. “She died in the battle against Moridin.”

“I know. It was an honourable death. I am told that you killed the Forsaken that day. You gained much honour from that.”

“A valuable thing, honour,” Rand said, for lack of any other, better words. Honour wasn’t quite as all-important to him as it was to the Aiel, but he could hardly say that to Duncan just then, if ever.

The sept chief nodded once. “You should avoid her mother for now. The wound is still fresh. Sunadai and Dana’s roofs are on the eastern side. Harilin can show you the way.”

He could see Dailin’s mother interrogating a solemn Aviendha, while Rhuarc was surrounded by men of the Iron Mountain sept. That was not to say he was without an Aiel guide, though, for Amys accompanied Moiraine when she glided over to him, Lan looming at her shoulder and Theodrin trailing behind.

“Why do you hesitate, Rand? Have you rediscovered your shyness of old?” Moiraine asked.

“Not going to try to talk me out of it again?”

She sighed a little sigh. “It remains a poor use of your time. But if it must be done, then it should at least be done quickly.”

“This is so, if not for the reasons Moiraine Sedai has used,” Amys said. “Harilin. Run ahead and tell Dana of our arrival. She already knows why we are here.” While his lanky cousin trotted off, Rand looked a question at Amys. “She is a dreamwalker, like us. I have spoken to her several times these past nights.”

So at least one of his relatives was forewarned of his existence. He wondered if that was a good or a bad thing. “Is there a reason she wasn’t at Rhuidean?” he asked as he strode off in the direction Harilin had run.

“There was concern that too many Taardad were already there.”

He frowned. “Is that something I should be worried about? Having too many Taardad around, as opposed to members of other clans.”

“There will always be those who find insults where none were intended,” she said. He supposed that was answer enough.

“That is true,” Izana said glumly. When Amys looked at him, he bowed slightly. “Sorry for the interruption. By the way, Rand, have you talked about your family situation with anyone else?”

Rand knew what he meant. Back in the Theren, he’d told him about how much he’d wished for a larger family when growing up. It was something he hadn’t admitted to very many people before. “No. I haven’t really spoken about it since. Nothing has changed.”

Izana smiled. “I’m glad of that, I suppose. Perhaps today will be a new start for you.”

Rand’s smile was more cautious. “We’ll see.”

It felt good to have a friend’s support, and even better when another joined them. Loial’s long legs easily allowed him to catch up to the group, even while running in the punishing heat of the Waste. As expected, he had a notebook and pen in his hands. “A fascinating place, isn’t it, Rand? A little reminiscent of a _stedding_ , if only for being in the mountains, as so many of them are. The lack of anything approaching greenery remains horrifying, though.” His ears wilted. “How they can stand to live here their whole lives, I do not know. How much longer do you think it will be before we cross back to the other side of the Spine of the World?”

“I think it might take a while yet. I’m sorry, Loial.”

“Is it the Longing?” Izana asked.

“Oh, say it isn’t,” said Merile, abandoning Rand’s arm for the Ogier’s.

“No, no. Do not worry about me,” Loial boomed. “I am quite alright. I was merely lamenting the lack of trees here.”

“We do not require them, Ogier. Abundance promotes sloth, and weakness,” Amys said.

That was true enough, he supposed. Loial’s reassurances sounded hearty enough but Rand was still of a mind to deliver him to a _stedding_ as soon as he could. Perhaps Erith’s _stedding_ ...

“Abundance does not always cause sloth,” Renay whispered to Rhamys. “Sometimes it causes people to push their stamina to the limit.”

She had the sense not to look at Rand, but Rhamys did not. She nodded along, right there under the watchful eye of her mother. “Yes. It was impressive.”

He managed not to blush but had to walk the rest of the way to the eastern wall with his eyes fixed straight ahead. How much had Amys’ daughter—and husband, for that matter—told her? She hadn’t said anything to Rand about it, and he certainly wasn’t going to bring it up himself.

Mat leaned close to Rand and whispered loudly. “Been playing Maiden’s Kiss, have you? I bet you can’t beat my record.”

“We would never ask the _Car’a’carn_ to play that game,” Rhamys objected. “What if we had to kill him?”

“Oh, but it’s fine asking me!” Mat exclaimed.

She nodded. “Yes. You understand.”

“I _understand_ that I should have stayed in Tear,” he muttered.

The house-cave that Harilin was standing outside had no greens on its roof and was high up the eastern side of the caldera. There was another woman waiting with her, a yellow-haired woman shorter than she and much, much bustier. She stared down at Rand as he approached the switchback stairs cut into the rock that would lead up to her. _One of my aunts? Blood and ashes, what do I say?_ He’d been thinking about it all throughout their journey from Cold Rocks Hold but his imagination had provided no profound greetings to speak. _Hello, I’m your long lost nephew. I don’t know why I’m here or what I want_.

“That’s a big pair,” Mat muttered. He pretended not to hear the sniffs of the women. “You know, if you wanted some bloody relatives so much you should have just said. I’d have been happy to give you mine. I promise, a week worth of Bode’s company and you’d have been knocking on my door, begging me to take her back.”

“I think I could have put up with her,” Rand said, keeping his face very still. Given the way Bode had responded to finding out he could channel, he expected the affair they’d embarked on after his return to Emond’s Field was well and truly over. But that was due to her decision, not his. He’d very much enjoyed her company, and her body.

“Now I know you’re crazy! Ah, go on and meet the relatives if it means that much to you. Hope they aren’t a bunch of prats.” Mat shrugged uncomfortably. “I reckon I’ll wait out here, though. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of the thrilling table talk.”

Amys’ hard stare rolled off him little water off a duck’s back. Izana and the Maidens stayed behind as well, with Izana accepting Rand’s sword from him; he didn’t want to insult his relatives by carrying a weapon into their house, especially not one considered taboo to the Aiel. The rest of his companions climbed the stairs behind him. As he drew closer, he revised his assumption about the busty woman. She was much too young and pretty to be Harilin’s mother. She looked much like Janduin’s sister had, when Rand had seen her through his eyes; or what she would have looked like had she not aged much in the time since, at least. A cousin, perhaps.

“That is the one. In the red coat,” said Harilin.

The woman with her studied Rand, then grunted softly. “I can see it. He takes after his mother more than Janduin, but I can see it. You there! I am Sunadai. Your father was my first-brother.”

Rand was taken aback for a moment. So she _was_ his aunt. _She must be a channeler_. “My name is Rand,” deliberately leaving out his surname. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

She snorted loudly. “I cannot see why. Who are these others?”

Amys stepped forward and made the introductions, ignoring Merile as usual. Sunadai noticed, and queried it, to Rand’s surprise. He’d been expecting her to be too taken aback by Moiraine, Lan and Loial to pay any attention to Merile. And perhaps even to Rand. But that was not the case.

Amys adjusted her shawl, and spoke to the air above Merile’s head. “I do not know of whom you speak, Sunadai. The Lost Ones are lost forever.”

Rand’s aunt gave a long “Ah” of understanding before snorting again. “This should be interesting.” She put her hands on her hips and faced him directly. “Well, then. Why have you been looking for me?”

“This place is closer to Alcair Dal. And I was curious about it,” Rand said defensively.

A woman’s voice issued from the shadowed interior of the house. “Sunadai, why are you keeping our guests outside?”

“You are right, as usual, Dana. Come into the shade, all of you. A meal is being prepared.”

Rand followed Sunadai and a grouchy-looking Harilin into the house, where he found a dozen or so strangers standing around. The way their collective attention fixed on him made him feel very uncomfortable. Most of them were young, with only three of the men and one of the women being old enough to have grey in their hair. What hair they still had, at least. The blocky man that Sunadai went to stand with had only a narrow band at the temples left. Dana, the dreamwalking aunt who smiled and bid him welcome, looked much older than her sister, though she was still slim, with kind green eyes and long, mostly white hair.

With Sunadai there to remind him, it was hard to tell whether the other women were truly young or merely looked it. The two girlishly slim ones might well be the age they looked, but another, while also slender, had an air of maturity about her that made him suspect that she was older than she looked. A fourth had a marked motherly air about her, made all the more so by the pig-tailed little girl half-hiding behind her skirts.

The two younger men looked to be close to Rand’s age. The yellow-haired one stood with his arms crossed and his chin raised, while his red-haired relative had a solemner, more curious mien.

“Ah, hello. Thanks for having me,” Rand said. _Burn me! This is so awkward!_ It didn’t help that Moiraine and Lan were there, the one looking tired of the whole affair and the other looking wryly amused. And Loial and his bloody notebook certainly weren’t making things easier!

“Pleased to meet you! I am Ricu!” said one of the slim girls, a pretty, golden-haired little thing with big green eyes. The other, paler-haired girl said nothing but Ricu spoke for her. “She is Raya, and that is her first-brother, Aliarc. This one is _my_ first-brother, Rovan;”—he the proud fellow, who shared her eyes but Harilin’s features, he now noticed—“you already know Harilin. I hear you grew up in the wetlands. Where are you from?”

One of the older men, on whose arm the motherly woman’s hand rested, now chuckled. “The adults do not merit an introduction, it seems.” He ignored Ricu’s blushing and spoke to Rand. “Well, you are more handsome than expected, with this lot to go by. Welcome to Iron Hold. I am Rhutar. Let me see ... I am the eldest son of the eldest brother of your father ... I do not know what that would be in wetlander terms but am told it counts for something. And that about sums it up.”

“Cousin is the term we use,” Rand explained.

The woman at Rhutar’s side—his wife, Rand assumed—raised her brows and set him to stammering. “Oh! O-of course. This is my beautiful wife, Chisa, and this here is our daughter. Come on, Nana, introduce yourself to your ... cousin.” The little girl peeked out long enough to mumble hello, causing her father to chuckle once more. “What are you so shy for?” She swatted at him, while retreating even further behind her mother.

Ricu jumped in again. “And that is my sister-mother, Dana, and my sister-father, Jecht, and my mother and father and my mother’s new wife, Shisunai.” She shot a triumphant look at Rhutar when she was done.

“Be careful what you wish for, sheepherder,” he heard Lan murmur.

“The mother, the father and the new wife ... So casual,” Theodrin whispered, slowly shaking her head.

“I am pleased to meet you all. Thank you for gathering here. I promise I will not intrude too long,” Rand said stiffly.

“Come, there is no need to be so formal. Look, you are making Nana all tense,” Rhutar said. His daughter’s look of betrayal made him shuffle his feet. “Well, anyway ... Let us eat.”

“A fine idea. I brought my speciality,” his wife said.

“Good. I am so hungry, I could eat a _capar_ whole!” said one of the older men, the one Ricu had called Jecht. He sauntered off towards the back of the house.

“Eats here so often you would think we were his parents,” Sunadai muttered. She didn’t call him back, though, just led the rest of her kin away. Rand trailed them. Was _he_ kin, as well? They seemed a colourful bunch. He might not have minded it, if he’d known them growing up. Meeting now, he didn’t know what he felt.

He looked for Merile but found her lingering by the entrance. She waved at him. “Don’t mind me. They’d just pretend I wasn’t there anyway. I’ll just wait here for you, out of the sun.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ll be back soon,” he said.

She smiled bravely. “I know.”

“You are ... close with a Lost One!?” Rovan asked incredulously.

Rand shrugged. “Aiel customs are often alien to me. She is a nice and pretty girl. Why wouldn’t I want to be close with her?” he said as they walked.

“Because she is a Lost One,” he said, then frowned at the floor as if trying to make sense of his own words.

“That _is_ strange when you think about it,” Ricu said excitedly. “No-one ever says why we must avoid the Lost Ones, only that we should. You must have seen so many strange and interesting things in the wetlands. Tell me about it.”

Rand smiled. She was fast on her way to becoming his favourite cousin. “I don’t know where to start. I saw the Horn of Valere sounded once. The Heroes fought against the descendants of Artur Hawking’s army, come back from across the Aryth Ocean to enslave us all. The Heroes won, but the strangest part was that Hawkwing himself led them.”

“Hawkwing ... I think I have heard that name somewhere ...”

“He was the only wetlander foolish enough to lead an army into the Three-fold Land twice,” her father called over his shoulder. “We defeated them both times.”

“Oh, right! Now I remember. Is he famous in the wetlands?” Ricu said.

It was so rare to hear Lan laugh, that the great guffaw he let out then had Rand staring back at him for the rest of their walk to the dining room. Moiraine spared him only a moment’s surprise, preferring to glide to Rand’s side and whisper, “You cannot stay here. You must know that. Coming here at all was a needless complication, but you must be sure not to allow these people to distract you from our mission. You must!”

“I know that,” he whispered back, annoyed.

“Do you?”

“It could be a good thing,” Theodrin began. Moiraine’s icy stare slumped the taller woman’s shoulders. “I’d worry about anyone who didn’t care about their family,” she finished in a low mutter.

“Family is more complicated than you realise,” the Aes Sedai—the real one—said coldly.

The room Sunadai led them to was reminiscent of the one he’d eaten in while staying under Lian’s roof, though slightly smaller. The circles with the cushions arrayed around them were just the same in size and placement. It was just as well, for they needed all four “tables” to feed the number of people that had gathered.

By some unspoken agreement the elder family members took a table each, with the guests spread out among them. Rhutar and his family welcomed Loial, who did a better job of coaxing a smile out of Nana than Rand had. Moiraine and Lan were welcomed by Shisunai and Jecht, whose posturing was fast cooling the Warder’s earlier good humour. Rand recognised the drink that Jecht was tossing back. It was a bit early in the day for _oosquai_. Jecht wasn’t the only one drinking it, though. Sunadai herself poured out a generous share before taking a pillow at the same table that Harilin, Theodrin, Amys and Dana were lounging around. Amys and Dana seemed to be on friendly terms, from what he’d overheard of their talk.

Rand got his younger relatives for company, with Ricu’s bald father, Sid, as a chaperone. The food was pleasantly spicy, the conversation pleasantly bland. Raya rarely said anything but Ricu made up for that with a constant stream of questions. Aliarc joined in as the meal went on, proving to be an amusing mix of his sister’s reticence and his cousin’s curiosity, while Rovan mainly limited himself to suggestions over who should have hit who and how hard.

Sid presided over it all with a benign, if distant, heartiness, while keeping half an ear on the talk at the other tables, occasionally shaking his head over one of Jecht’s boasts.

“So I told him what I thought of him, right there!” Rand’s uncle exclaimed at one point. It was Lan he was telling his tale to, but the Warder didn’t look very impressed. Not that he ever did. Jecht didn’t know that, though, and was growing annoyed with the stone-faced indifference his tale was getting. “So who are you? Some wetlander chief? That why you are so full of yourself?”

Lan calmly picked up his cup, and tossed back the _oosquai_ within. “A man who can hold his liquor,” was all he said.

Amys whispered something to Dana, who winced and sat up. “You are too modest, _Aan’allein_. A man who still fights the war of a clan long lost is one to be respected.”

She didn’t direct her words to Jecht, but all knew that they were meant for him. “I never said otherwise, did I? I would do the same, if I were the last of the Taardad,” he grouched.

Moiraine looked to be enjoying herself as little as her Warder was, despite Shisunai’s best efforts to engage her in what sounded to be more pleasant conversation than Jecht’s. Theodrin was getting along much better with Sunadai and the others, even Harilin.

“I wonder if it’s the age or the training that changes them,” he muttered.

Ricu heard him and followed his gaze. “She is so together. All grown up, I guess,” she said of Moiraine. “Well, just give me a few more years.”

“Don’t be in too much of a rush. You’re fine the way you are,” he said.

“Aw, you think? Hear that, Rovan? You were wrong about me all along,” she said, grinning.

Her brother began listing her many flaws, most of which sounded pretty minor to Rand, an opinion shared by her cousin—her other cousin—Aliarc, who spoke out in her defence. Sid listened to them argue with tolerant familiarity, but Rand found himself smiling sadly. _So this is what it would have been like_. A mixed bag, to be sure, but one he’d have been glad to have had.

“You do not want to be by yourself, correct? We are many but you are alone. You hate it do you not?”

The words, spoken in a soft voice by the girl who had remained silent all throughout dinner, were so surprising that Rand found himself choking on his _zemai_. Raya watched him cough, waiting expressionlessly for him to answer her question.

“It is because you eat too fast,” Ricu explained needlessly and inaccurately as she slapped him on the back.

“That might be true,” Rand confessed, once he had his breathing under control. Ricu took his words as meant for her, and blithely launched into an explanation so insultingly redundant that Aviendha herself would have been proud. It was Raya Rand meant his answer for, though, and Raya whose eye he caught. She nodded her understanding, yet said no more.

“Will you be staying here tonight, Rand?” Sid asked. “I am sure Sunadai would allow it, for Janduin’s only son.”

“I appreciate the offer, but it would be best if I slept elsewhere. The Shadow has a bad habit of sending its creatures after me in the night. I don’t want to be responsible for any more heartache that I already am.” The people at the other tables had heard him speak. Their talk died down.

“Why would you be responsible for that?” Sunadai asked.

“Because it’s me they are after. Anyone who gets caught between me and them would have been fine if I had just not been there,” he explained.

It seemed a perfectly sensible explanation to him, but his aunt snorted scornfully. “Is this some wetlander nonsense I am too sober to understand?”

“It is a nonsense common to wetlander men perhaps, but not the rest of us,” said Moiraine.

“And not only wetlander men,” Shisunai added, winning laughter from the women and sour looks from the Aielmen.

“So long as you are here you are part of the family, so make yourself at home,” Rhutar told Rand. “Assuming you still want to.” This time it wasn’t only his daughter who swatted at him, but his wife, too.

Rand smiled wryly. “I appreciate the offer, but I really should stay elsewhere. The Maidens have been letting me sleep beneath their roof. I think I’ll do that again.”

Sunadai’s’ brows shot up. “That is a first.”

“There have been many changes already, and I suspect there are more to come,” said Amys. She didn’t sound happy about it, and the other two Wise Ones put their heads close to discuss the matter in private. Theodrin’s efforts to interject were tolerated, but not welcomed.

“The Shadow is really trying to kill you?” Rovan asked. When Rand nodded, he broke into a grin. “You are so lucky! Think of all the honour you will gain. And without even having to go into the Blight to get it!”

Staring, Rand thought of all the dead folk who would be alive today if they hadn’t been unlucky enough to share a town with him. Chion, who would never put off the robes of a _gai’shain_ now. Fridwyn Balsara, whose songs would never raise the hairs on anyone’s neck again. So many others. Dead because of him. Where was the honour in that?

“I was thinking of becoming a Maiden,” Ricu said.

“You were thinking of becoming a bird not very long before that,” her father said fondly. Rovan laughed loudly, and another argument soon broke out, this time with Rand joining in a little. Ricu looked betrayed when he advised against joining the Maidens but, though he’d only just met her, he was already leery of the idea of the idea of her being in the middle of a battle.

The rest of the meal passed pleasantly. When it was done, and the remains cleared away, the men gathered in one corner with their pipes in hand. Rand’s Theren tabac was surprisingly warmly received, enough so that he was quick to point out that that was where he had been raised.

“A soft place, but worth raiding for the tabac alone,” Jecht opined.

“He likes a smoke almost as much as he likes a drink,” Sid said morosely. “They get it from their parents.”

Rand noticed that “they”. He’d also noticed that some of the others, like Dana, had been avoiding the _oosquai_ altogether.

Jecht seemed to hear a rebuke in Sid’s words, but Rand was starting to think he heard rebukes in a lot of places. “I can quit drinking whenever I want!” his uncle proclaimed. “Is this about Janduin again? I am so sick of hearing about him!”

“I’ve hardly heard anything about him at all,” Rand said quietly.

“Then you really are lucky.”

Sunadai heard, and took exception. “We could all count ourselves luckier if Janduin was still around,” she said grimly, coming to join them. Her steps didn’t sway in the slightest, though there was a rosy hue to her cheeks. “Do not be a total fool, Jecht. Our first-brother was brimming with talent, ability and charisma. And handsome, too.”

“Why I am sick of hearing about him. You would think he was the only one!” Jecht said, puffing furiously on his horn pipe.

Rand remembered Sunadai from his vision of Janduin, then. She didn’t look much older now, but she looked different nonetheless. “You two were close,” he said. It was not a question.

“Oh, sure. But do not misunderstand me. Talented as he was, Janduin was a fool in some ways. All of those things I mentioned did not save him from dying young. Throwing his life away, all for the sake of a woman. Wasting money is one thing. A life is another. He abandoned us all and went into the Blight. That was the decision of a fool! I will never forgive him for it!”

Rand didn’t know what to say to that. He supposed there was nothing he _could_ say. Shisunai came to take Sunadai by the arm and lead her away, whispering sweet nothings to her as she did. The mood grew solemn as they finished their smoke.

Rhutar left early, having been called away by an unknown Aiel. Rand asked Chisa where he was going, only for them both to be surprised when Nana answered for her mother. “He ... investigating stuff. Like crime scenes. My father catches people who break the rules.”

“He is a Red Shield,” Chisa added, while petting her daughter’s head.

“Ah, like Rhuarc.” And Hurin, in a way. From what Rand could tell, the Red Shields were the Aiel version of thiefcatchers. He’d yet to meet a thiefcatcher that he didn’t like, come to think of it.

The gathering began to disperse not long after. Jecht sauntered off, muttering something about “Janduin’s brat” that Rand wished he hadn’t heard, while Chisa and Nana took themselves off to their own home. He was more pleased than he should have been by the little wave Nana saw fit to give him before scurrying off after her mother. Ricu wanted to know if Rand would visit again, to which he explained that he’d be staying in Iron Hold for a few weeks while he waited for the chiefs to gather at Alcair Dal. Dana and her kids left at about the same time Rand did, leading to his standing in the doorway with Raya, a curious Merile sat nearby, watching.

“You see? You are not alone,” Raya said quietly. No more than that, and only the second thing he’d heard her say all day, but it was heartfelt enough that Rand found himself smiling.

“I suppose I’m not, at that.”

She was as slender as a reed, and delicate looking. He stood and watched her pick her way down the stairs to the caldera’s bottom, while wondering what kind of bottom was hidden under her skirts.

“You’re so lucky,” Merile said.

“How do you figure?” he asked.

“I wish I had so many relatives. It must be wonderful. You’d never be alone!”

Rand smiled. “You never will be, if I have any say in it.” She got up and came to hug his arm again. “You’re right, too. It is wonderful. Although it might be better without Uncle Jecht.”

“Have you drunk your fill of sentimentality, then? The Shadow grows upon the Pattern, and none of these distractions and dalliances you are so fond of will stop it,” Moiraine said. She and Lan approached from behind, with Theodrin and Loial not far behind them.

“It is good stuff to know, for the book,” the Ogier said, only to trail off under Moiraine’s stare.

“I wasn’t planning on waiting here this long,” Rand admitted. “But circumstances work against me. I can’t make the clans gather any faster by doing other than this.”

“Waiting is most of war,” Lan said.

Moiraine sniffed, and led the way out of Sunadai’s house. Rand lingered long enough to bid Sid farewell, the other two members of his aunt’s _harem_ being nowhere to be seen, before following Moiraine out into the afternoon heat.

The group at the foot of the stairs had both grown and shrank. Mat was nowhere to be seen, no doubt having grown bored of waiting, but Aviendha had arrived, bringing with her another group of Maidens and her fierce-looking aunt.

Whatever the aunt was saying had put Aviendha’s back up—not that that was a very difficult thing to do, in Rand’s experience. She stood with her arms folded and a stubborn look on her face, refusing to look at him as he descended from Sunadai’s house. The aunt looked, though, and not with fondness, not for him or for Amys when she emerged into the sun behind them. Whatever she said to Aviendha then merited a fiercely whispered denial.

Rand couldn’t hear what was being said, save for one young woman’s voice that rang louder than the others’. “I know I like someone two seconds after I set eyes on them,” Nici proclaimed, as if that was something worth boasting about.

Renay shushed her when he arrived. Rand sat on a step near Aviendha, while her aunt, after a last disapproving look at him, went to have a firm word with Amys, one that Moiraine made a point of involving herself in. After watching them for a moment, Aviendha sighed softly and sat down beside him.

“Trouble with the relatives?” he asked.

“Nothing you need to know about,” she said, face expressionless.

He shrugged. “True enough.”

“So, now that you have met your family, are you ready to admit that you are Aiel?”

“I have Aiel blood in me, I already admitted that,” he said carefully. “But what I said about there being more to being Aiel, or Shienaran, or whatever, than just sharing blood still stands. It was ... interesting, though. I don’t know how to explain it. It was at once not as good as I’d imagined and not as bad as I’d feared.”

Aviendha’s sigh was a lot less soft this time. “How am I supposed to make sense of you if you cannot even make sense of yourself?”

“That’s life I guess. But why would you need to make sense of me at all?”

She stared at him for a time. “For Elayne. I am to look after you for her,” she said at last, then abruptly looked away.

“Huh. Said that, did she? That’s cute.” He smiled to himself. Maybe she hadn’t meant what she’d written in that other letter, after all.

“It is. She is,” Aviendha said stiffly.

He knew he shouldn’t do it. She was not a woman to be teased. But he just couldn’t help himself. “You’re cute, too.”

Colour flaring in her cheeks, Aviendha shot to her feet. “You belong to Elayne! You should not be saying such things to every woman you meet!” she growled, before stalking off like a scalded cat.

Watching her go, Rand chuckled. When he noticed the frowns he was getting from the Maidens, he laughed all the harder. He was starting to feel more at home among the Aiel, a lot more at home than he’d ever expected to, but he was certainly not a real Aiel or in danger of becoming one. For one thing, they were far too serious for him to ever truly be one of them. They just couldn’t take a joke at all. And since his life was one big joke, being both saviour and destroyer, that meant that they just couldn’t take him either.


	77. Return to the Sweat Tent

The trip from Cold Rocks Hold to Iron Hold had been relatively short, but you didn’t march through heat the likes of which the Aiel Waste was famous for without inflicting a toll on your body and your clothes. Before settling in for the night, Rand decided to have himself a nice long sweat. It would have been rude to inflict his scent on the local Roof of the Maidens. Any curiosity about what he might see in the sweat tent was a secondary concern. And a very distant second at that. Or so he told himself.

He’d sometimes thought the Aes Sedai and Wise Ones to be close to forming an alliance against him, so often were they in counsel, but when they left him that evening they were close to openly bickering over his visit to his relatives. Lan, striding along at Moiraine’s side, diverted a potion of his attention from scanning the Aiel of Iron Hold to scanning the Aiel walking so much closer to his Aes Sedai. Loial and Izana lingered longer, both wanting to know Rand’s feelings on meeting his father’s—his blood father’s—family. They were movingly glad that it had gone so well.

Neither was eager to go into the sweat tent, though, which was just as well. Rand was sure Izana would be scandalised and appalled if he knew what went on in there. For Loial’s part, he simply said that he was more than warm enough and wanted nothing to do with anything that was intended to raise his temperature further. The Maidens left him, too, when they heard him ask for directions, lingering only long enough to tell him where he could find the Roof of the Maidens when he was done. Some of them wandered off to speak to familiar faces from Cold Rocks, like Zell and Giladin, both of whom responded absently as they watched Rand go.

The men’s sweat tent in Iron Hold was set up near the middle of the caldera, where the heat of the sun shone particularly fiercely. Rand pulled up his _shoufa_ as he strode towards it. He was eager to get inside, where a more pleasant heat than this scalding one could be found.

Some unknown Aiel men squatted outside the tent, their spears slotted behind the cased bows on their backs. One, a greying and gaunt fellow with a heavily lined face, sneered at the sight of Rand’s coat and sword.

He stood when Rand drew near, stretching his neck upwards as though wishing he had the few extra inches he would have needed to be able to look down at him. “Motherless bastard. Go find your blankets, outcast, and dream of becoming _Car’a’carn_. That is as close as you are going to get. You have no more business in the sweat tent than you do in Iron Hold.”

Rand seized _saidin_ , his hand sliding casually along the hilt of his sword. Unfolding the Fan at that range would have been lethal, if this old fool wasn’t fast enough. Lethal, and an unnecessary complication. He snorted instead. “Oh? This is the sweat tent? With you standing guard I figured it was the latrine,” he said, then strode right past him, _saidin_ burning in him, ready to be used.

“You ... your very presence here mocks—” the man began, but Rand was gone by then, into the welcome shade of the tent’s outer room.

Rand stripped alone and with haste. He no longer felt uncomfortable with the thought of entering, even without Rhuarc to escort him, but the reminder that not all Aiel welcomed his presence was timely.

He kept his expression smooth as he stepped into the punishing heat of the sweat tent. Standing still, he let his eyes adjust to the steam as he felt sweat burst out all over him, slickening his body with a wet sheen. It was actually quite nice, now that he’d gotten more used to it. He could feel tense muscles relaxing all over his body.

Naked men were arrayed all about the tent, some sat on raised rocks, too smooth and too neatly placed to be natural. _This spot must be where the sweat tent is traditionally raised in Iron Hold_. No words of greeting were spoken as Rand padded further inside, though he recognised a few of the men lounging in the heat. Bast and Bartin ignored him, Heirn gave him a nod, and Mangin grinned widely. He got a nod and a grin from Arcaval, as well, though that was a bit more awkward to return. No matter how worldly Rand became, he didn’t think there would ever come a time when he could casually greet someone who was lying there letting his friends pleasure him. He vaguely recognised the two men with Arcaval, one licking his balls while the other licked his big thick cock, but he certainly wasn’t going to stare long enough to conjure their names.

He was tempted to sit with Mangin, but decided to find an empty space on the smooth floor instead, not wanting to be too forward. He lay on his back for a while, eyes closed, letting the heat relax him. It was Zell’s voice that eventually brought him back to awareness.

“Yo, Rand. Resh was complaining about you outside. Did he give you trouble?”

When he cracked an eye, he found Zell standing over him, naked and flaccid. He was quite a good-looking man, Zell. “No. I’ve heard far worse. It doesn’t bother me.” He’d hear worse still by the time he was done. He had no doubt about that.

“I bet you he does not think so. Look, Resh is just being a pain in the ass. All you have to do is ignore him.”

“I know,” Rand said. Giladin was with him, and they’d brought another fellow he recognised from Cold Rocks. Jarasai, the name was. He had a sharp smile, and was smiling it now. Rand wondered at his intentions, almost as much as he wondered at his own ... “I’m glad you came with us.”

“What else could we do?” Jarasai asked. “Winning honour and a _harem_ is our goal in life, but right now we have nothing to do but errands and lookout duty in Cold Rocks Hold.” He punched his own palm dramatically. “Not much chance to test my skill.”

Looking back fondly on the days when he didn’t have to test his skill at all, Rand sighed. “Then I guess you made the right decision to tag along.” They grunted in response, exchanging looks and shrugs.

Put off by his lukewarm response, the three young men went to add water to the coals. He watched them bask in the steam, sweat making their muscular bodies shine in the warm firelight.

He was still lying there ruminating when a perfect stranger saw fit to approach and sit down beside him. His red hair was longer than most and not tied into a narrow tail at the back. That and the smoothness of his naked body told Rand that he was not one of the _algai’d’siswai_. A local boy from the Iron Mountain sept, then, a craftsman or herder, or someone who tended the few precious gardens in which the Aiel carefully cultivated their greens.

“So you are the wetlander Aiel I’ve been hearing so much gossip about today,” he said. He waited patiently for Rand’s response, a slight smile lighting his oval, almost girlish face.

“That’s me,” he sighed.

He was ready for more mockery but the stranger surprised him. “You are even handsomer than they said.”

“Thanks,” he said tightly. He hoped the heat was enough to hide his blush. That was a lot more forward than he’d expected, especially for an Aiel.

The fellow patted his thigh lightly. It could have passed for a friendly gesture, if you were a sheltered fool. “I am only being honest. Are you enjoying the sweat tent? I love it. I come almost every day. It gets a little hot, but there are a lot of fun people here.”

“I gathered that from my last visit,” he said, and heard Mangin chuckle. “What’s your name?”

“I am Shiran. The one and only.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Rand said cautiously. Was he supposed to have heard of this person?

Shiran smiled. “Is it?” He touched Rand’s stomach, and trailed his fingers lightly across the muscles there. “It could be a lot nicer ...”

He felt himself beginning to stir, but fought back against the urge. “Aren’t you going to ask my name?”

That bold hand came to his chest. “I already know it, but I would have been content to just call you ‘Gorgeous Stranger’.”

Rand knew he shouldn’t be letting a stranger touch him like that, even one as cute as Shiran. He probably shouldn’t have done what he’d done with Rhuarc either, certainly not where so many people could see. Or let the Maidens get him drunk enough to entertain so many that night. And yet, there had been something very liberating about giving his lust free rein those times. The thought of doing it again was very tempting. Tempting enough that when Shiran’s hand trailed back down over his stomach, and went even lower, Rand didn’t move to stop him.

He hissed out a low breath when that hand closed around his still soft manhood and began rubbing at him with just the right amount of pressure. He soon stirred, thickening and expanding in the other man’s skilled hand, then thickening and expanding even more when he brought his tongue and lips to bear, lavishing attention on the head of Rand’s cock.

He stopped then, well pleased with the effect he was having. “Now that is an almost frightening prospect. But I think I could manage it,” he teased.

“Yo, Rand,” Zell called again. “Show me your spear, will you?”

“What? I’m not one for poses,” he said, shooting a scornful look to where Zell and his friends were sitting. He wasn’t the only one watching, he couldn’t help but notice.

“Come on, man! Just a peek!”

“Stop being weird,” Rand said firmly.

Zell made a vexed sound. “Fine ... Yes, yes ... Why you being so selfish?”

“Such a child,” Shiran muttered. “He should learn to relax. Then you can just see what happens.” What happened was that he clambered around to kneel over Rand’s legs, and take his cock into his mouth. Blue eyes stared into his as his head bobbed up and down, slurping and sucking. Rand bit his lip. He was already more aroused than he would have expected this stranger to be able to make him. Shiran knew it, too. After a few minutes worth of sucking, he released Rand long enough to ask, “Do you want me? Do you think I am pretty?”

“You’re very pretty. And, burn me, but I do want you,” he husked.

Shiran grinned, and went promptly to the nearest bench of rock. He knelt over it, then reached back to part the soft cheeks of his cute little ass. “Then take me.” Refusing to think about it too carefully, Rand took his cock in hand and knelt behind the other man. He aimed at the slickened hole and eased inside, forcing a low groan from him. The groans grew louder as he pushed forwards. “Fuck! You are so big.” There was nothing of objection in Shiran’s words. He took every last inch of Rand’s cock into himself, and rocked back against him eagerly.

Rand fucked him harder. Even with his thoughts clouded by lust, he was still considerate enough to reach around and fondle the other man’s cock, but he found Shiran still soft, his small member flapping around each time Rand’s hips slapped against his ass. That was not to say he wasn’t enjoying himself, though, if the sounds he was making were anything to go by.

“I always get overlooked,” he heard Giladin say.

“You are too quiet,” Zell told him. “You need to speak up more.”

“Funny. I was thinking _you_ could do with speaking up less,” the other man said.

Whatever else they said escaped Rand’s notice. He could fell an orgasm building, one he had no inclination to resist. His hands roamed up Shiran’s smooth back, to grasp him by the shoulder and tangle in his hair.

“Fuck! That’s a nice ass,” he gasped.

“You like it? Then show me how much. Come in it,” said Shiran.

Rand sped up in response, rubbing every inch of his cock along the tight sheath that clasped it. He eagerly sought and found his release. While he was coming he made a conscious effort to relax into the sensation, letting his mind and body both become limp vessels of pleasure. The heat of the sweat tent made it an easy and transformative experience.

He remained like that for some time, deaf to the talk around him. It was only when his cock grew soft that Shiran escaped his perch. There were hands upon his shoulders, lips against his cheek. A voice whispered in his ear. Shiran’s voice. “Do you mind if I take a turn?”

“Turnabout is fair play,” Rand breathed.

“I do not know what that means, but I will take it as a yes,” Shiran said. Rand felt something short and stiff brush against the cheek of his ass. He bent across the stone bench, much as Shiran had, resting his weight on his elbows with his tattooed arms almost crossed, and let it happen.

He took it easily, with the shorter, less muscular man clinging to his back as he rutted away. Excited as he’d been by all that had happened, he suspected it wouldn’t take long for Shiran to finish, and he was right. As hot as it was in the sweat tent, Rand could still feel the added heat of come spilling inside him.

“That was nice,” he murmured.

“It was something, alright,” Shiran said. He slipped out, then sat against the bench to catch his breath.

It had lasted only long enough to get Rand to relax, and to stir his interest, so he did not immediately pull away when another hand touched his hip. “I think you will need a bit more than that to satisfy you,” Mangin said. He was crouching at the side, knees splayed, his balls hanging low and his long cock jutting high. There was a question in his eyes.

Rand was suddenly nervous. This had the feel of a beginning, and a beginning that he wasn’t sure he should allow. But he was so pleasantly relaxed, and the Aiel were so much more tolerant that the other peoples he’d known. Would it be so bad? Dare he do it?

His small nod was all it took to have Mangin grinning like Mat used to, when he’d had a terrible idea and had managed to talk his friends into seeing it through with him. Thinking of all the ways those ideas had gone wrong, and all the ways they’d suffered for it, did nothing to calm Rand’s nerves as Mangin came to kneel behind him. Hands gripped his hips tightly. The head of a cock pressed against and stretched his sensitive hole, and a loud groan echoed through the sweat tent as Mangin entered Rand’s ass.

“Just the way I imagined it,” Mangin sighed. He wasted no time before starting to fuck him in earnest, his hands busily exploring Rand’s body as he did so. The nervousness Rand felt was amplified by the realisation that almost everyone in the tent was watching them now. Even Arcaval and his friends had stopped what they were doing to take in the show.

“It is even more fun this way,” Shiran whispered. There was a knowing gleam in his eye. “And you do not have to do it one at a time either. I have done the like many times. It is so good.”

Face hot, Rand could not respond. He tightened around Mangin instinctively, forcing a groan of pleasure from the man, who sped up his thrusts in response. All the sensations from his ass dimmed Rand’s thoughts. When Mangin eventually came inside him, his only response was annoyance that the probing and stroking had ended. So when Zell came and said, in his too loud voice, “Yo! Let me in on it, too!” all Rand did was nod his head.

“Rand! Thanks, man! I did not think you were going to give it to me. That makes me so happy!” There was a scuffling behind, one that shook Rand’s hips back and forth and caused Mangin’s softening cock to be ejected. A new, harder one soon took its place. “Time to get it ON!” Zell called as aimed himself and thrust inside. “OHHH YEAHHH! I am in!”

He was indeed in, and very eager. His hips slapped up against Rand’s at a breakneck pace, and the words and noises he let fly were such that Rand wanted to cringe more for them than for the fact that he was letting himself be humped like that in front of so many people.

Zell was so noisy that Rand almost didn’t notice it when Giladin came to sit on the stone bench nearby. It was a bit hard to hear him, too, when he spoke so shyly, but Rand caught most of it.

“Sure. Move around,” he said, with a nervous smile.

Giladin sighed in relief. “I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask,” he said as he knelt down on the other side of the stone bench and presented his cock to Rand, who took it and licked at the head. The sigh he let out then was even more relieved.

No-one in the tent seemed to think anything amiss in what they were doing, to Rand’s relief. He might not be Aiel but there was more Aiel in him than he’d ever realised. And there was soon to be a lot more Aiel in him than he’d ever dreamed of taking. Encouraged by the thought, he took Giladin into his mouth and began sucking on him while Zell was still busy ravaging his ass.

“That’s more like it,” he heard Shiran say, but he was too busy being stuffed with cocks to respond. Gil didn’t try to push himself on him, or grab his hair or such. Somehow, Rand had known he wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure why he’d thought of him as Gil, though. Best not to say that out loud. The Aiel didn’t like to use what they called pet names like that. Giladin seemed a nice boy, but he didn’t really know him at all. Did he?

That didn’t stop him from sucking him off, though. Lost to lust and deaf to depravity, Rand took Giladin so far into his throat that the yellow hair above his shaft was tickling Rand’s nose. He worked the bottom with his tongue, while pressing his lips tight to the sensitive flesh as he drew back. Zell was working a bottom, too, and working it so loudly and so energetically that several other men had gathered around. Someone took Rand’s hand and placed it around a hot bit of meat. Jarasai, he saw, and the meat was his stiff cock. Rand rubbed it for him, while still sucking Giladin and being fucked by Zell. Bartin was there, too, standing on Rand’s other side with a knowing smirk on his handsome face. He was hard as well and, though he didn’t ask, Rand took hold of him and began jerking him off.

“What would Aviendha think?” he mused, for reasons Rand did not know and did not care to ask after.

If Zell was loud before, he was even louder when he was coming. Rand took it, though the thought of his come mixing with the other men’s inside him made him feel dirty. Wickedly dirty.

“Blood and ashes, man! I have been wanting to do that for so long,” Zell groaned. He was a dramatic one, all right. They’d only just met! Rand liked him, though. Most of the Aiel were so reserved. It was nice to meet one who was less in control of himself.

When Zell slipped out of him, Jarasai was quick to move to take his place. He was the last to come, too, long after Bartin had spurted on Rand’s shoulder, and Giladin had given him a thick salty broth to swallow. The latter man sank to the floor after he’d finished coming, looking at Rand with sad, puppy dog eyes.

But that wasn’t the end of it. Others came, in more ways than one. Arcaval and his friends wanted a turn, too. They put Rand up on the bench on his back, the better to look at him as they fucked him, Arcaval claiming his ass while the other two—Yan and Rab—offered their cocks to be stroked. Rand, always eager to help, didn’t resist at all.

Zell found that confusing. “What the hell? I thought you guys did not get along. You are, like, all friendly now.” He was one of the many men standing around Rand’s bench, hard bodied but with mostly soft cocks by then.

Arcaval laughed. “You have got some things to learn. This one is almost as huge a pervert as Rhamys! And has almost as tight an ass.” So there was history there. For a madly hypocritical moment, Rand was disappointed in Rhamys for letting this man have his way with her, since he treated her so meanly. Then the inescapable realisation that he was laying there letting him have his way with him as well made him shake his head over his own foolishness. Arcaval might be a bit of a woolhead, but he had a nice thick cock. He grinned down at Rand. “Deny it all you want, but it is true. Jepal over there has had your second-father-sister, Ricu, as well. What do you think of that?”

The man he nodded to was a handsome, yellow-haired fellow, who had taken no part in the games of the sweat tent. He just sat there, flaccidly enjoying the steam, cracking an eye only long enough to roll it at Arcaval.

“I think that it’s none of my business,” Rand said. “Did you come here to talk or to fuck? Because it’s hard to tell right now ...”

That had the anticipated effect. Arcaval grasped Rand’s ankles and lifted his legs to his shoulders, the better to ram into him as deeply and forcibly as he could. As wantonly as he fucked Rand’s ass, his friends came before he did, further slickening Rand’s already slick chest with their come. When Arcaval came, he did so with a roar of triumph, and when he was done coming he leaned down to look Rand in the eye and smirk.

“I would have thought the _Car’a’carn_ would be more of a giver than a taker,” he said.

“What has that got to do with anything?” Rand asked.

It was Jarasai who answered, if you could call it that. “You want to be _Car’a’carn_ , and you do not even know anything?” There was scorn in his voice, too, but Rand was too pumped full of come to think about it clearly. And not just his ass. With all the stimulation he’d gotten, his balls felt full and heavy, and his cock was fully erect once more.

He sat up, looking for Shiran, or perhaps Zell, but Judca stepped out of the crowd before he could spot them. He was hard, too, a sternly handsome older man who wordlessly guided Rand back onto his knees. Rand took what he had to offer, his cock feeling painfully engorged now. He was tempted to jerk himself off there and then, in front of all those others, while being buggered by a man he hardly knew. The very thought made his cheeks burn.

 _This will have to be the last one_ , he resolved, even if it meant disappointing some of the Aiel in the tent. He needed release. His traitorous hand stole towards his cock as he knelt there on the bench, being ravaged by the man behind him. A knowing snort issued from him, and some of the other men laughed. Rand couldn’t help it, though. He was so desperate for release. Calloused hands caressed the flesh of his back as his own hands caressed the flesh of his cock.

Suddenly, a sharp crack sounded in the tent and a sharp pain shot through Rand. He gasped, more from the shock than from the pain, and gasped again when the hand cracked across his bottom a second time.

“W-what are y-you—?” he began, but the man spanked him again. He kept spanking him as his cock moved steadily inside his ass. Rand’s face was as red as a beet ... but that treacherous hand kept on moving up and down his shaft.

Judca chuckled deeply, his hand cracking across Rand’s ass in time with the thrusts of his cock. “I had thought you lacked discipline, Rand al’Thor. It concerned me, given what you are. It is good to know that you can take some.”

Some of the watchers laughed as well, the sound and their eyes combining to make his heart race even more than it already was. A cock moved steadily in his ass. A hard hand spanked his bottom. It was too much.

Rand couldn’t keep from crying out as he came, long ropes of come shooting out to stain the floor of the sweat tent. He had no idea how many men were watching him being milked, but he couldn’t deny that it felt really good. He came for what felt like a long time, and then remained there on his knees, being spanked and fucked for what felt like an even longer time. When Judca finally came in him, Rand was completely limp once more.

Tired and soiled, Rand sat on the bench and tried to catch a breath of the hot, steamy air.

“I would like a go, too,” a stocky, hard faced man whose name Rand didn’t know said.

“I am with you!” a more familiar voice cried. Rand looked over and saw Bast coming closer, his hard cock bouncing before him. _That one? I don’t think so!_

“I’m too tired,” he said. Strange how it was easier to say that than that he just didn’t want to fuck them. He had thought he was getting better at saying no.

“For now. But I bet you will be back,” Shiran laughed. “I know I will.”

Scrubbing a hand through his sweat-darkened hair, Rand managed a sheepish smile. He just might at that, Light help him. He just might.


	78. Soldier

He had been right not to climb the mountain with Rand. He’d done enough damage to his son’s life without denying him the chance to meet his blood kin. He would have been too loyal to go there himself. Tam had known that. It was why he’d pushed him into it. Moiraine didn’t understand. She’d come to him afterwards, to rebuke him for his decision. She felt that it was dangerous for Rand to grow too close to the Aiel, or to start adopting some of their customs. She might even be right, after a fashion, but Tam wasn’t basing his decisions on what was best for the nations of Valgarda. He was basing them on what was best for his son.

It wasn’t easy, though. Rand was the only kin he had left, even if they weren’t related by blood. Losing him—letting him go—left Tam feeling very alone.

He sat outside his tent looking at the mountain for some time, as the sun set on the land of his once-enemies. He sat and wondered what was going on up there. Uno and the others left him to his melancholy but, as was often the way with women, Aca did not.

She was often around him, and had been ever since she’d helped defend Emond’s Field from the Trollocs. That didn’t bother Tam at all; she was good company and an excellent fighter. He wondered at her reasons, though. He even sometimes wondered if she might be interested in him. But he dismissed that wondering with prejudice. She was only a few years older than Rand, less than half his age. He couldn’t imagine why she’d be interested in an old man like him.

She was smart and observant, too, and knew right away when his attention shifted from the mountain to her. “What happens now? Are you giving him up?”

Tam grimaced. Could that be how Rand saw it, too? He’d need to tread carefully. He wanted to make things better, not make them worse. “No. Of course not. He would let me stand in the way of his own happiness, is the thing. I needed to push him into this. And that means I need to back off for a while.”

“I see. You are very considerate. And very wise. But then what? What is your ultimate goal?”

He shook his head over her flattery, and quickly moved to disabuse her of her delusions about his wisdom. “I don’t have an ultimate goal. I’m just trying to help my son as best I can. He has been thrown into the middle of a conflict that he was never prepared for. I don’t think I would have known how to raise the Dragon Reborn—or He Who Comes With the Dawn—if I’d known I was supposed to. And I didn’t. What little I could have taught him about the world outside the Theren, and how to live in it, I kept to myself. I didn’t want to think about it too much, you see. Now? The best I can do is try to warn him of some of the dangers ahead.”

Not thinking about it back then hadn’t helped. It had only made it worse, for now it was all he _could_ think about. The fate of the world might rest on Rand’s shoulders, technically, but Tam often felt it was his own that were being crushed under those expectations. How terrible a thing it would be, how titanic a failure, to raise a saviour who was incapable of saving anyone.

Aca came and sat beside him. He had been uncomfortable around her at first. Around all the Aiel. He’d fought against them for too long to stand at ease in their company. But they didn’t seem to bear any ill will towards him, and so he found it hard to bear ill will towards them either. What was done was done. War was an ugly business. He’d hoped to put it behind him when he retired with Kari, but that hope had proven vain. There would be more wars to come, he did not doubt. Tam would serve, as he always had, with solemn diligence. He was a soldier, after all.

“You are a very impressive man. You would make a good chief, I think, if they had chiefs back in your Theren,” Aca said.

She was smiling at him. A pretty young girl, with big blue eyes and hair of the palest gold. And she was smiling at him while she said such things.

“You flatter me too much, girl,” he said quietly.

She lowered her eyes. “Is that all I am to you? A little girl? If I am too young to catch your eye, tell me now, please, before I shame myself.”

Tam blinked. Blood and ashes! There was no misinterpreting _that_. She really was interested in him! He honestly hadn’t thought it possible. A girl that young. And an Aiel girl, at that. The thought was undeniably exciting. It had been so long since he was with a woman ...

“You are not too young. And you certainly don’t behave like a little girl. I just never imagined you would be interested in someone like me.”

She smiled sheepishly. “I have always had a thing for seasoned older men. I have not let any of them fuck me, though, but when I met you ... I wished that you would ...”

“Burn me,” Tam breathed. His blood was rushing to his loins already. When Aca, after looking carefully around to make sure no-one was watching, laid her hand upon his thigh and squeezed, that rush got all the faster.

“The tent is right here, Tam. We could go inside, and spend the night ...” she said.

“I think I’d like that.”

Aca grinned. “I will make certain that you do!” She bounded to her feet with the energy of the young and their perfect bodies. Taking him by the hand, she pulled him up after her, careless of the creaking of his knees. Into the tent she led him, only stopping once the flaps had fallen closed, leaving them in the dim light of the single lantern that Rand insisted he always keep lit. The lad was afraid that Myrddraal would come for them all in the night.

Aca was of a height with him, something which he knew would have troubled many women, and many men besides. Tam didn’t mind, and she didn’t seem to either, from the way she pounced upon him. Their lips met, hers pecking quickly, his slow and deliberate. His won out. As her mouth melted against his, her arms went around his shoulders, pulling him close.

They undressed themselves, for Tam wanted to leave her the option of leaving if she changed her mind in the middle of it all. She didn’t. Down to her skin she stripped, revealing a leanly muscular body the likes of which he was surprised to see on a woman. The muscles of her stomach were more sculpted than his own were these days, but she didn’t seem to mind that either.

Her nimble fingers combed through the grey hair on his chest erotically, so Tam sent his own fingers questing. His quested a bit lower, though. She gasped sweetly when he parted her lips to stroke along their inner walls. They kissed again, more hungrily this time, and Tam slipped his finger into her pussy.

Aca was lost after that. She all but dragged him down onto the bed, raising her legs and spreading her knees in offering. He gave her another finger but that wasn’t enough to satisfy her, young as she was. She wanted something else, and the hand that grasped and stroked his now hard cock made plain what that was.

Tam was conflicted. He felt he should take his time with her, stir her passions and make her come a few times before seeing to his own pleasures. But he would have had to wrestle Aca into submission to do that just then. _Later_ , he decided. _I might not be young anymore, but the night still is. I can see to her later_. For now, he would let her lead the way.

It was to her pussy that she led him, guiding his cock to her wet slit, aiming it carefully, and then watching in open-mouthed wonder as he slid slowly inside her. “Yes, yes, right there,” she moaned excitedly. Only when he was all the way inside did she raise her eyes to his. “Tam,” she said. “You feel so good inside me.”

“Blood and ashes,” he cursed softly “What did I do to deserve this?” She felt incredible. Tight and wet in a way he hadn’t felt in so very long. He almost felt like a young man again. Too much so. If he got any more excited, he might end up embarrassing himself.

Making a conscious effort to control himself, Tam rode Aca nice and slow. She enjoyed it well enough at first, but after a while the bucking of her hips became more demanding. Before too long, she was rolling them over and climbing on top, bouncing on his cock with the kind of energy reserved for the very young. He lay there and watched her pretty little breasts shiver as she bounced, savouring the play of expression across her usually reserved face.

His callused hands found the soft flesh at her hips, caressing gently. They remained gentle as he moved his touch around to her front instead, seeking out and finding her most sensitive parts. Aca stiffened atop him, threw her head back and screamed loudly. The grip she had on his cock became even tighter as she came. Tam watched, a smug smile the likes of which he hadn’t smiled in decades creeping its way onto his stubbled face.

 _She really must have been excited. I can’t believe I made her come that easily_.

Noticing the look on his face, Aca blushed red. “I am sorry. That has never happened to me before,” she said. “Please do not tell my spearsisters.”

He laughed aloud. “Have no fear of that. I have always been a discreet man.”

She leaned down to kiss him again. “That is part of what I like about you. Young men are so full of boasts. They have too much to prove. Men like you need prove nothing.”

“If you keep flattering me like that, I might have to prove you wrong. You are so beautiful, and so fit and so much younger than me ... I’m trying to stay in control here. I may not be able to help myself ...”

She seized hold of his face. “What if that is what I want? I do not care about any of the rest, Tam. Fuck me.”

So he did. Light help him, he did. Aca was as good as her word. When he guided her to her knees, she went there, her pretty little bottom on display. Tam had nothing elaborate in mind, however, he just took hold of her slender hips and rammed himself back into her deliciously wet pussy. She moaned as he rode her, but he remained silent, letting out only the occasional soft grunt. It was not for lack of pleasure, though, far from it. He fucked her with wild abandon, and enjoyed every minute of it.

When his pleasure built up inside him, Tam buried himself in Aca to the hilt. She writhed her hips against him, urging him wordlessly on, until his come burst forth to flood her young womb. The cry of pleasure she let out at that moment was much louder than Tam’s own. That seemed wrong to him. So much of this was wrong. But so much of it was right, too.

He collapsed on the blankets beside the Aiel Maiden, spent, breathing hard. “Are you alright?” he asked. Part of him wondered if he should have been more considerate in how he finished. Did the Aiel have the capacity to make heartleaf tea? And if so, was it a rarity here? He didn’t want to inconvenience Aca. Her good regard was, he realised then, too valuable to him to jeopardise.

“I am doing much better than ‘alright’ after that,” Aca said, stretching her arms above her head in a way that made her stiff little nipples stand out all the more. He reached out and toyed with one idly. The urge to close his eyes was very real, but he fought against it.

“No regrets then, lass?”

“It is so strange, the way you speak. But I like it. ‘Lass’ is another word for girl, right? Then no. I am not sorry about anything.”

He rolled over, his hands becoming busy upon her taut body. “Good. I just might have to see about giving you some reasons to do this again, then.”

“I was already planning to. Do you have to act as though this is some sort of obligation?”

“That isn’t how I feel about it,” he said calmly. Misunderstandings were inevitable in any relationship, and it was certainly starting to look like this thing between them was a relationship.

She smiled. “Good. I am not planning to give up the spear for you, Tam, but I have no intention of giving _you_ up either. Not without a fight.”

Tam smiled back at the Aiel girl, as his hand slid down over her hard stomach in search of the softness between her thighs. “I never thought I would be so glad to lose a fight to one of you,” he mused. His fingers forced her to gasp, but not for long. His mouth against hers saw to that. As she writhed in his arms, he felt himself beginning to stir again. It was a surprise, but a welcome one. It would, he knew then, be a long night. And perhaps even the first of many.


	79. Under the Roof of the Maidens

Dani adjusted the bundle on her back when they reached the wide caldera at Iron Hold’s heart, though she adjusted it more for an excuse to rest her legs than out of fear it would fall. That had been quite the climb. She’d grown stronger in the weeks they’d spent travelling the waste, but getting here had still taken a lot out of her. Ilyena, who had refused _Far Dareis Mai_ ’s offer of training, was in even worse shape that she was, puffing audibly.

“I still ... say ... that Moiraine and Theodrin ... could have handled it,” she managed to get out.

“Best not to take the risk. We can’t afford to lose him. Besides, I promised Nynaeve.”

It took Ilyena a while to get her breathing under enough control to respond. “Oaths sworn must be kept, mustn’t they? Even in a situation like this.”

Dani looked askance. She hadn’t mentioned her indiscretion with Rand but it had been much on her mind lately. She felt guilty about it. That and the inescapable fact that she’d been thinking about a lot of other people in ways she shouldn’t be. Not just Rand, but Raine and Aviendha and even Merile. It was the Aiel’s fault. Or perhaps Elayne’s. All these people sharing their loved ones had gotten her thinking entirely too much about what it would be like. She shouldn’t be thinking such things. She didn’t want to risk losing Ilyena.

“Why do you say that?” she asked carefully. “I know the Prophecies are not exactly sunshine and daisies but I haven’t seen him do anything evil. Is defending him wrong, to you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Without another word, Ilyena walked off, leaving Dani to hasten after her.

Ilyena demanded directions of the nearest Aiel in her curt way. She might have gotten them if they identified themselves as Aes Sedai, but to the Iron Mountain sept they were still just strange wetlanders, newly arrived and allowed to walk where no wetlanders were usually allowed to walk, by decree of their chief and the Wise Ones. Hard looks and raised chins were all the answers Ilyena’s demands got.

Looking about, Dani spotted a younger Aiel girl with an open countenance. She hastened over to her before Ilyena could make a bad impression, and smiled brightly. “Hello there. We are guests of your chief, and friends of Rand al’Thor. I was wondering if you could give us directions to the Roof of the Maidens.”

The girl smiled back. She was quite pretty, with a slender figure and small breasts. Golden of hair, she had eyes of such size and such colour as to rival Merile’s. Dani found her thoughts straying once more, and reined them back firmly. _What is wrong with me?_

“Of course I can! Come with me,” the girl said as she skipped off, energetically. Dani suspected she would be just as energetic in the heat of midday as she was now that the sun was about to set. “I am Ricu, of the Iron Mountain sept of the Taardad Aiel. Hey, do I look like Rand, you think?”

Dani and Ilyena exchanged looks. “Your hair and eyes are different colours. And he is male, and twice your size. So. No.” Ilyena said flatly.

Ricu waved off Ilyena’s mockery. “That is all true, of course. But there are other ways people can look alike. Ah well. My mother’s first-brother was Rand’s father, you get it?”

“One of his relatives. How did that go?” Dani asked, a touch too quickly. Rand had made a great show of not caring during the trip here. She hadn’t been fooled.

“I don’t know what you mean, exactly,” Ricu said slowly. “He ate under the roof of my mother, and we talked about ourselves. Pretty normal stuff, you know? It is interesting having a wetlander for a second-brother, though. Will you be going back to the wetlands soon?”

“I have no idea,” Dani said. “It is not really my decision to make.” Admitting that made her lips thin. She might be freer than she’d been in years, now that she was out of the Tower, but she still couldn’t make all the decisions that a woman should be able to.

“I asked Rand, but he dodged the question.”

She nodded. “He does that a lot.”

“He does not trust easily,” Ilyena added. “That is smart.”

Ricu looked troubled by that, but Dani couldn’t say that Ilyena was wrong. By then they had arrived at the foot of one of the narrow stairways carved into the rockface. She pointed to the entrance they sought and wished that they would sleep well and wake, before taking her leave. The pointing was unneeded, since a group of Maidens was standing guard outside their roof, but the well wishes were welcome. Dani feared they would need them, if her suspicions about the Grey Men were correct. That was why they had come. There were enemies that even the Maidens couldn’t defend against, not without access to the One Power.

Hard, pale eyes peered out at them from under the hoods of their _shoufa_ s when Dani and Ilyena arrived at the Roof of the Maidens. In their stained riding dresses, Dani in bronze and Ilyena in pale blue, they certainly did not look like the kind of women who would usually have been invited inside, but Dani was confident she could overcome that.

“I see you,” she said politely. “I am Daniele Rulonir, and this is my first-sister Ilyena Volnicoliev. We are friends of Rand al’Thor and—” She hesitated, not wanting to lie again. But the lie was out there now. There was no sense in getting squeamish about repeating it. “And we are Aes Sedai. I am learning dreamwalking from Amys, the Wise One. And training with some of your spearsisters.” Those flat expressionless stares were making her nervous. “Do you know Adelin?”

“We want to come inside. We suspect Grey Men will attack al’Thor soon. We intend to use the One Power to ensure his safety,” Ilyena said, her voice flat and firm.

An older Maiden nodded once, and the rest stepped aside. “You may enter, Aes Sedai.”

Dani could feel Ilyena’s eyes on her as they entered the roof. When she finally looked, she saw the exact smirk she’d been expecting to see curving her pillow-friend’s lips. “You are in danger of becoming an Aiel at this rate. I was half-expecting you to offer to dance with them for the right to enter.”

“I was just being polite,” she said stiffly. The suggestion was ridiculous. She’d already considered it and decided it was probably not the way things were customarily done here.

She didn’t recognise many of the Aiel in the outer rooms but that was okay. The first woman she spoke to, red-haired Dhael whom she’d met in the Stone, was able to direct her towards Rand, though not without raising her brows and glancing meaningfully between her and Ilyena first. Dani gave that glance little thought as she headed deeper into the roof. It made sense that they’d keep Rand near the back, where any attackers would have to fight their way through the Maidens to get to him. That would do them little good against the Grey Men, however.

Even at this late hour there was still sparring taking place. Most of it was of the kind Dani herself had been taking part in, but some of those they passed were fighting in the nude. She couldn’t help but stare. There would be less restrictions, she supposed. And it would be harder to get a grip on someone. And since there were no men around there was less need for modesty. But still! All those muscular but feminine bodies, tossing each other around, punching fast and kicking high. How was a woman supposed to keep herself virtuous when people kept tempting her like this? It was small comfort that even Ilyena was left gaping at the sights they passed.

She wondered if the Maidens at least had the decency to do their sparring clothed when Rand was coming or going. Knowing him, he wouldn’t be able to keep his eyes off them.

Her wondering only lasted a short time. The sounds of combat, the slap of hand and foot against flesh, and the grunts and hisses and cries of fighting women had drowned out most of the sounds, such that she only became aware of it when she was already near. Light spilled from an entryway into the corridor they were walking down. The other entries nearby were darkened, but this one was lit up like noon. Several clothed Maidens were gathered outside, watching. It could have been another sparring contest. It could have. She told herself that as she drew closer. The slapping sounds were a bit too regular, the cries a bit too happy, but it could have been.

It wasn’t.

Dani and Ilyena leaned around the nearest Maiden at the same time, eyes wide. Inside was as shocking a scene as she’d ever thought to see. There were naked woman all over the room, sprawled on the cushioned floor or leaning against the bare walls. Some were touching themselves, some were touching each other, some were just watching. Most were clustered around Rand, however, touching him or being touched by him. Touched and more than touched. Dorindha was down on her hands and knees, rocking back against him as he knelt behind her. The thick end of something could be briefly seen protruding from her pussy when she moved away. The rest of it was lodged inside her, to her very visible and audible pleasure. Kneeling at his right side, Shyala hugged his arm to her, urging on the fingers that were busily stroking her soft sex. On his left knelt Tuandha, kissing his lips, her hand tracing the smooth and powerful lines of his chest. If the scar that so marked her face repulsed him in any way, no sign of it showed in the way Rand was kissing her. But then, he’d shown no hesitation at embracing Raine in all her furred oddness either. Whether that meant he had a big heart or was just some massive pervert, Dani couldn’t say. She was starting to lean towards the latter explanation, though. With his eyes closed like that, he looked as happy and as satisfied as Dani had ever seen him. And he was wearing nothing but those fancy tattoos of his. She could see everything ...

Dani reared back, pulling Ilyena with her. Her pillow-friend’s face had gone so red that Dani was glad her own, darker skin hid at least a little of her blush. It didn’t stop her face from feeling hot enough to fry and egg, though. Swallowing audibly, Ilyena bundled her into the opposite room, where the dark promised to shield them. It was just as well she did, for when she looked back she found that Rand had opened his eyes. He sat back on his heels, a hand on Dorindha’s bottom urging her down with him, then told Tuandha to stand up. She did, straddling the other Maiden without the need for further instructions. Her pussy was inches from his face. It didn’t stay that way for long, for soon Rand’s tongue was on her and in her, and Tuandha was throwing her head back to moan at the roof.

“Thank the Light. He didn’t see us,” Dani whispered. She licked her dry lips.

Hands clasped together, Ilyena retreated further into the room, where she would be safely out of sight of anyone in the corridor, or in the opposite room. “That total slut. He is letting them all have him,” she whispered. But it wasn’t with scorn that she stared at the scene before them. “How many do you think he has fucked already?”

Dani had no idea. Some of those women looked very satisfied, though. Amindha and Branwen sat together, unashamedly naked. Dani had taken a battering from both women during her training, so the strength their nudity displayed came as little surprise. Their words forced her to muffle a gasp with her hand, though.

“Fuck her harder, Rand al’Thor!” Amindha called.

Branwen laughed. “Indeed! Well said, friend. You have relieved my soul of a stone already, Rand, and I thank you most heartily. Do the same for Dorindha. Make her sing!”

Alive to their words, Rand began rocking his hips. Whatever he was doing inside Dorindha made the girl bite her lip hard. Her hand went between her legs, to rub desperately at what rested there. Dani forced her own hand back to her side. She was, she realised, stunningly aroused.

Blessed relief washed over her. For a moment, Dani thought her self-control had failed her entirely and that she’d begun rubbing herself, but when she looked down it was Ilyena’s hand that pressed against the front of her dress.

“Take off your dress, Dani,” she whispered, her breath tickling Dani’s ear.

“What!” she gasped, barely remembering to keep her voice down.

“I want you.”

“Right now!?”

“Don’t act as if you don’t want to.” Ilyena’s other hand found her breast, and the stiff nipple that strained against her clothes, seeking freedom. She was right. She did want to. She wanted so much ...

“The ... the thing in my bundle. Take it out,” she whispered.

Ilyena’s hands stilled. “The Aes Sedai would not approve ...”

Dani rounded on her, her eyes hot. “I don’t care. I want you to use it on me.”

“Light. And to think, I always thought you the stern and proper one,” Ilyena said. She chewed her lower lip. “Take that dress off ... you naughty little hussy, you.”

“Don’t act like you’re any different,” Dani said. She tried to work up a scowl, but it was hard to look appropriately indigent while ripping your own clothes off only a dozen or so feet away from where a wild orgy was taking place.

Ilyena stripped, too, and the stiffness of the nipples atop the bouncing breasts she revealed as she did so lent truth to Dani’s accusation. But who had she enjoyed watching most? Rand or the Maidens? For that matter, who had Dani?

Her gaze was drawn back to the other room, where Dorindha was now curled up on the cushions in front of Rand, a satisfied smile on her face. He was still kneeling there, his cock glistening with her juices. It thrust out before him, thick and hot and alive. It was much longer than she’d expected, longer even than the thing that Keille had given her. She had assumed, when examining her gift in the privacy of her tent, that all men must be shaped so. Obviously that was not the case. Watching with wide eyes, she wondered how the other women had managed it. That thing looked like it would hurt. She herself had never had anything bigger than a pair of fingers inside her.

That was not going to be the case for much longer, though. A light rustle drew her attention downwards, where a pair of cushions had been kicked in front of her. Ilyena had, she now saw, tied the horn cock around her waist. It rested in front of her pussy, right where a man’s thing would be. She was fussing with it awkwardly, and looked a bit embarrassed, but Dani didn’t think she looked ridiculous at all. She dropped to her knees on the cushion, and moved the other one forward to support her elbows.

“That eager, are we?” Ilyena said. “Alright, then.”

Shyala and Tuandha obviously didn’t share Dani’s dismay at the size of Rand’s manhood. The two of them were pushing at each other, close to fighting over which of them would get to taste him next. It was Rand who stopped the incipient fight, and he did it by putting both women on their knees in front of him, their hips touching. The women were of a height, their hair a matching shade of yellow. Their cries matched, too, when Rand thrust into first Tuandha and then Shyala. He alternated between them, probing one woman’s body deeply before switching to the other and giving her equal treatment. He was between women, his magnificent cock gleaming in the lamplight, when Dani felt Ilyena press the cold tip of her new toy against her by then sopping wet pussy.

“Are you ready?”

“Take me,” Dani whispered, staring.

Ilyena did but she did it slowly, easing the toy into her inch by inch. Rand had been in and out of the two women before him half a dozen times over by the time Dani felt Ilyena’s hips touch hers. The thing inside her was being warmed by her body’s heat. She felt so full. Stretched in a way she never had been. It hurt a little, the stretching, but only a little. It was like vigorously scratching an itch she hadn’t even known she’d had. There was far more relief than pain. Almost of their own accord, her hips began rocking back and forth.

Alive to her desires, Ilyena matching her movements, holding her by the hips as she moved the toy inside her. “Do you like that?” she asked. “It looks like you like that, you naughty girl.”

“I like it,” Dani admitted.

Tuandha had liked it, too, obviously. She sprawled beside Dorindha now, while Rand was hammering away at Shyala.

Ilyena sped up, matching her pace to his. When Dani looked back over her shoulder, she found the Volsuni girl staring raptly at the display. Her lovely breasts shook with her vigour, while in the room opposite, Rand’s stomach muscles clenched hard with his. If the Creator Herself had demanded an answer, Dani would not have been able to say which sight was more beautiful.

Shyala looked quite beautiful, too, when she was coming on Rand’s cock. Dani faced a hard realisation then, when she found herself wishing it was her that was coming so. Struck dumb by the direction her heart was beating her, she knelt there and took all Ilyena had to give for some time, her body as stirred and confused as her mind.

Branwen brought Rand a cup of water with which to refresh himself, but it was not she that next impaled herself on his member. Instead, somewhat to Dani’s surprise, Ayla and Lidya sauntered towards him. Their arms were interlocked, their hips swaying in unison, matching grins of boldness on their faces. These two were stronger than Tuandha and Shyala, and red where they were yellow, but more importantly they were first-sisters. Lovers, just as she and Ilyena were. Yet they gathered around Rand, raining kisses on his cheeks and lips just as readily as they did on each other’s.

It was not to their knees that they went. Instead, they lay on their sides atop the cushions, arms and legs entangled, kissing and fondling each other. Rand leant above them both, his strong arms easily supporting his weight despite how wide his hands were splayed. She thought he would enter them, as he had the others, but he put his cock between their pussies instead, carefully positioning himself so that their softness pressed against him from either side.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“I have never been more ready!” Lidya declared. Saying no more, she and Ayla began rubbing their sensitive parts against his. They rocked against him gently, kissing each other in between bouts of giggles.

Ilyena’s hand brushed up over her waist to grip her shoulders. She leaned forward to whisper in Dani’s ear. “Do you wish that was us?”

And there it was. The question she’d been asking herself for so long. The toy was still moving inside her, driving her pleasure higher and higher. Dani moaned wordlessly, looking back at Ilyena in desperation. She couldn’t answer. She hadn’t the courage. “Do you?” she said instead.

Ilyena closed her eyes. Her forehead came to rest against Dani’s back. “I want you to be mine forever. Nothing else matters now.”

That wasn’t an answer either. Or, at least, it wouldn’t be to an Aiel. They weren’t Aiel, of course, but ... “I _am_ yours. I always will be,” Dani breathed.

Ilyena’s hand crept around to touch the front of her sex. “Good. Then come for me.”

With her nimble fingers easily finding her most sensitive spot, and that horn cock moving vigorously inside her, Dani didn’t think it would be long before she did just that. She could see Rand’s tight bottom getting even tighter each time he moved himself against the pussies of the two women lying under him. _Did_ she wish it was them?

Despite how worked up she had been, Dani’s orgasm came upon her with the suddenness of a bolt of lightning. “Yes!” she cried, before Ilyena’s hand clamped around her mouth, sensibly doing what Dani no longer had the wits to do. She writhed in her pillow-friend’s embrace, her body clutching desperately at the thing inside her while wave after wave of pleasure coursed through her. Muffled shrieks escaped her, while a wide-eyed Ilyena stared at the room beyond, as if trying by will alone to force everyone there not to notice them.

What would she say, if Rand heard and came to see what they were doing? The thought was terrifyingly intriguing. Would he try to draw them into that room, with all those beautiful women, and that magnificent cock? Another wave crashed over her, another moan was muffled by Ilyena’s hand.

He didn’t hear, though. He was talking to Renay, the tall, flat-chested Maiden who had always been so friendly with him. They were more than friends, now, it would seem. Renay was naked, and was having little difficulty tempting him away from Ayla and Lidya, despite her comparative lack of assets. The other two kept each other entertained while Rand stood up and took the hand Renay was offering.

“Right, let us do it!” she cried. They did, too, right there in the middle of the room. She hopped into his arms and wrapped her long legs around him, trusting him to support her full weight. He stood with his muscular legs splayed, and lowered her down onto the hard cock beneath her. Renay muffled her cries against his lips as she felt herself being impaled, much as Dani muffled the last of hers against Ilyena’s hands as her climax reached its end.

Limp and drained, she fell forward. Even with her face pressed to the pillow before her, she could hear the sounds of lovemaking in the nearby room. The only one to have looked their way was the Maiden leaning by the doorway with her hand down the front of her loose trousers. Dani knew that one. Nici of the Shaido. She thought her immature, and now thought her shy as well. She was obviously enjoying what she was seeing, and wanted to join in. But she lingered by the doorway, bent in such a way that she could peek in while preventing anyone inside from seeing how she was playing with herself. Seeing what Dani and Ilyena had been doing had distracted her for a while, but she went right back to watching the others once she saw Dani collapse.

When she finally looked up again, she saw Rand standing there fucking Renay hard in what she had to admit was an impressive display of strength. Her hands were busy in his hair, her lips busy against his face and the side of his neck. Despite how public they were, the Aiel’s touch was quite tender.

Dani eased herself off the makeshift cock, and sat down facing Ilyena. “That felt incredible,” she said. “Do you want to try it? You should!”

“You don’t feel very much on this end,” Ilyena said, “but watching you ... hearing you ... Yes. I want to try it.” No blush stained her fair cheeks. They were too far gone for that now.

By the time they had untied and retied the strap on cock, awkwardly swapping it between them, Rand’s grip on Renay’s ass had grown so hard that Dani wondered that the woman wasn’t demanding he stop. Instead, she was petting his hair, whispering something in his ear as he rested his head against her shoulder. Something was dripping down onto the floor beneath where they were joined, something thick and white. Rand’s legs were shaking so much that he was barely able to set Renay down before he dropped to his knees on the pillows, breathing heavily with Renay cuddled up against him.

She and Ilyena were slow to switch positions, distracted as they were by what they were seeing. By the time Ilyena bent over and showed her visibly aroused sex to Dani, Rand’s hands were busy on Renay’s body, front and back. She could see his cock resting between his spread thighs. It had grown smaller and limper, but it still looked like it would feel heavy in her hands.

The cock she did have in hand was harder to the touch. She touched it to Ilyena’s pussy and carefully eased it past her girl’s tight entrance. They had never talked about what exactly Be’lal had done to her during their captivity in the Stone. Dani would never demand she explain, and Ilyena hadn’t volunteered any information, but she thought she knew. So she was very slow and gentle as she entered her. There was no blood, but then, Dani hadn’t bled much either, despite being a virgin.

Ilyena was quiet as she let herself be pleasured. Renay was not. Her scream drew Dani’s attention to the other room again, where the tall Maiden was thrashing in Rand’s embrace. His hand rubbed furiously at the front of her sex, urging her on as she came for him.

“That felt great!” Renay gasped when she was done.

Rand kissed her. “I’m glad.” He was still limp. Sated, Dani suspected. But that didn’t stop him from trying to pleasure the women around him. How was such a man the Dragon Reborn? He was far too nice to be a monster.

The Maidens were drawn to his warmth, as well. They gathered around him, touching and being touched, while Dani rocked her hips against Ilyena’s, moving the cock inside her inexpertly. She wasn’t sure if it was having an effect, what with how quiet Ilyena was being. There was, as she’d been warned, little sensation on her end, but there was at least some. Every time she pushed the cock forwards the leather to which it was sewn pressed up against her, giving her a little thrill of pleasure. Ilyena looked great from this angle, too, with the curves of her hips and waist and butt displayed wonderfully. They demanded a fondling, and Dani was happy to give it. Ilyena moaned softly, and began moving a bit herself, getting into it at last.

Rand looked spectacular, sitting in the middle of such a bouquet of beauties. As they stared, his member began to expand again, twitching its way up his thigh towards his flat stomach, lengthening, growing thicker. Dani sped up, seeking that little thrill, and Ilyena groaned in pleasure.

Encouraged, she kept up that pace, riding her pillow-friend steadily. The Maidens were plainly eager to get Rand back in action. Some of them were kissing and licking all over his body. One yellow-haired woman that Dani didn’t recognise even took his growing cock in her mouth and began sucking on it. Ilyena gasped when she saw that, and Dani wondered if she’d need to muzzle her the way that she herself had been muzzled.

All that petting soon had Rand back to his full size. Amindha was on the other side of him from Renay by then, a huge woman that had tossed Dani around like a rag doll each time she’d had the misfortune of being set to sparring with her. She’d offered her breast to his mouth, and he was happily sucking on a stiff nipple, but it was plain that she wanted more from the way she was grinding herself against him.

Rand looked inclined to give it to her, too. As she watched, he put his hand on her bottom and pushed her forward onto her hands and knees. Amindha’s thighs, as thick as both of Dani’s arms combined, parted almost as soon as her hands touched the pillows. Rand found her entrance and slid inside much more forcibly than Dani had slid into Ilyena. Amindha certainly didn’t complain about that. “Yes!” she cried, when Rand hilted inside her. She pushed her ass back against him, and he was all too happy to fondle it for her.

Ilyena pushed her ass back against Dani, and got the same response. The big woman did not look so intimidating while being ridden like that, with pleasure written all over her face. Dani wondered if she’d still look like that, and make those noises for her, if _she’d_ been the one doing the riding. It was an intriguing thought. She reached for Ilyena’s hair, and pushed it out of the way the better to gaze upon her flushed face. Ilyena’s big blue eyes were glazed with pleasure, to Dani’s considerable satisfaction. There was something rather satisfying about hearing Amindha beg Rand for more, too.

She got what she’d been asking for—a fierce pounding that had her heavy breasts swaying madly beneath her. The nameless woman who had been sucking on Rand could wait no longer. She arranged herself on the pillows in front of Amindha and spread her legs, silently pleading with the bigger woman. Brutally strong she might be, but Amindha was far from cruel. She buried her face in the other woman’s pussy and set her to moaning wantonly while she gazed up at the man fucking Amindha so passionately.

Dani didn’t even realise she’d sped up until Ilyena’s sharp cries won through the haze of lust clouding her mind. She didn’t stop, though, for those cries were not of pain.

“Harder!” Ilyena hissed. “Spank me. Stick it in my ass. Tell me how bad I am.”

Dani had to shake her head. She couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “What!?” she said, barely remembering to keep her voice down.

Ilyena wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m a bad girl, mistress. I deserve to be punished.”

“Blood and ashes,” she whispered. Ilyena could be odd at times, but she’d never said anything like that before! “Are you okay?”

“Just do it, Dani. You’ll like it, just like you like looking at him.”

Dani was shocked. She didn’t know what to do, so she defaulted to doing what Ilyena had asked. Not spanking her or calling her names. That would be too noisy. But taking the strap-on cock out of her wet pussy and aiming it towards her dry ass instead. “Are you sure about this? It might hurt.”

Ilyena just nodded impatiently. Taking her cue from Rand, Dani went in faster this time. Ilyena took it surprisingly well, letting out only a long hiss as she felt herself penetrated. Seeing such a normally small hole being stretched like that made Dani wince. She couldn’t believe Ilyena wasn’t calling for her to take it out. “Have you done something like this before?” she asked in astonishment. A guilty expression crossed Ilyena’s face. “With your finger, or ...” She looked away. _Not with a finger ... then what?_

Not sure what she was feeling, Dani continued to ride Ilyena long after Rand had brought Amindha off and moved on to another woman. She was still riding when a new Maiden strolled down the corridor, looked into the room, and pulled her dress up over her head. Dark hair spilled down the newcomer’s back, long and wavy and ... _Wait. Aiel don’t have dark hair. And Maidens don’t wear dresses_. She had to do a double take and rapidly blink her disturbed thoughts back into order before she realised who it was that had entered.

Merile was down to her underwear by then, having piled her shift and stockings neatly by a wall near the door along with her dress. Short and slender, pale of skin and girlishly lovely. She took off her underwear, giggled, and stretched up on tiptoe in order to deposit them atop Tuandha’s head. An incredulous laugh escaped Dani as she watched her timid apprentice pick her way through the room full of naked warrior women. Tuandha did not pull the underwear off herself. Instead, she made a point of casually leaning over to scratch her calf, an act which just so happened to cause the intruding garment to fall to the ground. Merile patted Amindha’s still upraised ass in such a friendly way that the big woman raised her head, smiling. That smile faded instantly when she saw who it was who had touched her. Then she tried to pretend she hadn’t seen anyone, or been touched at all. It was all so silly. So much so that she was almost distracted from Ilyena’s strange request.

Merile had no difficulty getting past the Aiel women, with them pretending she wasn’t there. She wasn’t shy about getting an eyeful either, another thing the Aiel pretended not to notice. When she reached Rand, it took no more than a pat on the shoulder to win his attention.

“Merile!” he cried, grinning. He pulled out of the woman he’d been fucking, heedless of her frustrated hiss. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I walked in through the front door,” she explained. “It was easy. I’m a ghost, you see. Come to haunt you all. Woooooo.”

He laughed, but he laughed alone. The Aiel’s silence and studious refusal to look at his girl soon curdled his laughter. A wicked gleam appeared in his eye as he took in the sight of Merile’s naked body. Dani wouldn’t have been able to blame him if that gleam was lust. Merile was such a cute little thing. Anybody could be tempted by her. She held Ilyena by the hips, and moved the toy within her.

“Is haunting all you’d like to do?” Rand asked.

An uncommon frown creased Merile’s brows. “I am a little peeved about all this ignoring, I must admit. And since I don’t really follow the Way of the Leaf anymore ... I thought I might get a little of my own back. Without hurting anyone, of course. A nice kind of vengeance.”

Rand’s laugh was charmingly heartfelt. Dani had to bite back a matching one. A nice vengeance. What was she like?

“You’d deny all those frustrated women their satisfaction?” Rand asked, his eyes twinkling.

“I would! I’d take it all for myself!” Merile declared.

He sighed dramatically. “How could I refuse you, after all we’ve been through?” Collapsing onto the cushions, he folded his hands behind his head. “Very well. Do whatever you want with me.”

“I will at that!” Merile said. Slight as she was, Dani almost feared for her when she stood over Rand’s waist, from which that huge cock protruded. But Merile didn’t look at all worried. She planted her fists on her narrow hips and gazed around the room, giving the pretend-oblivious Maidens a smug look that managed to sour more than a few faces, despite their insistence that she wasn’t actually there. Once she’d gazed her fill, she knelt down and took Rand in hand, aiming him at her pussy. Down she sank, while crying out so loudly that even Rand looked surprised.

Dani thought it an act, and knew it for one when Merile, sweet little Merile began giving off about how huge Rand was, and how great he felt inside her. She didn’t need to see the sheepish look on Rand’s face to know that that was not the way the little Tinker normally behaved in these circumstances. He didn’t ask her to stop, though, no more than Dani had refused Ilyena’s strange request.

Speaking of, Ilyena’s cries of pleasure had grown fewer and fewer since they switched holes. Concerned, Dani leaned forward to embrace her. “Do you want me to switch back? You were liking that much more.”

“Why would you want me to like it?”

“What? What kind of question is that? Honestly, Ilyena. You are worrying me now.”

A hand on her hip was enough to make her pull back. Ilyena turned around and embraced her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wasn’t thinking. The last thing I want is to worry you. Just, just fuck me, Dani. Stick that big thing of yours in my pussy and pound me hard.”

“Light!” That wanton suggestion, spoken in Ilyena’s sweet voice, drove all her concerns out of her mind. She pushed the other girl down onto her back and climbed atop her. Ilyena’s legs went around her easily while Dani aimed her toy at the cleft between them. In it slid, parting the pale hair down there and bringing a sweet moan from her pillow-friend’s lips.

In the other room, Merile was riding Rand while making uncharacteristically rude comments about the women surrounding them, women that Dani suspected would not be permitted to touch him again that night, but despite how attractive she thought the two of them, all of Dani’s attention rested on Ilyena now. She locked her lips to hers while rocking her hips in the sweet cradle of her thighs. Their breasts touched, their now very stiff nipples duelling with each other as they moved. Ilyena tried to brush her fingers through Dani’s long hair but was defeated by the braids she now wore it in.

“Would you prefer me if I switched back?” she asked. She’d do it, too, for Ilyena.

“I would never hold you back. You’ve had too much of that already,” she said between kisses. “You looked great with it loose, and you look great with it like this, too.”

Dani sped up, rubbing the cock inside Ilyena in what she hoped was a pleasurable way. Ilyena’s hand, gripping her backside so encouragingly, told her that it was. She kept it up, her own hands busy in the long, fair hair of her love. She held her by the head and looked her in the eyes as she fucked her, and Ilyena, so proud and so often cutting, gazed up at her wetly and pleaded for more, just as Amindha had pleaded. Cursing softly, thrilled in a way she’d never been before, Dani reached around to clasp Ilyena’s soft bottom and began ravaging her as hard as she could.

She had forgotten all about the amorous activities in the opposite room long before her pillow-friend’s legs and arms clamped around her, and Ilyena screamed her pleasure into Dani’s sheltering, muffling embrace.


	80. An Offer Refused

He was awoken by a roaring sound and a sudden scream. He was in an enclosed room, no windows, lots of cushions. Merile, who had been cuddled up against his side, woke with a gasp. _An attack!_ Rand pushed her aside more roughly than he should, reaching for and seizing _saidin_ as he clambered to his feet. Memory returned with his rising wakefulness, and the rising bile that pushing through the taint caused. The Maidens had left before he’d gone to sleep, annoyed by Merile’s display. Snatching his breeches up from the floor, he struggled into them as he strained to hear what was going on outside the room. Women’s voices were shouting, angry, strident.

The sword of fire flashed into his hands as he stepped into the corridor. He could not feel any Shadowspawn nearby, but that meant nothing. He had many other enemies besides Trollocs and Myrddraal. There was a dead man lying in the corridor, with smoke rising from a hole in his chest. A nondescript man under the roof of the Maidens, where no man but him was allowed to go.

Movement from behind alerted him. Rand spun, swinging the sword, just as another roaring sound issued from the room opposite his. He couldn’t say whether his blade or the bolt of fire that issued from that room hit the Grey Man first, but either way the assassin was struck instantly dead, his knife falling to clatter to the ground.

Armed and veiled Maidens came running down the corridor, but it was to the other room that Rand went. He hadn’t felt any channelling, or seen any weaves. That meant Moiraine, or ...

“Dani!?” She was in the room, her copper skin glowing warmly in the lamplight. She had just finished pulling on her underwear when he stepped in. Slapping a hand across his eyes did not blind him to the memory of what he’d glimpsed. Slender, long legs, dark nipples, perfectly proportioned.

“Give me a minute to finish dressing, okay?” she said.

“I’m sorry.”

“No problem, but next time, you’d better knock.” How he was supposed to do that when there were no doors, he didn’t know, but he said he would anyway. What was she doing here? The attackers! He turned away, cracking his eyes open to peer into the corridor. That he caught a glimpse of her breasts jiggling as she pulled on her shift was only an unfortunate side effect of his responsible decision. It was!

“You know, you’re awful cute when you blush,” she teased.

“Thanks,” he said gruffly.

She laughed softly. “Actually, you’re awful cute all the time.”

“Don’t make fun of me, Aes Sedai,” he said. Against his better judgement, though, he found himself wishing she meant it.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dani said.

Merile had pulled on her shift and come to join him by then. Unlike Rand, she didn’t bother trying to preserve Dani’s dignity by not looking. She just waved at her and smiled. “Hi, Dani. Teacher. When did you get here?”

Rand frowned. That was a good question. She hadn’t been there when he arrived back from the sweat tent. She’d probably come in after he’d gone to sleep. Yes. She’d have to have. Her room was right across from his, after all, where he’d been entertaining the Maidens ... She’d have to have arrived later, otherwise he’d have heard her screeching rebukes or something.

“Never mind when we got here,” a familiar Volsuni voice said. “When are you all going to leave? I would like to get dressed without you ogling me.”

He hadn’t realised Ilyena was there, but a brief, instinctual glance showed half of her head peeking out from under some blankets. It also showed the curve of Dani’s hips as she bent to pull her dress up, but that was just an unfortunate side effect.

“Right. We’re leaving,” he said stiffly. “How many more Grey Men are there?”

“I don’t know. I only warded this corridor,” Dani said.

“That can be done?” he asked before pride could still his tongue. There was so much he didn’t know how to do, and even more that he didn’t know could be done. He should be learning, and not letting himself get distracted by pretty girls and handsome men so much. Without waiting for an answer, he strode resolutely down the corridor, angry, red-cheeked Maidens falling in around him.

“Grey Men can sneak past anyone. It’s why they exist,” he said. It didn’t mollify them in the slightest.

Rand understood. It did nothing to calm his rage and his grief when he arrived at the end of the corridor and saw the dead women lying there. He ran to them, heedless of Amindha’s shouted warning to beware an ambush. The Grey Men hadn’t sneaked past everyone. Had they been noticed, and lashed out? Or had they just done what it was the nature of the Shadow to do? The result was the same either way.

He fell to his knees beside the bodies, tears stinging his eyes. He didn’t know the older woman staring blankly at the ceiling, but he knew the younger one well. Dorindha had had such a pretty smile. The red one she now wore looked all the more hideous in comparison. “Burn them! Burn me!” He should have slept in a tent by himself, where no-one else could get caught in the crossfire. She’d been such a nice and friendly girl, with her whole life ahead of her. But that life was over now. Because of him. Drawing deeply on _saidin_ , Rand surged to his feet, rudely dislodging the hand Renay had placed on his shoulder, and strode for the entrance. “BURN THEM ALL!”

Into the night he went, trailing anxious Maidens and a fluttering Merile. Renay rang the gong placed near the door, signalling an attack, and soon there were gongs ringing all across Iron Hold, the home of his father. _I should have stayed away. I brought the war to them_.

Grey Men were not true Shadowspawn. It was hard enough to spot them at the best of times; in the dark of night it would be even harder. There was a solution to that, though. They might not have the sun’s light to see by, but Rand could make his own sun. And he did, spinning Fire and Air into a great globe of roiling orange light high above the caldera, making an island of day amidst the chill night sea of the Aiel Waste. Even from far away, he could hear the exclamations echoing out around the hold. Making it was easy enough. It was just a globe of light the likes of which he’d seen Moiraine use, if on a much bigger scale. Tying it off proved much trickier.

He had reason to be glad of the light, and even more reason to be glad of the Maidens, for the sudden glare cast into stark relief the two men approaching on the narrow path. His eyes slid off them, as if they didn’t want to see what was plainly there. The Grey Men hesitated. Ayla and Lidya did not. The assassins barely had time to raise their knives before Aiel spears skewered them, ramming through their hearts and out their backs. They fell soundlessly, and the Maidens were already looking cautiously around by the time their bodies had hit the ground.

“These two are not a problem anymore, but there may be more,” Ayla said.

Rand nodded. “There are always more.”

It did not take long for that prophecy to come to fruition. With the alarm sounded, the Grey Men abandoned stealth, insomuch as they ever could. Shouts and the sounds of battle rang out all around the caldera. Worried that he might not have been the only target, Rand made his way hastily down the path.

There was fighting in the roofmistress’ house, where Rhuarc and Amys were staying. Moiraine and Lan would be there, too, along with Theodrin and Loial. Honoured guests of the sept. Aiel flooded in that direction, intent on their defence. Rand ran, too, though his attention drifted towards the other side of the caldera, where Sunadai lived. Would the Shadow target his blood father’s family, just because of him?

Zell was among the Aiel sprinting to Duncan’s place—or Duncan’s wife’s place, more accurately. “Rand, get going! We have to get there before they do!” he called.

He ran, and many others ran with him, but in the end they were not needed. Between Lan, Rhuarc and Duncan, not to mention Moiraine and Amys, the Grey Men did not manage to harm anyone who rested under that roof. That was good, but Rand still ground his teeth as he stood among the milling crowd outside. If he’d been paying more attention to his own defences, then perhaps no harm would have visited the Roof of the Maidens either.

Renay touched his arm hesitantly. “She died with honour. She would have been glad to know you would mourn her, but she died with honour. That is a good thing.”

“She died,” he said harshly.

There were familiar faces all around. Merile shivering in her shift. Dani and Ilyena, fully dressed at last, but looking more uncomfortable than the half-naked Tinker. Many of the Maidens were conflicted, Zell and Giladin were confused. Jarasai scornful. Even Mat was there, with his spear held before him and Acavi at his side. There were all suddenly annoying. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to hit something.

Izana might not have understood either, but at least he was trying. He studied the Maidens, and the nearby Accepted, and shook his head slowly. “Rand, you have broad experience ...”

“Keep your imagination in check, Shienaran,” Ilyena warned.

Izana’s blushes were spared by the arrival of Rand’s aunt, Sunadai, blessedly unhurt and with her similarly unbloodied family gathered around her. Rand didn’t think she would have needed to push through the crowd even if she hadn’t been a Wise One, such was her presence.

“Shadowspawn in Iron Hold. I would call it a dark time, except ...” She gestured to the orange globe above them all. “Is this thing of your making, Rand? Very ... dramatic.” A frown creased her brows. “What are you so upset about?”

Renay explained for him, but if Rand had expected sympathy from his aunt he would have been disappointed. “Dramatic, indeed. Grow up,” she told him. “Death comes with being an Aiel. There are times when death is hard to accept, but if you do not get over it, there is no future.”

Rand looked away, jaw set. He saw Merile watching him, and wondered if there would ever come a time when he would be fine with her dying. “I won’t accept that!” he growled.

“Hey! Stop dreaming!” Jecht scoffed. “The world is what it is. You sound even more like a child now.”

Rand’s fists knotted but, even surrounded by their disapproval, he refused to budge. A stirring among the Aiel provided a welcome distraction. Rhuarc was coming, flanked by Moiraine and, surprisingly, Aviendha. She must have taken her promise to Elayne very seriously, given how relieved she was to see him unhurt.

“Why are you all loitering here?” the chief asked of no-one and everyone. “There may yet be Grey Men in the hold, waiting to strike. Search every roof, and every path, and every lookout post.”

Raising their veils, most of the Aiel dispersed to do just that. Rand, and those closest to him, did not. “Have you warned the Shaido?” he asked. Couladin was no friend of his, but the Shadow was the greater threat. “They might have been targeted, too.”

Rhuarc grunted. “I doubt that. And I could not in any case. Couladin and the Shaido folded their tents at nightfall. We are well rid of them. I sent runners to make sure they leave Taardad land without taking a few goats or sheep with them.”

A chill ran up Rand’s spine. He felt his eyes widen, so he lashed out at the great globe of light, severing the ties that maintained it and casting Iron Hold back into concealing night. Sounds of surprised annoyance came from all around, but at least they couldn’t see him.

“Which way did they go?” he asked, glad of how calm his voice sounded.

“East,” Rhuarc told him. “No doubt Couladin means to meet Sevanna on her way to Alcair Dal to influence her against you. He may succeed. The only reason she laid her bridal wreath at Suladric’s feet instead of his was that she meant to wed a clan chief. But I told you to expect trouble from her. Sevanna delights in causing trouble. It should not matter. If the Shaido will not follow you, they are small loss.”

“I mean to go to Alcair Dal,” Rand said firmly. “Now. I will apologize to any chief who feels dishonoured by coming late, but I’ll not let Couladin be there any longer before me than I can manage. He won’t stop at turning Sevanna against me, Rhuarc. I cannot afford to hand him a month for it.”

After a moment, Rhuarc said, “Perhaps you are right. You bring change, Rand al’Thor. At sunrise, then. I will choose out ten Red Shields for my honour, and the Maidens will provide yours.”

“I mean to be leaving when first light hits the sky, Rhuarc. With every hand that can carry a spear or draw a bow.”

“Custom—”

He made his voice cold. He had to. How else could he make happen what had to happen? “There are no customs to cover me, Rhuarc. I have to make new customs.” He laughed roughly. Aviendha looked shocked, and even Rhuarc blinked, taken aback. Only Moiraine was unaffected, with those considering eyes. “Someone had best let the peddlers know,” Rand continued. “They won’t want to miss the fair. What of you, Mat? Are you coming?”

“Oh, I am right behind you, Rand,” Mat said, though he sounded far from pleased to say it. His lips twisted. “I guess I am.” Shouldering his spear, he strode off across the caldera, bound for bed rather than to join the search, if Rand knew him at all.

Merile fumbled for his hand in the darkness. Her fingers were very cold. He’d need to get her indoors soon. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

He squeezed her hand. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he promised. _And if I ever break that promise, I’ll let the Dark One kill me and know I deserve it_ , he didn’t add.

One of the Aiel who had lingered after Rhuarc gave his order was Giladin. It was hard to tell in the moonlight, but he looked troubled as he stepped closer. “Rand. Listen, I am sorry for not standing by you during the attack.”

“You don’t need—” he began, but Giladin cut him off.

“No, I do. It is my duty. I am honour-bound to always protect you.”

“Things happened fast, so I didn’t even notice.”

“Oh.”

Only on hearing that crestfallen sound did Rand realise how dismissive his words had been. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said feebly.

Giladin raised his hands. “No, it is fine. It was chaos. I will just make sure I do not miss it again, is all. Any other attackers will have to get through me first.”

“That is not your role, Stone Dog,” Lidya said firmly. The other Maidens were looking at Giladin no more kindly than she was.

Hoping to stave off conflict, Rand sought a middle ground. “I don’t need protecting but I could use a friend,” he said.

Giladin nodded his understanding. “I get that. And we are friends, but ... The point is, I’m around. If you need me.”

“Thanks, Giladin. That means a lot,” Rand said. “You’ll have more attackers to fight. I have no doubt of that.”

“Okay. Right, then. Good. I will be by your side in the next fight. If you need me there, of course.”

Rand looked from him to Mat, or to the dark patch of night that Mat had sauntered off into. Mat was no longer there, of course. And Tam was nowhere to be seen either. But the Aiel were there. All around him. And some of them ... some of them had started to feel like friends. And family.

Troubled in his thoughts, Rand allowed the Maidens to lead him and Merile back to their bed. He would need to catch as much sleep as he could. There was a hard march ahead of them tomorrow.


	81. Into the Palace

Seated on the tail end of the high-wheeled cart trundling up a twisty Tanchican street behind four sweating men, Elayne scowled through the grimy veil that covered her from eyes to chin, kicking her bare feet irritably. Every lurch over the paving stones jarred her to the top of her skull; the more she braced herself by holding on to the rough wooden planks of the cart bed, the worse it was. It did not seem to bother Nynaeve much; she jounced about like Elayne, but, frowning slightly and eyes looking inward, she appeared hardly aware of it. And Egeanin, crowded against Nynaeve on the other side, veiled and with her dark hair in braids to her shoulders, rode each jolt easily; arms folded. Finally Elayne emulated the Seanchan woman; she could not avoid swaying into Nynaeve, but the ride no longer felt as if her lower teeth were going to be driven through the upper.

Seated on the second cart, as roughly clad as them, Keestis and the others looked just as uncomfortable. Elayne would have walked gladly, even barefoot, but Ragan had said it would not look right; people might wonder why women were not riding when there was plenty of room, and the last thing they wanted was anyone thinking about them twice. Of course _he_ was not being bounced about like a sack of turnips; he was walking, at the head of the cart with his fellow soldiers, now with their topknots hidden beneath those little Taraboner hats.

Shimoku held the reins of their cart, leaning down now to say something to Ragan. The news she had brought was why they were in such a jouncing hurry to get to the Panarch’s Palace. Nataly was on her way to see Liandrin. Whether she meant confront her or to join forces, none of them could say, but the distraction she would provide was just what they had been waiting for. Now they only had to get past the Whitecloaks.

The morning’s cloudless sky still stretched grey overhead; the streets were still largely empty, and silent except for the rumble of the carts and the creak of their axles. The few people she saw were knots of men in baggy trousers and dark cylindrical caps, scuttling along with the furtive air of having been up to no good while dark had held. The old piece of canvas tossed over the cart’s load was carefully arranged so anyone could see it covered only three large baskets, yet even so one or another of those small clusters would pause like a pack of dogs, veiled faces all coming up together, eyes swivelling to follow the cart. Apparently half a dozen armed men were too many to face, because all eventually hurried on.

The wheels dropped into a large hole where paving stones had been pried up in one of the riots; the cart fell away beneath her. She almost bit her tongue as she and the cart bed met again with a hard smack. Egeanin and her casual arm-folding! Grabbing the edge of the cart bed, she frowned at the Seanchan woman. And found her tight-lipped and holding on with both hands also.

“Not quite the same as standing on deck, after all,” Egeanin said with a shrug.

Nynaeve grimaced slightly and tried to edge away from the Seanchan woman, though how she might manage it without climbing into Elayne’s lap was difficult to see. Neither of them was comfortable with the idea of freeing her, but they had agreed that it was necessary; Egeanin was a known figure in Tanchico, one who had rubbed shoulders with many of the city’s merchants. They would need her for their deception to succeed. It was only the unlikelihood of the Seanchan betraying them to either the Whitecloaks or the Black Ajah that had convinced Elayne. None of those groups—vile though they all might be—were on good terms with the others.

The women all wore drab brown wool, thin-woven but coarse and not very clean, poor farm women’s dresses like shapeless sacks compared with the clinging silks of Rendra’s taste. Poor commoners earning a meal as they could; that was what they were supposed to be. Egeanin’s relief at her first sight of the dresses had been as evident as it was strange.

There had been quite a lot of discussion—that was what the men called it—in the Chamber of Falling Blossoms, but she and Nynaeve had countered most of their fool objections and ignored the rest. They had to enter the Panarch’s Palace, and as soon as possible. That was when Ragan had raised another objection, one not as silly as the rest.

“You can’t go into the palace alone, Nynaeve. If none of you are allowed to channel unless it’s vital, to avoid alerting the Black Ajah, then you must have some of us nearby in case words fail and muscle is needed.”

“You do look too suspicious,” Emara had objected. “Words be sure to fail if we be seen with Shienaran soldiers. Fortune! There no be many of you wandering so far south. No. Stealth be our weapon here.”

“You are a fool, Illianer,” Juilin said contemptuously before she or Nynaeve could open their mouths. “You think the Taraboners will allow you to wander about the palace as you wish? A scruffy girl from Illian in one of their palaces? You would be confronted immediately. I know the ways of servants, how to duck my head and make some empty-headed noble think ...” He cleared his throat hastily, and hurried on without looking at Nynaeve—or at her! “I will come with you all. It would be best if you let me do the talking”

“You know what you have to do,” Nynaeve snapped at him, “and you cannot do it trying to watch over us like a flock of geese for market!” Taking a deep breath, she went on, in a milder tone. “If there was a way you could come along, I’d appreciate the extra eyes if nothing else, but it cannot be, and that is all there is to it.”

“I can accompany you,” Egeanin announced suddenly from where Nynaeve had made her stand in the corner of the room. Everybody turned to look at her; she frowned back as though not quite certain herself. “I am known in this city. My presence would help with your deception. And these women are Darkfriends. They should be brought to justice.”

Elayne was suspicious of the offer, and Nynaeve, the corners of her mouth going white, looked ready to drub the woman for it. “You think we would trust you, Seanchan?” she said coldly. “Before we leave, you’ll be locked securely in a storeroom however much talk it—”

“I give oath by my hope of a higher name,” Egeanin broke in, putting her hands over her heart, one atop the other, “that I will not betray you in any way, that I will obey you and guard your backs until you are safely out of the Panarch’s Palace.” Then she bowed three times, deeply and formally. Elayne had no idea what “hope of a higher name” meant, but the Seanchan woman certainly made it sound binding.

“I think she means it,” Katsui said, standing with his arms folded across his broad chest.

“She is always talking about oaths. I would say they take them as seriously as they should,” Shimoku agreed.

Elayne’s lips thinned. If Egeanin had been anything other than Seanchan ... But she was. And she could not bring herself to trust one of _them_. She made note of the woman’s words, too. Until they were safely out of the palace. And once they were, with the male _a’dam_ in hand, what then? Nynaeve frowned at her hand gripping half a dozen of her long braids, then quite deliberately gave them a yank.

“Nynaeve,” Emara told her firmly, “you yourself did say you would like another pair of eyes, and I do definitely want some. Besides which, if we be doing this with no channelling, I would no mind having someone along who be able to handle a nosy guard if needed. I no be up to thumping men with my fists, and neither do you be. You remember how she can fight.”

Nynaeve glared at Egeanin, frowned at Emara, and then stared at the men as if they had plotted this behind her back. At last, though, she nodded.

The cart jerking to a halt brought Elayne out of her reverie.

Dismounted Whitecloaks were questioning Ragan. Here the street ran into a square behind the Panarch’s Palace, a much smaller square than the one in front. Beyond, the palace stood in piles of white marble, slender towers banded with lacy stonework, snowy domes capped with gold and topped by golden spires or weather vanes. The streets to either side were much wider than most in Tanchico, and straighter.

The slow clop-clop of a horse’s hooves on the square’s broad paving stones announced another rider, a tall man in burnished helmet, armour gleaming beneath his white cloak with its golden sunburst and crimson shepherd’s crook. Elayne put her head down; the three knots of rank under the flaring sun told her this was Alsalam Arca. The man had never seen her, but if he thought she was staring he might wonder why. The hooves passed on along the square without pausing.

Egeanin went to meet him, identifying herself as a merchant recently fallen on hard times. When he frowned down at her and asked if he’d seen her somewhere before, she mentioned having seen him in passing at the Garden of Silver Breezes. If anything, that just made him look even more suspicious, and for a moment Elayne feared the Seanchan had betrayed them after all, but whatever he saw in her eyes mollified Arca somewhat. When she told him she had a gift for the Panarch, one she hoped would win her patronage, he shrugged irritably and commanded his men to pass her by.

While Elayne breathed a quiet sigh of relief, Nynaeve frowned openly after the Inquisitor. “That man is very worried about something,” she murmured. “I hope he’s not heard—”

“The Panarch is dead!” a man’s voice shouted from somewhere across the square. “They’ve killed her!”

There was no telling who had shouted, or where. The streets Elayne could see were blocked by Whitecloaks on horses.

Looking back down the street the cart had just climbed, she wished the carts could move faster. People were gathering down at the first bend, milling about and peering up toward the square. It seemed Juilin had done a good job of seeding his rumours during the night. Now if only things did not erupt while they sat out here in the middle of it. If a riot started now ... The only thing that kept her hands from shaking was her double grip on the cart bed. _Light, a mob out here and the Black Ajah inside, maybe Moghedien ... I’m so frightened my mouth is dry_. Nynaeve and Egeanin were watching the crowd growing down the street, too, and not even blinking, much less trembling _. I will not be a coward. I will not!_

Before gates not much wider than the cart Egeanin was questioned again, by men in pointed helmets, their breastplates embossed with a tree painted gold. Soldiers of the Panarch’s Legion. The questions were shorter this time; Elayne thought she saw a small purse change hands, and then they were inside, rumbling across the rough-paved yard outside the kitchens. Ragan’s armsmen remained outside with the soldiers.

Elayne hopped down as soon as the cart halted, working her bare feet on the paving; the uneven stones were hard. It was difficult to believe the thin sole of a slipper could make so much difference. Egeanin and Keestis scrambled up into the carts to pass the baskets out, Nynaeve taking the first on her back, one hand twisted behind her underneath, the other over her shoulder to grip the rim. Long white peppers, a little wizened by their journey all the way from Saldaea, filled the baskets nearly to the top.

As Elayne was taking hers, Shimoku came to the end of the cart and pretended to inspect the ice peppers. “The Whitecloaks and the Panarch’s Legion are close to blows, it seems,” she murmured, fingering peppers. “That lieutenant told Ragan that the Legion could protect the Panarch themselves if most of the Legion had not been sent to the ring forts. The Inquisitor has access to the Panarch, but the Lord Captain of the Legion does not. And they are not pleased that all the guards inside the palace are Civil Watch. A suspicious woman might say someone wants the Panarch’s guards to watch each other more than anything else.”

“That is good to know,” Nynaeve murmured.

Hefting her own basket on her back, Elayne followed the other women behind Egeanin, keeping her head down and wincing at every step until she was on the reddish-brown tiles of the kitchen. The smells of spices and cooking meat and sauces filled the room.

“Ice peppers for the Panarch,” Egeanin announced. “A gift from Egeanin Sarna, a merchant working in this city.”

“More of the ice peppers?” a stout, dark-braided woman in a white apron and the ever-present veil said, barely looking up from a silver tray where she was arranging an ornately folded white napkin among dishes of thin, golden Sea Folk porcelain. There were a dozen or more aproned women in the kitchen, as well as a pair of boys turning dripping roasts on spits in two of the six fireplaces, but clearly she was the chief cook. “Well, the Panarch, she seems to have enjoyed the last. Into the storeroom there.” She gestured vaguely toward one of the doors on the far side of the room. “I have no time to bother with you now.”

Elayne kept her eyes on the floor as she trailed after Egeanin and the others, sweating, and not for the heat of the iron stoves and fireplaces. A skinny woman in green silk not of Tarabon cut stood beside one of the wide tables, scratching the ears of a scrawny grey cat as it lapped cream from a porcelain dish. The cat named her, as well as her narrow face and wide nose. Marillin Gemalphin, once of the Brown Ajah, now of the Black. If she looked up from that cat, if she really became aware of them, there would be no need for channelling for her to know that most of them could; this close the woman would be able to sense the ability itself.

Sweat dripped from the end of Elayne’s nose by the time she pushed the storeroom door shut behind her with a hip. “Did you see her?” she demanded in a low voice, letting her basket half-fall to the floor. Fretwork carved through the plastered wall just under the ceiling let in dim light from the kitchen. Rows of tall shelves filled the floor of the large room, laden with sacks and net bags of vegetables and large jars of spice. Barrels and casks stood everywhere, and a dozen dressed lambs and twice as many geese hung on hooks. According to the sketchy floorplan Juilin had procured, this was the smallest storeroom for food in the palace. “This is disgusting,” she said. “I know Rendra keeps a full kitchen, but at least she buys what she needs as she can. These people have been feasting while—”

“Hold your concern until you can do something about it,” Nynaeve told her in a sharp whisper. She had upended her basket on the floor and was stripping off her rough farm woman’s dress. Egeanin was already down to her shift. “I did see her. If you want her to come in here to see what the noise is about, keep talking.”

Elayne sniffed, but let it pass. She had not been making that much noise. Pulling off her own dress, she dumped the peppers out of her basket, and what had been hidden under them as well.

Among other things, a dress of white belted in green, fine-spun wool embroidered above the left breast with a green tree of spreading branches. Her grimy veil was replaced by a clean one, of linen scraped nearly as sheer as silk. White slippers with padded soles were welcome on feet bruised by that walk from cart to kitchen.

The Seanchan woman had been the first out of her old clothes, but she was the last into her white garment, muttering all the while about “indecent” and “serving girl”, which made no sense. The dresses were servants’ dresses; the whole point was that servants could go anywhere and a palace had too many for anyone to notice seven more. And as for indecent ... Elayne could remember being a touch hesitant about wearing the Tarabon style in public, but she had become used to it soon enough, and even this thin wool could not cling as silk did. Egeanin seemed to have very strict ideas of modesty.

Eventually, though, the woman had done up her last lace, and the farm clothes had been stuffed into the baskets and covered with ice peppers.

“You all know your tasks,” Nynaeve said.

Emara nodded. “Nataly will enter through the front gate. She be too proud to use a servants’ entrance. We will find her there, Fortune willing.”

“Remember to keep your distance,” Elayne cautioned. “Don’t risk them sensing your ability. Just watch them, and listen to what is said if you can.”

“I still say I should come with you,” Egeanin said to Elayne. “If there is fighting, it will be around the noble who rules this place.”

“The three of us can deal with that problem should it arise,” said Elayne. It would have been impolitic to tell the woman how little she wanted to be around her, especially when she was giving every impression of being genuine. _She is Seanchan. Remember what they did! What they do!_

“Enough chatting!” Nynaeve hissed. “I want to be in and out as quickly as possible.”

Keestis put on confident grin. “Alright, then. Teamwork is of the utmost importance. Let’s get through this, everyone!”

Marillin Gemalphin was gone from the kitchen, though the raggedy-eared grey cat still lapped cream on the table. Elayne and the others started for the door that led deeper into the palace.

One of the undercooks was frowning at the cat, fist on her ample hips. “I would like to strangle this cat,” she muttered, pale brown braids swinging as she shook her head angrily. “It eats the cream, and because I put the drop of cream on the berries for my breakfast, I have the bread and water for my meals!”

“Count yourself lucky you are not out in the street, or swinging from the gallows.” The chief cook did not sound sympathetic. “If a lady says you have stolen, then you have stolen, even if it is the cream for her cats, yes? You, there!”

Elayne and her companions froze at the shout.

The dark-braided woman shook a long wooden spoon at them. “You come into my kitchen and stroll about as in the garden, you lazy sows you? You have come for the breakfast of the Lady Ispan, yes? If you do not have it there when she wakes, you will learn how to jump. Well?” She gestured at the silver tray she had been labouring over before, covered now with a snowy linen cloth.

There was no way to speak; if any one of them opened her mouth, her first words would show her no Taraboner. Thinking quickly, Elayne bobbed a servant’s curtsy and picked up the tray; a servant carrying something was going about her work and not likely to be stopped or told to do something else. Lady Ispan? Not an uncommon name in Tarabon, but there was an Ispan among the Black sisters.

“So you mock me, do you, you little cow you?” the stout woman roared, and started around the table waving her thick wooden spoon threateningly.

There was nothing to do without giving herself away; nothing but stay and be hit, or run. Elayne darted out of the kitchen with the tray, Nynaeve and the others at her heels. The cook’s shouts followed them, but not the cook, thankfully. An image of them all running through the palace pursued by the stout woman made Elayne want to giggle hysterically. _Mock her?_ She was sure that had been exactly the same curtsy servants had given her thousands of times.

More storerooms lined the narrow hallway leading away from the kitchen, and tall cupboards for brooms and mops, buckets and soaps, linens for tables, and all sorts of assorted things. Nynaeve found a fat feather duster in one. Ronelle claimed a bucket from another while Emara filled her arms with some towels. Egeanin took an armful of folded towels, too, and a stout stone pestle out of a mortar in a third. She hid the pestle under the towels.

“A cudgel is sometimes handy,” she said when Elayne raised an eyebrow. “Especially when no-one expects you to have it.”

Nynaeve sniffed but said nothing. She had hardly acknowledged Egeanin at all since agreeing to her presence. The three of them would need to reach the entry before Nataly arrived, but Ronelle hesitated. “Egeanin should go with you, Nynaeve. Your part is the most important. If one of us needs someone to watch her back, it is you.”

“I’ve no need for a Seanchan! Go on about your task, and leave me to mine.” Shouldering her duster like a pike, Nynaeve strode off down the hall. She really did not move like a servant. Not with that militant stride. Ronelle and Emara exchanged looks and shrugs before hurrying off, with Egeanin right behind them. Elayne and the others turned the other way, and hastened after Nynaeve.

Deeper in the palace the hallways broadened and heightened, the white walls carved with friezes and the ceilings set with gleaming arabesques of gold. Long, bright carpets ran along white-tiled floors. Ornate golden lamps on gilded stands gave light and the scent of perfumed oil. Sometimes the corridor opened into courtyards rounded by walks with slim, fluted columns, overlooked by balconies screened by filigreed stonework. Large fountains burbled; fish red and white and golden swam beneath lily pads with huge white flowers. Not at all like the city outside.

Occasionally they saw other servants, men and women in white and green, trees embroidered on one breast, hurrying about their tasks, or men in the grey coats and steel caps of the Civil Watch carrying staffs or cudgels. No-one spoke to them or even looked twice, not at four serving women obviously at their work.

At last they came to the narrow servants’ stairs marked on their sketchy map. Elayne and Nynaeve looked at each other. She wished the other woman didn’t look so concerned. She was nervous enough as it was. “Don’t forget the _angreal_ ,” she said quietly.

“I won’t,” Nynaeve said, just as quietly. “Remember, if there are guards on her door, leave. If she is not alone, leave. She is far from the most important reason we are here.” She strode off alone.

Elayne opened her mouth, intent on trying one last time to convince her to take one of Shimoku or Keestis with her, but then a trumpet sounded faintly from outside. A moment later a gong rang inside, and shouted orders drifted down the hall. Men in steel caps appeared for a moment down the hallway, running.

“Maybe we will not have to worry about guards on her door,” Elayne said. The riot had begun in the streets. Rumours spread by Juilin to gather the crowd. A few thugs paid by Egeanin to egg them on. She regretted the necessity, but the disturbance would pull most of the guards out of the palace, maybe all with luck. Those people out there did not know it, but they fought in a battle to save their city from the Black Ajah and the world from the Shadow. Nynaeve had passed out of sight around a corner.

“Should we not be about our task?” Shimoku said. She sounded worried. “The riot will not hold attention completely for long. And if it gets too big, Ragan and the others might get caught up in it.”

Elayne nodded. She led the way up the narrow stairs that had been hidden in the wall, to keep servants as unseen as possible. The corridors on the second floor were much as those on the first, except that double-pointed arches were almost as likely to give onto a stone-latticed balcony as onto a room. There seemed to be far fewer servants as they made their way to the west side of the palace, and none more than glanced at them. Wonderfully, the hallway outside the Panarch’s apartments was empty. No guards in front of the wide, tree-carved doors set in a double-peaked frame. Not that she had meant to retreat had there been guards, no matter what she had told Nynaeve, but it did make things simpler.

A moment later she was not so sure. She could feel someone channelling in those rooms. Not strong flows, but definitely the Power being woven, or maybe a weave maintained. Few women knew the trick of tying a weave.

“I feel it, too,” said Keestis. Fear and anger warred upon her beautiful face.

Elayne realized they had stopped in the corridor, all three Accepted staring at the closed doors.

“One of the Black sisters is in there.” Shimoku whispered. Her hands knotted in her skirt. “Do you think it is Falion?” She and Keestis did not look much alike, but they could almost have passed for sisters in that moment, so similar were their expressions. Both had suffered at the hands of the Black Ajah. Falion had been the one to oversee Shimoku’s torment. It was only natural that she would fear her and want revenge.

“One Black sister that we know of,” Elayne said quietly. Could there be more? Only one channelling, certainly. She pressed close to the doors. A woman was _singing_ in there. She put her ear to the carved wood, heard raucous words, muffled yet clearly understandable.

“ _My breasts are round, and my hips are, too._

 _I can flatten a whole ship’s crew_.”

Startled, she jerked back, porcelain dishes sliding on the tray under the cloth. Had she somehow come to the wrong room? No, she had memorized the sketch. Besides, in the entire palace the only doors carved with the tree led to the Panarch’s apartments.

“If the other Darkfriends in the palace feel us channel, they will think it is whoever is in there,” she whispered as Keestis and Shimoku came to join her at the door. Frowning, she bit her lower lip. How many were there? She could do at least three or four things at once with the Power, something only Nynaeve could match. She ran down a list of Andoran queens who had shown courage in the face of great danger, until she realized it was a list of all the queens of Andor _. I will be queen one day; I can be as brave as they_. Readying herself, she said, “Throw open the doors, Shimoku, then drop down so I can see everything.” The Kaltori, who was the weakest of those Nynaeve had chosen save for Dani—when it came to the One Power, at least—hesitated. “Throw open the doors.” Elayne’s own voice surprised her. She had not tried to _make_ it anything, but it was quiet, calm, commanding. And Shimoku nodded, almost a bow, and immediately flung open both doors.

“ _My thighs are strong are strong as anchor chain. My kiss can burst—_ ”

The dark-braided singer, standing wrapped in flows of Air to her neck and a soiled, wrinkled Taraboner gown of red silk, cut off short as the doors banged back. A frail-appearing woman, lounging in pale blue of a high-necked Cairhienin cut on a long padded bench, ceased nodding her head to the song and leaped to her feet, outrage replacing the grin on her fox-shaped face.

The glow of _saidar_ already surrounded Temaile, but she did not have a chance. Appalled at what she saw, Elayne embraced the True Source and lashed out hard with flows of Air, webbing her from shoulders to ankles, wove a shield of Spirit and slammed it between the woman and the Source. The glow around Temaile vanished, and she went flying across the bench as if she had been struck by a galloping horse, eyes rolling up into her head, to land unconscious on her back six feet away on the green-and-gold carpet. The dark-braided woman gave a start as the flows around her winked out of existence, felt at herself in wondering disbelief as she stared from Temaile to Elayne.

Tying off the weave holding Temaile, Elayne hurried into the room, eyes searching for others of the Black Ajah. Keestis strode in with her, her hands in fists and her teeth bared. A momentary worry crossed Elayne’s mind, for Temaile had been the one to order Keestis raped back in that awful dungeon, but she had other concerns just then. Shimoku closed the doors after them. There did not seem to be anyone else, but she needed to be certain. “Was she alone?” she demanded of the woman in red. The Panarch, by Nynaeve’s description. Nynaeve _had_ mentioned _some_ thing about a song.

“You are not ... with them?” Amathera said hesitantly, dark eyes taking in their dresses. “You are Aes Sedai also?” She seemed willing to doubt that despite the evidence of Temaile. “But not with them?”

“Was she alone?” Elayne snapped, and Amathera gave a little jump.

“Yes. Alone. Yes, she ...” The Panarch grimaced. “The others made me sit on my throne and speak the words they put into my mouth. It amused them to make me sometimes give justice, and sometimes pronouncements of horrible injustice, rulings that will cause strife for generations if I cannot put them aright. But her!” That full-lipped little mouth opened in a snarl. “Her they set to watch over me. She hurts me for no reason except to make me weep. She made me eat an entire trayful of white ice peppers and would not let me drink a drop until I begged on my knees while she laughed! In my dreams she hoists me to the top of the Tower of Morning by my ankles and lets me fall. A dream, but it seems real, and each time she lets me fall screaming a little nearer the ground. And she laughs! She makes me learn lewd dances, and filthy songs, and laughs when she tells me that before they leave she will make me sing and dance to entertain the—” With a shriek like a pouncing cat she threw herself across the bench onto the bound woman, slapping wildly, pummelling with her fists. Temaile’s head moved with each slap, and the whip coiled at her waist shook, but she did not regain conscious.

Keestis seemed ready to let it go on, or perhaps even join in, but Elayne wove flows of Air around Amathera’s waist. To her surprise she was able to lift her off the already senseless woman and set her on her feet. Perhaps learning how to handle those heavy weavings from Jorin had increased her strength.

Amathera kicked at Temaile, turning her glare on Elayne when her slippered feet missed. “I am the Panarch of Tarabon, and I mean to dispense justice to this woman!” Her mouth had a very sulky look. Had the woman no sense of herself, of her position? She was equal to the Meridarch, a ruler!

“And I am the Aes Sedai who has come to rescue you,” Elayne said coolly. Realizing she still held the tray, she set it on the floor hurriedly. The woman seemed to be having enough trouble seeing beyond the white servants’ dresses without that. Temaile’s face was quite red; she would wake to bruises. No doubt fewer than she deserved. Elayne wished there was a way to take Temaile with them. A way to bring even one to justice in the Tower. “We have come—at considerable risk!—to take you out of here. Then you can reach the Lord Captain of the Panarch’s Legion, and Andric and his army, and you can chase these women out. Perhaps we will be lucky enough to take some of them for trial. But first we must get you away from them.”

“I do not need Andric,” Amathera muttered. Elayne would have sworn she almost said “now”. “There are soldiers of my Legion around the palace. I know this. I have been allowed to speak to none of them, but once they see me, and hear my voice, they will do what must be done, yes? You Aes Sedai cannot use the One Power to harm ...” She trailed off, scowling at the unconscious Temaile. “You cannot use it as a weapon, at least, yes? I know this.”

Elayne surprised herself by weaving tiny flows of Air, one to each of Amathera’s braids. The braids lifted straight up into the air, and the pouty-mouth fool had no choice but to follow them up on tiptoe. Elayne walked her that way, on tiptoe, until the woman stood right in front of her, dark eyes wide and indignant.

“You will listen to me, Panarch Amathera of Tarabon,” she said in icy tones. “If you try to walk out to your soldiers, Temaile’s cronies may very well tie you up in a bundle and hand you back to her. Worse, they will learn that my friends and I are here, and that I will not allow. We are going to creep out of here, and if you will not agree to that, I’ll bind and gag you and leave you beside Temaile for her friends to find.” There _had_ to be some way to take Temaile, too. “Do you understand me?”

Amathera nodded slightly, held up as she was.

“You mean to _leave_ her here?” Keestis said incredulously.

“I wish it was otherwise. I wish there was a way to take her back to the Tower for trial, but we lack the means,” said Elayne.

Face hard, Keestis went to stand over Temaile. The Black sister hadn’t touched her herself, but she had taken great and cruel pleasure in setting two of their Warders on her ... and watching. Keestis trembled with revulsion as she knelt down to untie the whip from Temaile’s hip. It was a _ter’angreal_ , one that had been stolen by the Black sisters when they fled the Tower. It was right that Keestis take it from them now. She tied it to her own belt, where a simple knife hung, the kind that everyone carried for eating, doing chores, or last ditch defence. Keestis’ hand closed upon the hilt.

“A trial ... It’s good that you value those. You being a queen and all.” Her hand trembled. Elayne knew what she would do then. She knew it, and knew she should stop it. But she just stood there. When Keestis looked at her, there were tears in her eyes. “But I am no queen. And this creature is too dangerous to be left alive.” So saying, she drew her knife and stabbed it into Temaile’s throat.

She left it lodged there. Temaile did not wake up, but that is not to say that she did not struggle for life. The even breaths of the unconscious woman grew ragged and desperate as she reached for air and dragged in only her own blood. She choked, she spluttered ... and then she did nothing. She would never do anything again.

Elayne shuddered. Her stomach threatened to betray her. Behind her, she could hear Shimoku whispering a prayer, but her eyes were only for Keestis. If the other woman had hoped to find satisfaction in her revenge, she had been disappointed. She looked disgusted, horrified, and very, very pale.

Amathera shook her head slowly. “You Aes Sedai ... You are even worse than they say.”

Elayne loosed the flows; the woman’s heels dropped to the carpet. She had no intention of explaining the difference between Aes Sedai, Black Ajah, and Accepted just then. “All the more reason for you to cooperate. Now let’s see if we can find you something to wear that is suitable for sneaking.” Amathera nodded again, but her mouth was set at its sulkiest. Elayne hoped Nynaeve and the others were having an easier time of it.

* * *

Egeanin kept her head well down, the better to hide her face. None of the _marath’damane_ would have recognised her, of course, but she was sure that one glance at her face would rouse their suspicions. There was simply no way to keep her features properly composed while her thoughts were in such turmoil. Perhaps one of the High Blood could have managed it, but she was not of that class. Not yet.

She had eaten at table with _marath’damane_ —with Aes Sedai!—and found them to be relatively pleasant company, despite their great suspicion. And now here she was, helping them to hunt yet more _marath’damane_ , some of which served the Shadow. This was not what she had imagined herself doing when she was chosen to serve in the _Hailene_. If that Seeker was still around ... If any of her fellow Seanchan had seen her in company with these women ... It would be as much as her life was worth.

They kept well back from the Darkfriends as they moved through the palace, she and Ronelle and Emara making a great show of cleaning as they went. The distance kept them from drawing attention but it made it impossible to hear what was being said, too. They were an arrogant group, these _marath’damane_. She could tell that much by looking.

The two local women looked to be the most arrogant of all. Dressed in blue or red, but with matching hair of golden braids, they looked to be competing to see who could raise their nose the highest, or sneer the hardest. It was a poor imitation of the Blood. The Blood did not lower themselves enough to sneer. They had slaves to do that for them.

Liandrin was the one in red, and Nataly the one in blue, Emara had told her. Their former Ajahs were rivals, for whatever that was worth. Or Liandrin’s former Ajah, at least. And possibly Nataly’s as well. Watching them, Egeanin thought it likely that she, too, was a Darkfriend. If she was not part of their conspiracy, Nataly had either an abundance of courage or a near criminal lack of sense, to stand among so many of the enemy and give off so arrogantly.

The five other women who walked behind Liandrin were a disparate bunch, save for that oddly ageless quality to their faces. Emara and Ronelle had not named them for Egeanin, preferring to concentrate on not being noticed.

She rubbed her cloth over a delicate vase as she trailed after the women, eyes lowered, trying to look as busy and as unremarkable as possible. Liandrin led her fellow Aes Sedai to a private room, the door of which she disdained to open herself, as if she was one of the Blood. She snapped at a passing servant who was being lax in his duties, demanding the man open the door for her. Bowing low and looking scared, he hastened to obey as Egeanin drifted closer.

Not to be outdone, Nataly swept off her cloak and handed it to the man. “See that this is well cleaned and then bring it back to me, yes? I hope you can manage at least that much, though I would not be surprised if it were otherwise,” she said. She had an impressively busty figure, one that outstripped Liandrin’s in terms of curviness, a fact she made a great show of noticing. It was at the serving man that she smirked, though. “My, you’re not mad? Do commoners have no pride?”

She did not look at Liandrin but the other woman’s nostrils flared. “Me, I do not have time to waste on the servants. Why are you here, Nataly?” she said as she stalked into the room.

Once the others had followed and the door had closed behind them, Egeanin turned to her companions. “Now what?”

“There was a balcony in the room,” reported Ronelle, who had been mopping up on the other side of the corridor. “Perhaps it has some of those fretworks, to air the palace.”

Emara nodded. “Try the adjacent rooms. We could listen from there.”

They approached the nearest room cautiously, listening at the door for some time before Egeanin creaked it open a few inches to peer inside. It was an empty sitting room. They moved faster then, slipping inside and closing the door as quickly as they could without slamming it. There was indeed fretwork along the top and bottom of the wall, the stone there having been carved into interlocking triangles with gaps in their middles. Emara pressed her finger to her lips unnecessarily. They might be able to hear what the Darkfriends were saying in the other room, but anything _they_ said could be heard as well.

Setting their cleaning tools aside, the three women crept closer, going to the tiled floor by silent agreement, the better to peer into the next room. It was hard to hear what was being said at first, something about jurisdictions and interference. Nataly was demanding to know why so many other Aes Sedai were in Tarabon these days, and where Muriel was.

One of the other _marath’damane_ chuckled at that, and said that whoever this Muriel was would not be joining them. Egeanin knew the woman was dead, just from the way the Darkfriend had spoken, but Nataly remained oblivious.

“You are getting above yourselves,” she told them, just as if they did not outnumber her six to one. “You may not be required to ask my permission, as I told your fellows before, but I am still the Meridarch’s advisor. I should be appraised of all goings on in Tanchico, that I might decide how the nation is best to be ruled.”

As Egeanin crawled closer to the bottom frieze, she saw a woman with a white streak in her dark hair frown at the blue-clad Aes Sedai. “What ‘fellows’ do you speak of?”

But the red-clad Aes Sedai broke in angrily before the other could answer. “ _Above_ ourselves? _You_ should decide? Typical Blue! Typical noble!”

Nataly’s gasp was echoed by the two women lingering on the floor behind Egeanin. She looked back to caution them and found both women wide-eyed. Ronelle mouthed something at her. It was hard to tell what but she thought she meant, “They are channelling.”

When she looked back the six Darkfriends had converged on the other _marath’damane_ , acting under the snapped orders of a furious Liandrin.

“U-Unhand me! Don’t strip off a lady’s clothes in public, you shameless beasts!” Nataly said. Despite Egeanin’s cautions, the two women with her gasped again. _Light! These sheltered fools are going to get us discovered_. Had they never seen war before? The Ever-Victorious Army was the most highly trained force in the world, but rapes still happened. It was simply a fact of war, and of life.

“... When you commit this atrocity, are you aware I’m from the Shindula and Maqui families!?” Nataly asked foolishly.

“Very aware of it!” Liandrin said with naked satisfaction. She was not truly naked, though, as Egeanin saw when she peered into the other room again. That status was reserved for Nataly, whose fine dress had been reduced to a narrow band of fabric, one that covered her waist but left her kicking legs and bouncing breasts exposed for all to see. Liandrin was seated on a cushioned chair with the other woman bundled across her knees, struggling vainly against the invisible bonds that tied her arms behind her back. “The snobbery, it will make this all the more satisfying, yes?”

“I do like to see the proud brought low,” said another of the Aes Sedai, a stern faced woman with brown hair. She and her fellows watched, but it was at Liandrin’s hand that Nataly would suffer.

That hand cracked across her fleshy bottom even as Egeanin watched, bringing a loud yelp and an even louder complaint. “Gh ... No mere Red can dare bring such disgrace to me and get away with it!”

Egeanin shook her head. _Foolish woman. You are only making it worse for yourself_.

Sure enough, the slapping hand returned, harder this time, striking over and over until Nataly’s bottom was no longer lily white but as red as a beet.

“Give me the rod, Asne,” Liandrin demanded. She held out her hand to a big-nosed woman with black hair, who hesitated for a moment before taking a bent black rod of some kind from her pouch and placing it in Liandrin’s hand. As soon as she had a good grip on it, Liandrin aimed the rod at Nataly’s crack.

Shocked sounds emerged from the bound woman. “W-what might you be doing? No woman such as yourself is allowed to touch me.” She gasped again when she felt the tip of the rod probe her sensitive parts. “S-stop that! How rude! When did I say you could—Nnah!?”

“Me, I do not need your permission for anything!” Liandrin declared. She smirked in satisfaction when she found what she was looking for.

Nataly’s brown eyes went very side. “Wait! What in the world is that!? Just what are you trying to do? That thing could never fit! Aah, stay back! You wouldn’t dare ...” But Liandrin did dare. She pushed the rod forward, despite the resistance that caused her arm to tremble slightly. “T-this isn’t funny. If you did that, I’d be the disgrace of the Tower—Hwah!?” Her resistance failed her, and the black rod slid into her body. “N-noooo! Hngh, s-splitting ... Aah! Take it ouut!”

“We can’t. They be too many,” she heard Emara whisper in response to something Ronelle had said. Egeanin couldn’t fault her logic, any more than she could fault Ronelle for wanting to help. But she _could_ fault their discipline. If they didn’t stay quiet, the three of them might find themselves getting a taste of what Nataly was getting.

“Mmm ... S-stop it ... That’s ... Nnaah!” the woman protested uselessly. Liandrin was unmistakably fucking her by then, moving the rod in and out of her with the angry determination of a fist fighter jabbing at his opponent. “Ah ... Stop that ... If you don’t, I’ll ... Ah, not there ...”

A surprising thing was happening. Liandrin’s other hand was full of Nataly’s hair but, while red-faced with understandable shame, there was a glazed look in the woman’s eyes.

“Tell your mistress what you are feeling, slut!” Liandrin demanded, and Nataly complied.

“Ngh ... I-I don’t even want it to feel good ...” she moaned. Words spilled out of her while Liandrin’s toy thrust in. “This is vexing ... Wah ...Mm ... I-I’m so ashamed! T-this is disgraceful ... And yet ... Nnah, ah ... My body’s hot ... Haaah! I can’t succumb to carnal desire ... I mustn’t besmirch the Shindula family’s name ... My chastity ... I can’t lose it now ... M-my first time can’t be with a Red ... If it were, I’d ... Guh ... What is this feeling ...? My butt’s getting hot ... Hot ... Aah, butt, good ... Nnaah, feels, good!”

The other Aes Sedai laughed. “Well, it didn’t take much to break her,” a plump, plain faced woman said. “A little taste of Compulsion and she becomes a whimpering slut.”

“This one, she was always a whimpering slut,” Liandrin said. Her hand tightened painfully in the other woman’s hair. “Weren’t you?”

A little light returned to Nataly’s eyes. “Ngh ... What is this? I’m—No, absolutely not!”

A cruel smiled curved the red-clad woman’s rosebud lips. “Then perhaps we should see what happens when I turn this on.”

“Huh? Oh no ... No, stop ... Not in my butt. You’ll break it!”

Her protestations only encouraged Liandrin, who did something to the rod lodged in Nataly’s behind, something that caused the Aes Sedai to scream so loudly that Egeanin had to cover her ears. The scream didn’t last very long, thankfully. When she peered into the room again, she saw Nataly slumped bonelessly across Liandrin’s knees, her ass raised high, the bent black rod protruding from it in a way that couldn’t help but draw the eye. _Poor woman_.

“A richly deserved punishment,” an amber-skinned Aes Sedai opined. Liandrin smiled at her almost happily. The others just laughed. Only once their laughter had trickled to an end did Egeanin hear what Nataly was mumbling.

“It’s ... I’m all so ... numb. Someone ... Someone help me ... Please help me ...”

Egeanin’s hands knotted into fists. It shamed her to lie there while a woman, even an Aes Sedai, was being tormented so close by, but what could she do? Emara was right. They could not win this fight. The gasping continued in the other room, but for some reason the sounds were no longer of pleasure, torment and amusement. Shock and fear were what she heard now.

“Who is that? So much Power ...”

Liandrin’s hand cracked across Nataly’s bottom once more. “Is this your doing, slut? Did you bring a Circle?”

“I don’t think that’s a Circle ...”


	82. Into the Deep

Nynaeve entered the great exhibition hall with its multitude of thin columns, feather duster already moving. This collection must always need dusting, and surely no-one would look twice at a woman doing what was needed. She looked around, eyes drawn to wired-together bones that looked like a long-legged horse with a neck that pushed its skull up twenty feet. The vast chamber stretched emptily in all directions.

But someone could come in at any moment; servants who actually _had_ been sent to clean, or Liandrin and all of her fellows come to search. Still holding the duster prominently, just in case, she hurried down to the white stone pedestal that had held the dull black collar and bracelets. She did not realize she had been holding her breath until she exhaled on seeing the things still there. The glass-sided table holding the _cuendillar_ seal lay another fifty paces on, but this came first.

Climbing over the wrist-thick white silk rope, she touched the wide, jointed collar. _Suffering. Agony. Woe_. They rolled through her; she wanted to weep. What kind of thing could absorb all that pain? Pulling her hand back, she glared at the black metal. Meant to control a man who could channel. Liandrin and her Black sisters meant to use it to control Rand, turn him to the Shadow, force him to serve the Dark One. Someone from her village, controlled and used by Aes Sedai! Black Ajah, but Aes Sedai as surely as Moiraine with her scheming! _Egeanin, making me like a filthy Seanchan!_

The sudden incongruity of the last thought hit her; abruptly she realized she was deliberately making herself angry, angry enough to channel. Except she didn’t need to do that anymore. Letting her anger melt away, she pictured a flower bud opening to the sun. She made herself relax mentally, while trying not to recall the things that had happened when she’d let herself relax physically, back in Tear with Rand. She embraced the Source; the Power filled her. And a serving woman with the green tree embroidered on her breast entered the columned hall.

Quivering with the urge to channel, Nynaeve waited, even lifting the duster, running the feathers over the collar and bracelets. The serving woman started down the pale floorstones; she would go in a moment, and Nynaeve could ... What? Slip the things into her belt pouch and take them, but ...

The serving woman would go? _Why did I think she’ll leave instead of staying to work?_ She glanced sideways up the room at the woman coming toward her. Of course. No broom or mop, no feather duster, not even a rag. _Whatever she’s here for, it cannot take lo—_

Suddenly she saw the woman’s face clearly. Sturdily handsome, framed by dark braids, smiling in an almost friendly fashion but not really paying her any mind. Certainly not threatening in any way. Not quite the same face, but she knew it.

Before thought she struck out, weaving a hammer-hard flow of Air to smash that face. In an instant the glow of _saidar_ surrounded the other women, her features changed—somehow more regal now, prouder, Moghedien’s face remembered; and startled as well, surprised that she had not approached unsuspected—and Nynaeve’s flow was sliced razor clean. She staggered under the whiplash recoil, like a physical blow, and the Forsaken struck with a complex weave of Spirit streaked by Water and Air. Nynaeve had no idea what it was meant to do; frantically she tried to cut it as she had seen the other woman do, with a keen-edged weave of Spirit. For a heartbeat she felt love, devotion, worship for the magnificent woman who would deign to allow her to ...

The intricate weave parted, and Moghedien missed a step. A tinge remained in Nynaeve’s mind, like a fresh memory of wanting to obey, to grovel and please, what had happened at their first meeting all over again; it heated her rage. The knife-sharp shield that Elayne had used to Still Amico Nagoyin sprang into being, more weapon than shield, lashed at Moghedien—and was blocked, woven Spirit straining against woven Spirit, just short of severing Moghedien from the Source forever. Again the Forsaken’s counterblow came, slashing like an axe, intended to cut Nynaeve off in the same way. Forever. Desperately Nynaeve blocked it.

Suddenly she realized that under her anger she was terrified. Holding off the other woman’s attempt to Still her while trying to do the same to her took everything she had. The Power boiled in her till she thought she must burst; her knees quivered with the effort of standing. And all went into those two things; she could not spare enough to light a candle. Moghedien’s axe of Spirit waxed and waned in sharpness, but that would not matter if the woman managed to drive it home; Nynaeve could not see any real difference in outcome between being Stilled by the woman and merely— _merely!_ — being shielded and at her mercy. The thing brushed against the flow of Power from the Source into her, like a knife hovering over a chicken’s stretched neck. The image was all too apt; she wished she had not thought of it. In the back of her mind a tiny voice gibbered at her. _Oh, Light, don’t let her. Don’t_ let _her! Light, please, not that!_

For a moment she considered letting go her own attempt to cut Moghedien off—for one thing, she had to keep forcing it back to a razor edge; the woven flows did not want to hold the keenness— letting go and using that strength to force Moghedien’s attack further back, maybe sever it. But if she tried, the other woman would not need to defend; she could add that strength to her own attack. And she was one of the Forsaken. Not just a Black sister. A woman who had been Aes Sedai in the Age of Legends, when Aes Sedai had been able to do things undreamed of now. If Moghedien threw her whole strength at her ...

A man who came in then, or any woman unable to channel, would have seen only two women facing each other across the white silk rope from a distance of less than ten feet. Two women staring at one another in a vast hall full of strange things. They would have seen nothing to say it was a duel. No leaping about and hacking with swords as men would do, nothing smashed or broken. Just two women standing there. But a duel all the same, and maybe to the death. Against one of the Forsaken.

“All my careful planning ruined,” Moghedien said abruptly in a tight, angry voice, white-knuckled hands gripping her skirts. “At the very least I shall have to go to untold effort to put everything back as it was. It may not be possible. Oh, I do mean to make you pay for that, Nynaeve al’Meara. This has been such a cosy hiding place, and those blind women have a number of very useful items in their possession even if they do not—” She shook her head, lips peeling back to bare her teeth in a snarl. “I think I will take you with me this time. I know. I shall keep you for a live mounting block. You will be brought out to kneel on all fours so I can step from your back to my saddle. Or perhaps I shall give you to Rahvin. He always repays favours. He does have a pretty little queen to amuse him now, but pretty women were always Rahvin’s weakness. He likes to have two or three or four at once dancing attendance on him. How will you like that? To spend the rest of your life competing for Rahvin’s favours. You will want to, once he has his hands on you; he has his little tricks. Yes, I do believe Rahvin shall have you.”

Anger welled up in Nynaeve. Sweat streamed down her face, and her legs shook as if they might give way, but anger gave her strength. Furious, she managed to push her weapon of Spirit a hair closer to severing Moghedien from the Source before the woman halted it again.

“So you discovered that little gem behind you,” Moghedien said in a moment of precarious balance. Surprisingly, her voice was almost conversational. “I wonder how you did that. It does not matter. Did you come to take it away? Perhaps to destroy it? You cannot destroy it. That is not metal, but a form of _cuendillar_. Even Balefire cannot destroy _cuendillar_. And if you mean to use it, it does have ... drawbacks, shall we say? Put the collar on a man who channels, and a woman wearing the bracelets can make him do whatever she wishes, true, but it will not stop him going mad, and there is a flow the other way, too. Eventually he will begin to be able to control you, too, so you end with a struggle at every hour. Not very palatable when he is going mad. Of course, you can pass the bracelets around, so no-one has too much exposure, but that does mean trusting someone else with him. Men are always so good at violence; they make wonderful weapons. Or two women can each wear one bracelet, if you have someone you trust enough; that slows the seepage considerably, I understand, but it also lessens your control, even if you work in perfect unison. Eventually, you will find yourselves in a struggle for control with him, each of you needing him to remove your bracelet as surely as he needs you to remove the collar.” She tilted her head, lifted a quizzical eyebrow. “You are following this, I trust? Controlling Lews Therin—Rand al’Thor as he is called now—would be most useful, but is it worth the price? You can see why I have left the collar and bracelets where they are.”

Trembling to contain the Power, to hold her woven flows, Nynaeve frowned. Why was the woman telling her all of this? Did she think it did not matter because she was going to win? Why her sudden change from rage to talk? There was sweat on Moghedien’s face, too. Quite a lot of sweat, beading on her broad forehead, running down her lined cheeks.

Suddenly everything changed in Nynaeve’s mind. Moghedien’s was not a voice tight with anger; it was a voice tight with strain. Moghedien was not suddenly going to hurl all of her strength at her; she already was. The woman was putting out as much effort as she. She was facing one of the Forsaken, and far from being plucked like a goose for supper, she had not lost a feather. She was meeting one of the Forsaken, strength for strength! Moghedien was trying to distract her, to gain an opening before her own strength gave out! If only she could do the same. Before her strength went.

“Do you wonder how I know all this? The collar and bracelets were made after I was ... Well, we will not talk of that. Once I was free, the first thing I did was seek information about those last days. Last years, really. There are a good many fragments here and there that make no sense to anyone who does not have some idea to begin with. The Age of Legends. Such a quaint name you have given my time. Yet even your wildest tales no more than hint at the half. I had lived over two hundred years when the Bore was opened, and I was still young, for an Aes Sedai. Your ‘legends’ are but pale imitations of what we could do. Why ...”

Nynaeve stopped listening. A way to distract the woman. Even if she could think of something to say, Moghedien would be on her guard against the method she herself was using. She could not spare effort for as much as a thread-thin weave, any more than ... any more than Moghedien could. A woman from the Age of Legends, a woman long used to wielding the One Power. Perhaps used to doing almost everything with the Power before she was imprisoned. In hiding since being freed, how used to doing things without the Power had she become?

Nynaeve let her legs sag. Dropping the feather duster, she caught hold of the pedestal to support herself. There was very little fakery needed.

Moghedien smiled and took a step nearer. “... travel to other worlds, even worlds in the sky. Do you know that the stars are ...” So sure, that smile. So triumphant.

Nynaeve seized the collar, ignoring the joltingly pained emotions that spilled into her, and hurled it, all in one motion.

The Forsaken had only begun to gape when the wide black circlet struck her between the eyes. Not a hard blow, certainly not enough to stun, but not expected, either. Moghedien’s control over her woven flows faltered, just slightly, only for an instant. Yet for that instant the balance between them shifted. The shield of Spirit slid between Moghedien and the Source; the halo surrounding her winked out.

The woman’s eyes bulged. Nynaeve expected her to leap for her throat; that was what she would have done. Instead, Moghedien jerked her skirts to her knees and ran.

With no need to defend herself, it took only a little effort for Nynaeve to weave Air around the fleeing woman. The Forsaken froze in midstride.

Hurriedly Nynaeve tied her weaving. She had done it _. I faced one of the Forsaken and beat her_ , she thought incredulously. Looking at the woman held from the neck down by air with the consistency of stone, even seeing her leaning forward on one foot, it was hard to believe. Examining what she had done, she saw it had not been as complete a victory as she had wanted. The shield had blurred its sharp edge before it slid home. Moghedien was captured and shielded, but not Stilled.

Trying not to totter, she walked around in front of the other woman. Moghedien still looked queenly, but like a very frightened queen, licking her lips, eyes darting wildly. “If ... if you f-free me, we can c-come to s-some arrangement. There is m-much I can t-teach you—”

Ruthlessly Nynaeve cut her off, weaving a gag of Air that held the woman’s jaws gaping. “A live mounting block. Wasn’t that what you said? I think that is a very good idea. I like to ride.” She smiled at the woman, whose eyes looked to be coming out of her head.

Mounting block indeed! Once Moghedien had been put on trial in the Tower and Stilled—there could be no doubt of the sentence for one of the Forsaken—she would surely be put to some useful work in kitchens or gardens or stables, except when she was brought out to show that even the Forsaken could not escape justice, and treated no differently from any other servant, beyond being watched. But let her think Nynaeve was as cruel as she. Let her think it until she was actually put on ...

Nynaeve’s mouth twisted. Moghedien was not going to be put on trial. Not now, anyway. Not unless she could figure out some way to get her out of the Panarch’s Palace. The woman seemed to believe the grimace portended something ill for her; tears leaked from her eyes, and her mouth worked, trying to force words past the gag.

Disgusted with herself, Nynaeve walked unsteadily back to where the black collar lay, stuffing it quickly into her belt pouch before the stark emotions in it could do more than touch her. The bracelets followed, with the same feelings of suffering and sorrow _. I was ready to torture her by letting her think I would! She deserves it surely, but that is not me. Or is it? Am I no better than Egeanin?_

She jerked around, furious that she could even consider such a question, and stalked past Moghedien to the glass-walled table. There had to be some way to bring the woman to justice.

There were seven figurines in the case. Seven, and no seal.

For a moment she could only stare. One of the figures, an odd animal shaped roughly like a pig but with a large round snout and feet as wide as its thick legs, stood where the seal had, in the centre of the table. Suddenly her eyes narrowed. It was not really there; the thing was woven from Air and Fire, in flows so minute they made cobwebs seem cables. Even concentrating, she could barely see them. She doubted if Liandrin or any of the other Black sisters could have. A tiny, slicing flick of the Power, and the fat animal vanished, in its place the black-and-white seal on its red-lacquered stand. Moghedien, the hider, had hidden it in plain sight. Fire melted a hole in the glass, and the seal went into her pouch, too. It bulged now, and pulled her belt down.

She went and found Elayne’s _angreal_. It was as described, a naked woman clinging to decency by means of her incredibly long hair. It wouldn’t fit in her pouch so she carried it openly, while wondering what excuse she could make to anyone who stopped her on the way out. Small good it would do them to come all this way and face down a Forsaken, only to get arrested for stealing from the museum.

Frowning at the woman poised on the toe of one slipper, she tried to think of some means of taking her as well. But Moghedien would not fit in her pouch, and she rather thought that even if she could pick the other woman up, the sight might raise a few eyebrows. Still, as she made her way to the nearest arched doorway, she could not help looking back every other step. If only there was some way. Pausing for one last, regretful look from the doorway, she turned to go.

This door opened onto a courtyard with a fountain full of lilypads. On the other side of the fountain, a slim, coppery-skinned woman in a pale cream Taraboner dress that would have made Rendra blush was just raising a fluted black rod three feet in length. Nynaeve recognized Jeaine Caide. More, she recognized the rod.

Desperately she flung herself to one side, so hard that she slid along the smooth white floorstones until one of the thin columns stopped her with a jar. A leg-thick bar of white shot through where she had been standing, as if the air had turned to molten metal, slicing all the way across the exhibition hall; where it struck, pieces simply vanished out of columns, priceless artefacts ceased to exist. Hurling flows of Fire behind her blindly, hoping to strike something, anything, in the courtyard, Nynaeve scrambled away across the hall on hands and knees. Little more than waist-high, the bar sawed sideways, carving a swathe through both walls; between, cases and cabinets and wired skeletons collapsed and crashed. Severed columns quivered; some fell, but what dropped onto that terrible sword did not survive to smash displays and pedestals to the floor. The glass-walled table fell before the molten shaft vanished, leaving a purplish bar that seemed burned into Nynaeve’s vision; the _cuendillar_ figures were all that dropped out of that molten white shaft, bouncing on the floor.

The figurines did not break, of course. It seemed Moghedien was right; not even Balefire could destroy _cuendillar_. That black rod was one of the stolen _ter’angreal_. Nynaeve could remember the warning appended to their list in a firm hand. _Produces Balefire. Dangerous and almost impossible to control_.

Moghedien seemed to be trying to scream through her invisible gag, head whipping back and forth in a frenzy as she fought her bonds of Air, but Nynaeve spared her no more than a glance. As soon as the Balefire disappeared, she raised herself up enough to peer back across the hall, through the rent sawed along the chamber wall. Beside the fountain, Jeaine Caide was swaying, one hand to her head, the black rod almost falling from the other. But before Nynaeve could strike at her, she had clutched the fluted rod again; Balefire burst from its end, destroying everything in its path through the chamber.

Dropping almost to her belly, Nynaeve crawled the other way as fast as she could, amid the crash and clatter of falling columns and masonry. Panting, she pulled herself into a corridor slashed through both walls. There was no telling how far the Balefire had sliced; all the way out of the palace, perhaps. Twisting about on a carpet littered with bits of stone, she peeked cautiously around the side of the doorframe.

The Balefire had gone again. Silence held in the ruined exhibition hall, except when a weakened piece of stonework gave way and smashed to the rubble-strewn floor. There was no sign of Jeaine Caide, though enough of the far wall had fallen to show the fountained courtyard clearly. She was not about to risk going to see if the _ter’angreal_ had killed the woman in using it. Her breath came raggedly, and her arms and legs trembled enough that she was glad to lie there a moment. Channelling took energy the same as any other work; the more you did, the more energy. And the wearier you were, the less you could channel. She was not entirely certain she herself was up to facing even a weakened Jeaine Caide right then. Unless ... briefly releasing _saidar_ , she embraced it again through the _angreal_ in her hands. She still felt tired but the added strength the _angreal_ gave her should make up for it.

Such a fool she had been. Battling Moghedien with the Power, and never thinking that channelling that strong would have every Black sister in the palace jumping out of her skin. She was lucky the Domani woman had not arrived with her _ter’angreal_ while she was still absorbed with the Forsaken. They very likely both would have died before they knew she was there.

Suddenly she stared in disbelief. Moghedien was gone! The Balefire had not come nearer than ten feet from where she had stood, but she was not there any longer. It was impossible. She had been shielded.

“How do I know what’s impossible?” Nynaeve muttered. “It was impossible for me to beat one of the Forsaken, but I did it.”

Still no sign of Jeaine Caide.

Pushing herself to her feet, she hurried for the appointed meeting place. If only Elayne and the others had not run into any trouble, they might make it out of here safely, after all.

The Palace was as busy as a kicked anthill. Servants boiled along the halls as Nynaeve ran, shouting frantic questions. They might not be able to sense channelling, but they had certainly felt the palace being torn half apart. She threaded her way through, just one more serving woman in a panic as far as they were concerned.

She held onto _saidar_ as she sped down corridors and across courtyards. She was increasingly uneasy for Elayne. For the others, too, but especially for Elayne, the silly little chit. If the Black sisters had found her ...

Who knew what they had beside the Balefire _ter’angreal_? The list they had been given certainly did not give a use for everything.

Despite how worried she was about the Black Ajah, it still came as a shock when one of them stepped out of a door right into her path. Nynaeve skidded to a halt, brandishing the _angreal_.

It was Rianna, with that white streak in her black hair, dark eyes gone wide at the sight of her. “Al’Meara! It’s al’Meara!” The Black sister struck out at her but Nynaeve was easily able to sever the threads of her weave. Those eyes showed white all around then. “And she has an _angreal_!” Rianna fled back into the room that she’d emerged from and Nynaeve, emboldened by her flight, pursued.

She regretted that decision immediately. Rianna was not alone. Half a dozen of the Black Ajah were in the room with her. She saw Liandrin, with her pale honey braids, standing over a half-naked Nataly, who lay supine on the floor. Nynaeve might have taken her for dead if her eyes hadn’t moved to track the new arrival. The bent black rod _ter’angreal_ was in Liandrin’s hands, and a vicious snarl was on her face.

“It does not matter! We are six and she is one. Kill her!” the former Red called.

“Stay down, Egeanin!” she heard someone else shout. She had barely a heartbeat to wonder about that before the left hand wall exploded inwards. Showering debris drove many of the Black Ajah to their knees. Others ran for the balcony. Nynaeve had to shield herself to prevent some of that flying masonry from battering her down as well, and was shocked at how much she had to strain to weave even a simple shield of Air.

From out of the new hole they’d blasted in the wall emerged Ronelle and Emara, one big and the other small, but matched for grim determination. Behind them stood Egeanin, clutching her makeshift cudgel. She had to know how useless it would be in a fight like this; she was Seanchan, and they used the One Power in battle all the time, despite how much they claimed to despise it. She had to know, but she advanced with them anyway. She was Seanchan, but Nynaeve couldn’t help but admire her. Burn her.

“Kill them all!” Liandrin ordered. And then she picked up her skirts and ran for the balcony that Asne was already vaulting over. Some of the other Black Ajah moved to join her, others, not noticing how their fellows had turned tail, lashed out at the Accepted.

Eldrith was one of the former. Emboldened by the support she didn’t notice evaporating behind her, the usually dreamy woman’s plain, dark face formed a scowl, one she directed at Emara and Ronelle while brushing debris from her round shoulders. “We should have killed you all in that dungeon. No matter. It is a fate delayed, not avoided,” she said irritably. Nynaeve recognised the weave she was spinning. Horrid Wilting. A twisted use of Water, Air and Spirit that could be used to wring all the fluids from a person’s body. It was a horrible weave, one that the Tower frowned on using but had not quite deemed worthy of being outlawed. Nynaeve’s blood almost felt like it was boiling when she saw Eldrith direct that weave at her Accepted, at the women she had chosen and led on this wild chase. Two of those still alive, at least. And two that would keep on living, no matter what Nynaeve had to do to make sure of it!

“You leave them be!” she shrieked, and hurled a bolt of lightning at the Black sister, one empowered by every last fibre of _saidar_ she could draw on.

Eldrith tried to block it, but she was not fast enough. The lightning sliced through her half-woven shield to strike the woman behind it. The weave she had been spinning dispersed to nothingness. Eldrith herself was blasted backwards, flying straight over the prone Nataly, to smash headfirst into the far wall, beside the balcony that Falion, last of the Black Ajah to flee, was even now scrambling over. They were only on the second floor. The women would escape if they weren’t stopped. But Nynaeve didn’t think she could have channelled enough to light a candle just then, much less shield anyone.

Ronelle ran to the railing. “They are getting away!” she shouted. Then she looked at Eldrith, lying bloodied on the floor, staring sightlessly at the ceiling. “Most of them are.”

“There’s nothing we can do about that right now,” Nynaeve said. Something in her voice worried Emara, but it was to Nataly that the little Illianer went.

“Hold on, Aes Sedai. I be able to Heal,” she said as she knelt over her.

“Y-you’re those suspicious sisters from the inn,” Nataly groaned. “You aren’t with Liandrin and her ... her ...”

Nynaeve crossed her arms. The state she was in was all too reminiscent of her own time in the Black Ajah’s clutches. It made it hard to feel bad for killing Eldrith. “Fellow Darkfriends. You can say it. Black Ajah. Aes Sedai Darkfriends. I hope, having met them, you aren’t going to be one of those Aes Sedai that tries to pretend they don’t exist!”

“H-how dare you insult me!” Nataly said, just before her back arched under the strain of Emara’s Healing.

“By the Light, woman! Has your ego not caused you enough heartache?” Egeanin asked. Nataly was unable to hear her, of course, being in the midst of a Healing, but the Seanchan was not to know that. They only used the One Power to destroy. Unlike Nynaeve, who only wanted to use it to Heal. Her eyes were drawn to Eldrith’s corpse. A shudder ran through her. What she wanted, and what the Pattern kept demanding of her, rarely seemed to match.

As soon as she was Healed, Nataly began trying to right herself. Those huge breasts of hers were crammed back into her bodice, and her skirts fell to cover a very red bottom when she took Emara’s offered hand and climbed to her feet. Despite her size, Emara looked to be supporting most of the other woman’s weight.

“Very well, then. Y-you saved me ... Ugh, my butt aches.” Nynaeve’s brows rose. Such things were not to be spoken of! Nataly saw her expression and hastily waved. “D-don’t you get the wrong idea! My butt may have been ravaged, but my virginity’s intact! Wait, what are you making me say!?”

“Nothing! You are doing that yourself!” Nynaeve snapped. She could hear shouting nearby. Angry man’s voices demanding to know what had happened. The guards perhaps. Or, worse, the Whitecloaks. “We have to go.”

“Wait. You still have not told me why you are here. Those women. They were Black ... Black Ajah?”

“We are here on the Amyrlin Seat’s orders. And that is all the explanation I am going to give,” Nynaeve said firmly.

That mollified Nataly at least a little bit. “Right ... Perhaps. Your name was Nynaeve, wasn’t it? I’ll at least remember your name. Also ... I’ll grant you the permission of simply calling me Nataly, no titles or honours necessary.”

Nynaeve stared. It was almost impressive, to have just been treated the way she had been treated and yet still have an ego that huge. It was _almost_ impressive. “Thanks,” she said flatly.

“The One Power!” Someone shouted from outside. The other women hastened to follow when Nynaeve stepped back into the corridor, where milling servants had been replaced with milling soldiers. Some of those soldiers wore the snowy tabards of the Children of the Light. “There are witches here!” Angry faces. Fool men brandishing bared swords and loaded crossbows.

“Just what we need,” she muttered.

“We should get to the meeting spot. Find Elayne’s team and get the hell out of here,” said Ronelle. Emara nodded agreement.

The Whitecloaks had spotted them. There was nothing to mark the rest of them as Aes Sedai, but Nataly wore her Great Serpent ring as openly as she did her ageless face. Nynaeve saw recognition bloom on the faces of many of those men, followed quickly by rage.

“How annoying,” Nataly huffed. Her eyes fell on the statue in Nynaeve’s hand, and her brows rose. “Is that an _angreal_? Where did you get it?”

“In the Panarch’s exhibition, right out in the open,” she said. The corridor was too long. If they turned and ran, those crossbow bolts would surely follow. And they would move a lot faster than she could. The Whitecloaks were not charging. Yet. They seemed to be trying to psych themselves up to it. Or waiting for someone else to be the first to attack, and be attacked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I would have noticed,” Nataly said. “Still, if you give it to me I should be able to hold these ruffians off.”

Nynaeve bared her teeth at the woman. Her last trace of pity was quickly being scrubbed away. _Call me a liar, will you?_ “I doubt you could hold off an angry kitten,” she growled.

“How rude! As a sister of the Blue Ajah, I can still fight—Ouch!” Nataly clasped her own bottom, wincing as she tried to find a more comfortable stance. “Though if you want to deal with them yourself, feel free.”

Nynaeve looked to the other women, two of whom were her responsibility. At least two. She felt so tired. _Better Nataly than one of them_. “Fine. Take it.” She thrust the _angreal_ out at the Aes Sedai, who accepted it with a transparent show of reluctance.

“This should double my strength,” she said, hefting the statue. “They will not get past me.” Watching, Egeanin’s brows rose high. They had never told her about _angreal_ when she had been pestering them with questions, pretending to be other than she was.

“See that they do not,” Nynaeve said, before rushing off in the opposite direction from the gathered Whitecloaks. Egeanin and the other Accepted ran with her.

The sight of their enemies seemingly retreating was the spark that the Children, cowards that they were, had been waiting for. An angry roar chased her up the corridor but no crossbow bolts shot forth to pierce tender flesh. When Nynaeve looked back she saw that plenty of those bolts had tried, but none had gotten past the great wall of Air that Nataly had spun across the corridor, sealing it up as surely as a cork sealed a bottle. The haughty Blue stood on the other side of that wall from the charging Whitecloaks. She said something to the men, just as Nynaeve was rounding the corridor. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but she would have sworn on her father’s grave that the woman was scolding them.

Shaking her head, she ran on.

The crowd thinned and disappeared by the time they reached the narrow hall on the west side of the palace that was the meeting place. The others were waiting for them beside a small, bronze-studded door fastened with a large iron lock. Including Amathera, standing very straight, wearing a light linen cloak with the hood up. The Panarch’s white dress might pass for serving-woman garb if you did not look closely enough to see it was silk, and the veil that did not hide her face was certainly servant’s linen. The sound of shouts came muffled through the door. Apparently the riot was still going on. Now if only the men were doing the rest of their part.

Nynaeve threw her arms around Elayne in a quick hug. “I was so worried. Did you have any trouble?”

“Not a bit,” Elayne replied. Keestis shifted slightly, and the younger woman gave her a meaningful look, then added, “Amathera did cause a little problem, but we sorted it out.”

Nynaeve frowned. “Trouble? Why would she give trouble? Why would you give trouble?” That last was for the Panarch, who held her head high, refusing to look at anyone. Elayne seemed as reluctant.

It was Keestis who answered. “She tried to sneak off to rouse her soldiers to harry the Darkfriends out. After she had been warned.”

“Do not scowl so, Nynaeve,” Elayne said. “I chased her down quickly, and we had a little talk. I think she is in perfect agreement with me now.”

The Panarch’s cheek twitched. “I am in agreement, Aes Sedai,” she said hastily. “I will do exactly as you say, and I will provide papers that should make even the most niggardly ship captain give you passage. There is no need for more ... talking.”

Elayne nodded as if all of that made sense, motioning for the woman to be quiet. Whereupon the Panarch obediently closed her mouth. A trifle sullenly, but perhaps that was just the shape of her mouth. Clearly there had been some very odd goings on, and Nynaeve intended to find the bottom of them. Later. The narrow hallway was still empty in both directions, but panicked shouts still echoed from deeper in the palace. The mob rumbled beyond the small door.

“But what of you?” Elayne went on with a frown. “You were supposed to be here half an hour ago. Did you cause all of this? I felt two women channelling enough of the Power to shake the palace down, and then a bit later someone _did_ try to shake it down. I thought it must be you.”

“Moghedien found me, and because I was worrying about how to bring her out for trial, Jeaine Caide nearly took my head off with Balefire.” Elayne gave a small squeak, and she hurried to reassure her. “It didn’t really come close to me.”

“You captured Moghedien? You captured one of the Forsaken?”

“Yes, but she got away.” There. She had admitted everything. Conscious of all their eyes on her, she shifted uncomfortably. She did not like being in the wrong. She especially did not like being in the wrong when it was she who had pointed out that it was wrong in the first place. “Elayne, I know what I said about being careful, but once I had her in my hands, it seemed all I could think of was bringing her to trial.” Taking a deep breath, Nynaeve made her voice apologetic. She hated doing that. Where were those fool men? “I endangered everything because I didn’t keep my mind on what we were about, but please don’t scold me.”

“I won’t,” Elayne said firmly. “So long as you remember to be careful in the future.” Keestis cleared her throat. “Oh, yes,” Elayne added hastily. The waiting seemed to be getting to her; there were spots of colour in her cheeks. “Did you find the collar, and the seal?”

“I have them.” She patted her pouch. The shouting outside seemed to be getting louder. And the shouts echoing down the halls were, too. “What is keeping those men?”

“My Legion,” Amathera began. Elayne looked at her, and she snapped her mouth shut. Whatever talk they had had must have been something. The Panarch was pouting like a girl afraid of being sent to bed without supper.

Nynaeve glanced at Egeanin. The Seanchan woman was watching the door intently. _Why won’t she let me hate her? Am I so different from her?_

Suddenly the door swung open. Juilin pulled two thin bent metal rods out of the lock and straightened from a crouch. Blood ran down the side of his face. “Hurry. We must be away from here before it gets out of hand.”

Staring past him wide-eyed, Nynaeve wondered what he considered out of hand. Ragan’s soldiers formed a semicircle about the door. Roaring men jostled and struggled and shouted in a seething mass beyond them, barely held back by struggling Whitecloaks backed up by the Panarch’s Legion. Scattered through the crowd, clumps of mounted Whitecloaks swung their swords at men crowding them with pitchforks and barrel staves and bare hands. Showers of stones fell around them, sometimes banging off a helmet, but silently in the uproar. A lone Whitecloak’s horse suddenly screamed and reared, and toppled over backward; it scrambled to its feet quickly, minus its rider. Other riderless animals dotted the mass of men. Was this what they had set off just to cover themselves? She tried reminding herself why—put her hand on her pouch to feel the _cuendillar_ seal, the collar and bracelets—but it was hard. Men were dying out there, surely.

Amathera made a startled sound, just before Elayne pushed her firmly out. Nynaeve and the others followed, and as soon as all the women were out, Juilin locked the door behind them. Ragan skirted the edge of the crowd, he and the other Shienarans making an armed cushion between the women and the mob. It was all Nynaeve could do to keep her feet, jostled by the men who were trying to protect her. Once Egeanin slipped and nearly fell. Nynaeve caught her arm, helped her back up, and got a grateful grin. _We are not so different_ , she thought. _Not the same, but not all that different_. She did not have to make herself smile encouragingly at the Seanchan woman.

The milling mass lasted several streets away from the palace, but once they broke clear the narrow twisting ways were almost empty. Those who were not actually involved in the riot seemed wise enough to stay clear of it. The soldiers spread out a little, giving the women more room. Any straggler who looked in their direction got hard stares, though. The streets of Tanchico were still the streets of Tanchico. Somehow that surprised Nynaeve. It seemed that she had been weeks inside the palace. Surely the city should be different.

When the babble began to fade behind them, Ragan managed a quite elegant bow to Amathera. “An honour, Panarch,” he said. “If I may be of any service, you have only to speak.”

Shockingly, Amathera glanced at Elayne, grimaced slightly, and said, “You mistake me, good sir. I am only a poor visitor from the countryside, rescued by these good women.”

Ragan exchanged startled looks with his men, but when he opened his mouth, Elayne said, “Could we get on to the inn, Ragan? This is hardly the place for conversation.”

When they reached the Three Plum Court, it was scarcely less surprising to hear Elayne introduce the Panarch to Rendra as Thera, a refugee with no money who needed a pallet, and maybe some work to earn her meals. The innkeeper shrugged resignedly, but as she led “Thera” away to the kitchens she was already telling the woman what lovely hair she had and how pretty she would look in the right dress.

Nynaeve waited until the rest of them were in the Chamber of Falling Blossoms with the door closed before saying, “ _Thera_? And she went along! Elayne, Rendra will have the woman serving at table in the common room!”

Elayne did not seem surprised. “Yes, very likely.” Sinking into a chair with a sigh, she kicked off her slippers and began massaging her feet vigorously. “It was not difficult to convince Amathera she should stay in hiding for a few days. It really isn’t that far from ‘The Panarch is dead’ to ‘Death to the Panarch’. I think seeing the riot helped, too. She doesn’t want to depend on Andric to put her back on her throne; she wants her own soldiers to do it, even if it means hiding until she can get in touch with the Lord Captain of the Legion. I believe Andric is in for a surprise with her. It is too bad he doesn’t surprise _her_. She deserves it.” Ragan and Rikimaru exchanged glances, shook their heads uncomprehendingly. Keestis nodded to herself as if she, at least, understood, and approved. There was something wrapped around her waist, Nynaeve noticed. It looked like a whip, of all things.

“But why?” Nynaeve demanded. “You may have been upset because she sneaked off on her own, but this? How did she manage that anyway, with three of you watching her?”

Elayne bent to rub the sole of one foot. It must have hurt; there was red in her cheeks. “Nynaeve the woman has no idea what the lives of the common people are like.” As if she did! “She does seem to have a true concern for justice—I think she does—yet it did not bother her at all that there was enough food in the palace for a year. I mentioned the soup kitchens, and she did not know what I was talking about! A few days working for her supper will do her good.” Stretching her legs under the table, she worked her bare toes. “Oh, that does feel good. Not that she’ll have many, I suppose. Not if she is to rally the Panarch’s Legion to pry Liandrin and the others out of the palace. A pity, but there it is.”

“Well, she has to,” Nynaeve told her firmly. It was good to sit down, though she could not understand the girl’s concern with her feet. They had hardly walked at all today. “And the sooner the better. We need the Panarch, and not in Rendra’s kitchen.” She did not think there was any need to worry about Moghedien. That woman had had every opportunity to come into the open, after she had freed herself. That still puzzled her; she must have been careless in tying off the shield. But if Moghedien had been unwilling to face her then, when she must have known Nynaeve was nearly exhausted, she could not think the woman would come after them. Not for something she seemed to think was not worth very much. The same did not apply to Liandrin, however. If Liandrin figured out half of what had happened, she would be hunting them.

Emara had noticed the whip Keestis wore, as well as her troubled frown. She went to her and tugged at her arm. “Do you be well, Keestis? What did happen in there?”

Keestis’ gaze darted from her to Ronelle and back. “I killed her. I killed Temaile,” she said quietly. It was not a boast, Nynaeve was glad to hear.

“Oh, well done!” Emara said, hugging the other woman. Far from being jealous, Ronelle came and hugged Keestis from the other side.

“Was it?” Nynaeve asked. “I wonder.” The other two were taken aback by her words but at least Keestis had the grace to lower her eyes.

The men didn’t seem to understand at all. Juilin shrugged at Rikimaru before looking to Nynaeve. “Could we at least see what we risked our necks for?” he asked.

Opening her belt pouch, Nynaeve laid the contents out on the table, the black-and-white disc that helped hold the Dark One’s prison shut, the collar and bracelets that sent ripples of sorrow through her before she could lay them down. Everyone gathered close to stare.

Ragan stared at the seal. “Intact. Thank the Light. There is still time.”

Nynaeve wondered how long, though. Only seven seals had been made. One was broken now, _cuendillar_ or no. Another was in Moiraine’s hands. Sammael supposedly had a third. Now this. How well could they keep that prison at Shayol Ghul locked if they were already crumbling? A shivery thought.

Egeanin touched the collar, pushed the bracelets away from the collar. If she felt the emotions trapped in them, she did not show it. Perhaps that sensitivity came only with the ability to channel. “It is not an _a’dam_ ,” the Seanchan woman said. “That is made of a silvery metal, and all of one piece.”

Nynaeve wished she had not mentioned _a’dam_. But she never wore the bracelet of one. “It is as least as much like an _a’dam_ as you and I are alike, Egeanin.” The woman looked startled, but after a moment she nodded. Not so different. Two women, each doing the best she could.

“Do you mean to keep on pursuing Liandrin?” Juilin seated himself, arms folded on the table studying the things there. “Whether or not she is chased out of Tanchico, she is still out there. And the others. But these seem too important to leave lying about. I am only a thief-catcher, but I would say these must be taken to the White Tower for safekeeping.”

“No!” Nynaeve was startled at her own vehemence. So were the others, by the way they stared at her. Slowly she picked up the seal and replaced it in her pouch. “This goes to the Tower. But that ...” She did not want to touch the black things again. If those were in the Tower, Aes Sedai might decide to use them just as the Black Ajah had intended to. To control Rand. Would Moiraine? Siuan Sanche? She would not take the chance. “That is too dangerous to risk it ever falling back into the hands of Darkfriends. Elayne, can you destroy them? Melt them. I don’t care if they burn through the table. Just destroy them!”

“I see what you mean,” Elayne said with a grimace. Nynaeve doubted she did—Elayne believed in the Tower wholeheartedly—but she believed in Rand, too.

Nynaeve saw the glow of _saidar_ surround Elayne. She stared intently at the vile objects, channelling destruction into and against them ... But the bracelets and necklace lay there. Abruptly, Elayne shook her head. Her hand poised hesitantly for a moment, close to one of the bracelets, before picking it up. And dropped it again, with a gasp. “It feels ... It’s full of ...” Drawing a deep breath, she said, “I did what you asked, Nynaeve. A hammer would be burning a puddle for the Fire I wove into it, but it isn’t even warm.”

So Moghedien had not lied. Doubtless she had thought there was no need, that she would surely win. How did the woman get loose? But what to do with the things? She was not going to let them fall into anyone’s hands.

Egeanin had been frowning at the floor. Now she looked up. “I am a ship captain. I could take them and drop them into the deepest part of the sea that I know,” she said.

The reaction of the Shienarans was as instantaneous as it was hostile.

“You will not touch them,” the normally friendly Ragan said with a coldness that had Shimoku gaping.

For all the Shienaran respect for women, Mendao faced Egeanin with a hand on his swordhilt. “One of those collars from Falme, but meant for a man? No way. We will dispose of that.” Rikimaru nodded grimly. Katsui, whom she was half convinced had a crush on Egeanin, crossed his arms forbiddingly. And Areku? Areku drew her axe.

“And with you. If we have to,” the woman solider said. Egeanin paled but readied herself to fight them, with her hands and feet alone if she had to.

“That is enough of that,” Elayne said firmly, before Nynaeve could speak. “Have you forgotten that you promised to follow our orders?”

Areku merely glanced at her. “We have not. We have also not forgotten our oaths to the Lord Dragon. And those are more important. This thing is a threat to him. It must not be placed in the hands of anyone who is not completely trusted by him.”

“Oh, calm yourselves, you great woolheads,” Nynaeve scoffed. “It’s not as if we can leave Tarabon on horseback. We will have to take a ship ourselves, mores the pity.” She was not looking forward to that. Her stomach simply could not tolerate the swaying. But there was no other choice. Gingerly, trying not to feel the emotions, Nynaeve pulled the collar and bracelets across the table to herself. “We will drop these into the sea on our way back, where no-one can ever fish them out again.”

After a moment, Ragan nodded. The other Shienarans relaxed then, a sheepish Areku returning her axe to its loop. Tension leaked out of the room, with everyone save Egeanin laughing softly at its departure. Nynaeve laughed, too. As soon as they could arrange passage, they could leave for Tar Valon. And then ... Then back to Tear, or wherever al’Lan Mandragoran was. Facing Moghedien, realizing how close she had been to being killed or worse, only made her urgency to deal with him greater. A man she had to share with a woman she hated, but if Elayne could love a man who would go mad, a man she had to share with other women, Nynaeve included, then she could puzzle out some way to enjoy what she could have of Lan.

“Shall we go downstairs and see how ‘Thera’ is taking to being a servant?” she suggested. Soon for Tar Valon. Soon.


	83. The Truth of a Viewing

Min woke that morning in Juilaine’s bed, which had become a regular occurrence in the past month. What was not regular was finding Juilaine already awake, sitting up in bed and frowning off at nothing. Min knew better than to ask what troubled her. None of her other questions, about what Juilaine was meeting with Elaida for, or why she was mad at the Sitter Takima, had gotten any answers beyond a reminder that Juilaine was Aes Sedai and Min should know better than to meddle in Aes Sedai affairs. It made this thing between them feel very much like an affair, in fact. But at least it was a pleasant affair. Juilaine was nowhere near the bully Siuan could be.

Naked under the covers, Min stretched herself awake. It had been a frustrating time, so she was glad of the release Juilaine offered her. The bloody viewings hadn’t stopped coming, but they also hadn’t done anything to help her find out who had tried to kill Elayne. She’d managed to find out the names of everyone who had been there for the testing, for all the good that had done. Min was no thief-catcher. Where to go from there had been beyond her. The most she’d been able to do was eliminate a few suspects, through a combination of knowing their future and just getting a feel for their character. She had seen Yuna wrapping herself in the Dragon Banner and known the meaning of it. That was enough to convince her that there was no way the Yellow sister had done anything to hurt Elayne. Alanna Benico’s future also exonerated her past, to Min’s mind, though the Green hadn’t been anywhere near as welcoming of Min’s questions as Yuna had been.

But other than them it could have been anyone. There was not a lot of trust in the White Tower these days. If there ever had been.

“Well, I know what troubles me this morning, but what has put such a frown on your face, sweetie?” Juilaine asked, smiling down at her.

“Oh, just the usual. These useless bloody viewings of mine.”

Juilaine slid down beside her and gave Min a hug. “They aren’t useless, Min. Otherwise Sanche wouldn’t have wanted to keep you close like she has.” A hand stole over to cup Min’s breast. “Not that I can blame her for that, at least.”

Min found a soft bottom and gave it a little squeeze. It was nice and cosy in the bed. She felt warm ... “Do you want me to get closer?”

Juilaine laughed lightly. “That is just exactly how I want this day to start.”

Wasting no time, she clambered up in bed, pushing the covers up far enough for her to get atop Min. She knelt across Min’s shoulders, her familiar pussy on display, peeking out from under the covers at head height. Min felt hands at her thighs, and parted them obligingly. Aes Sedai or not, Juilaine was a considerate lover, and never one to just take and not give. She moaned softly when lips touched her pussy, and moaned louder when a tongue darted out to taste her.

Min, too, was not one to leave someone unsatisfied. She pulled Juilaine’s hips down towards her face, stiff dark hairs tickling her chin as the warmth of the woman’s pussy veiled her face. Her hands kneaded ass while her tongue kneaded pussy, and before long both women were moaning in pleasure, wordlessly urging each other on.

Juilaine left the bed after they were done. She looked invigorated as she strode about the room naked, and suitably queenly once she was dressed in her fine brown silks. She adjusted the Great Serpent ring on her finger as she looked down at Min, still in bed and heroically refusing to feel lazy about it. “There is a little favour I would like you to do for me today, sweetling,” she said. “Nothing vitally important, mind, just some shopping. I don’t have the time to go myself, you see. Do you think you could go out into the city and pick up a few things for me?”

“Sure. I’d be happy to,” Min said without hesitation. Any excuse to get out of the Tower and see something other than Aes Sedai surrounded by visions of doom was not something she was about to pass up.

Juilaine looked relieved. She gestured to the bedside table, where a purse sat atop a paper list. “Good, good. There is no need to rush back. I left a little extra in the purse. Buy yourself something nice with it.”

“Alright. Thank you ...” Min said slowly. Why was such a simple thing cause for relief? She didn’t ask, knowing Juilaine wouldn’t answer, but she was still wondering long after the Aes Sedai had strode out of the room to see to her day’s work.

* * *

The papers scattered on Siuan Sanche’s desk held little real interest for her, but she persevered. Others handled the day-to-day routine of the White Tower, of course, to leave the Amyrlin Seat free for important decisions, but her habit had always been to check one or two things at random each day, with no notice beforehand, and she would not break it now. She would not let herself be distracted by worries. Everything was sailing along according to plan. Shifting her striped stole, she dipped her pen carefully in the ink and ticked off another corrected total.

Today she was examining lists of kitchen purchases, and the mason’s report on an addition to the library. The sheer number of petty peculations people thought they could slip by always amazed her. So did the number that escaped notice by the women who oversaw these matters. For instance, Laras seemed to think watching accounts was beneath her since her title had been changed officially from simple chief cook to Mistress of the Kitchens. Danelle, on the other hand, the young Brown sister who was supposed to be watching Master Jovarin, the mason, was most likely letting herself be distracted by the books the fellow kept finding for her. That was the only way to explain her failure to question the number of workmen Jovarin claimed to have hired, with the first shipments of stone from Kaltor just arriving at Northharbour. He could rebuild the entire library with that many men. Danelle was simply too dreamy, even for a Brown. Perhaps a little time on a farm working penance would wake her. Laras would be more difficult to discipline; she was not Aes Sedai, so her authority with undercooks and scullions and potboys could be swamped all too easily. But perhaps she, too, could be sent for a “rest” in the country. That would ...

With a snort of disgust Siuan threw her pen down, grimacing at the blot it made on a page of neatly totalled columns. “Wasting my time deciding whether to send Laras out to pull weeds,” she muttered. “The woman is too fat to bend over far enough!”

It was not Laras’ weight that had her temper jumping, and she knew it; the woman was no heavier now than she had always been, or so it seemed, and it never interfered with her running the kitchens. There was no news. That was what had her flapping like a fisher-bird whose catch had been stolen. One message from Moiraine that the al’Thor boy had _Callandor_ , then nothing in the weeks since, although rumours in the streets were already beginning to get his name right. Still nothing.

Lifting the hinged lid of the ornately carved blackwood box where she kept her most secret papers, she rummaged inside. A small warding woven around the box ensured no hand but hers could safely open it.

The first paper she pulled out was a report that the Novice who had seen Min’s arrival had vanished from the farm she had been sent to, and the woman who owned the farm, too. Hardly unheard of for a Novice to run away, but the farmer leaving too was troublesome. Sahra would have to be found, certainly—she had not progressed far enough in her training to be let loose—but there was no real reason to keep the report in the box. It mentioned neither Min’s name nor the reason the girl had been sent to hoe cabbages, but she put it back anyway. These were days to take care that might seem unreasonable at another time.

A description of a gathering in Ghealdan to listen to this man who called himself the Prophet of the Lord Dragon. Masema, it seemed his name was. Odd. That was a Shienaran name. Nearly ten thousand people had come to listen to him speak from a hillside, proclaiming the return of the Dragon, a speech followed by a battle with soldiers trying to disperse them. Aside from the fact that the soldiers apparently got the worst of it, the interesting thing was that this Masema knew Rand al’Thor’s name. That definitely went back into the box.

A report from Dynahir that nothing had yet been found of Mazrim Taim. No reason for that to be in there. Another on worsening conditions in Arad Doman and Valreis. Ships vanishing along the Aryth Ocean coast. Rumours of Tairen incursions into Cairhien. She was getting into the habit of putting everything in this box; none of that needed to be kept secret. Farnah and Moradri had vanished in Illian, and another sister, Nimri, had done the same in Caemlyn. She shivered, wondering where the Forsaken were. Too many of her agents had gone silent. There were lionfish out there, and she was swimming in darkness. There it was. The silk-thin slip of paper crackled as she unrolled it.

_The sling has been used. The shepherd holds the sword_.

The Hall of the Tower had voted as she had expected, unanimously and with no need for arm-twisting, much less invoking her authority. If a man had drawn _Callandor_ , he must be the Dragon Reborn, and that man had to be guided by the White Tower. Three Sitters for three different Ajahs had proposed holding all plans close in the Hall before she even suggested it; the surprise had been that one was Elaida, but then the Reds would surely want the tightest hawsers possible kept on a man who could channel. The sole problem had been to stop a delegation from being sent to Tear to take him in hand, and that had not really been difficult, not when she was able to say that her news came from an Aes Sedai who had already managed to put herself close to the man.

But what was he doing now? Why had Moiraine not sent further word? Impatience hung so thick in the Hall now that she almost expected the air to sparkle. She kept a tight hold on her anger. _Burn the woman! Why hasn’t she sent word?_

The door crashed open, and she straightened furiously as more than a dozen women strode into her study, led by Elaida. All wore their shawls, most red-fringed, but cool-faced Alviarin, a White, was at Elaida’s side, and Joline Maza, a slender Green, and plump Shemerin of the Yellow came close behind with Danelle, her big blue eyes not dreamy at all. In fact, Siuan saw at least one woman from every Ajah except the Blue. Some looked nervous, but most wore grim determination, and Elaida’s dark eyes held stern confidence, even triumph.

“What is the meaning of this?” Siuan snapped, slapping the blackwood box shut with a sharp crack. She bounced to her feet and strode around the desk. First Moiraine and now this! “If this is about _Tairen_ matters, Elaida, you know better than to bring others into it. And you know better than to walk in here as if this were your mother’s kitchen! Make your apologies and leave before I make you wish you were an ignorant Novice again!”

Her cold rage should have sent them scurrying, but though a few shifted uneasily, none made a move toward the door. Little Danelle actually smirked at her. And Elaida calmly reached out and pulled the striped stole from Siuan’s shoulders. “You will not need this any longer,” she said. “You were never fit for it, Siuan.”

Shock turned Siuan’s tongue to stone. This was madness. This was impossible. In a rage she reached for _saidar_ —and suffered her second shock. A barrier lay between her and the True Source, like a wall of thick glass. She stared at Elaida in disbelief.

As if to mock her, the radiance of _saidar_ sprang up around Elaida. She stood helpless as the Red sister wove flows of Air around her from shoulders to waist, crushing her arms to her side. She could barely breathe. “You must be mad!” she rasped. “All of you! I’ll have your hides for this! Release me!” No-one answered; they almost seemed to ignore her.

Alviarin ruffled through the papers on the table, quickly yet unhurriedly. Joline and Danelle and others began tilting up the books on the reading stands, shaking them to see if anything fell out from between the pages. The White sister gave a small hiss of vexation at not finding what she sought on the table, then flipped open the lid of the blackwood box. Instantly the box flared in a ball of flame.

Alviarin leaped back with a cry, shaking a hand where blisters were already forming. “Warded,” she muttered, as close to open anger as a White ever came. “So small that I never felt it until too late.” Nothing remained of the box and its contents but a heap of grey ash atop a square charred into the tabletop.

Elaida’s face showed no disappointment. “I promise you, Siuan, that you will tell me every word that burned, who it was meant for, and to what purpose.”

“You must be taken by the Dragon!” Siuan snapped. “I will have your hide for this, Elaida. All of your hides! You will be lucky if the Hall of the Tower doesn’t vote to Still all of you!”

Elaida’s tiny smile did not touch her eyes. “The Hall convened not an hour ago—enough Sitters to meet our laws—and by unanimous vote, as required, you are no longer Amyrlin. It is done, and we are here to see it enforced.”

Siuan’s stomach turned to ice, and a small voice in the back of her head shrieked, _What do they know? Light, how much do they know? Fool! Blind, fool woman!_ She kept her face smooth, though. This was not the first hard corner she had ever been in. A fifteen-year-old girl with nothing but her bait knife, hauled into an alley by four hard-eyed louts with their bellies full of cheap wine—that had been harder to escape than this. So she told herself.

“Enough to meet the laws?” she sneered. “A bare minimum, heavy with your friends and those you can influence or bully.” That Elaida had been able to convince even a relatively small number of Sitters was enough to dry her throat, but she would not let it show. “When the full Hall meets, with all the Sitters, you’ll learn your mistake. Too late! There has never been a rebellion inside the Tower; a thousand years from now they’ll be using your fate to teach Novices what happens to rebels.” Tendrils of doubt crept onto some of those faces; it seemed Elaida did not have as tight a grip on her conspirators as she thought. “It’s time to stop trying to hack a hole in the hull, and start bailing. Even you can still mitigate your offense, Elaida.”

Elaida waited with chill calm until she was done. Then her full-armed slap exploded across Siuan’s face; she staggered, silver-black flecks dancing in her vision.

“You are finished,” Elaida said. “Did you think I—we—would allow you to destroy the Tower? Bring her!”

Siuan stumbled as two of the Reds pushed her forward. Barely keeping her feet, she glared at them, but went as they directed. Who did she need to get word to? Whatever charges had been brought, she could counter them, given time. Even charges involving Rand; they could not fasten more than rumours to her, and she had played the Great Game too long to be beaten by rumours. Unless they had Min; Min could clothe rumours in truth. She ground her teeth. _Burn my soul, I’ll use this lot for fish bait!_

In the antechamber, she stumbled again, but not from pushing, this time. She had half-hoped that Leane had been away from her post, but the Keeper stood as Siuan did, arms stiffly at her sides mouth working soundlessly, furiously, around a gag of Air. She had certainly sensed Leane being bound and never realized it; in the Tower, there was always the feel of women channelling.

Alric was there, too, bound just as Leane was, but Siuan had barely time to make eye contact before Elaida spoke, her voice as hard and merciless as iron. “Get rid of him.”

Anya Volcaulievna was the nearest Red. The golden-haired woman’s expression didn’t shift at all as she rammed her knife into Alric’s back. The bonds holding him were released, and he fell to the floor of the room he had guarded for so long.

Siuan stared at the tall, slender, grey-haired man stretched on the floor with a knife rising from his back. Alric had been her Warder for close to twenty years, never complaining when her path kept them in the Tower, never muttering when being the Amyrlin’s Warder sent him hundreds of leagues from her, a thing none of the Gaidin liked. She felt him die. Felt the bond snap. And struggled with all her might not to weep in front of the traitors who had killed him.

She cleared her throat, but her voice was still husky when she spoke. “I’ll have your hide salted and stretched in the sun for this, Elaida. I swear it!”

“Consider your own hide, Siuan,” Elaida said, moving closer to stare her in the eyes. “There is more to this than has been revealed so far. I know it. And you are going to tell me every last scrap of it. Every—last—scrap.” The sudden quiet in her voice was more frightening than all her hard stares had been. “I promise it, Siuan. Take her below!”

* * *

Clutching bolts of blue silk, Min strolled in through the North Gate near midday, her simper all ready for the guards with the Flame of Tar Valon on their chests, the girlish swirl of her green skirts that Elmindreda would give. She had actually begun before she realized there were no guards. The heavy iron-strapped door of the star-shaped guardhouse stood open; the guardhouse itself looked empty. It was impossible. No gate to the Tower grounds was ever unguarded. Halfway to the huge bone-white shaft of the Tower itself, a plume of smoke was rising above the trees. It seemed to be near the quarters for the young men who studied under the Warders. Maybe the fire had pulled the guards away.

Still feeling a little uneasy, she started down the unpaved path through the wooded part of the grounds, shifting the bolts of silk. She did not really want another dress, but how could she refuse when Laras pressed a purse of silver into her hands and told her to use it for this silk the stout woman had seen; she claimed it was just the colour to set off “Elmindreda’s” complexion. Whether or not she wanted her complexion set off was less important than keeping Laras’s goodwill. Between that and running Juilaine’s errands, she had been out of the Tower for most of the day.

A rattle of swords reached her ears through the trees. The Warders must have their students practicing harder than usual.

It was all very irritating. Laras and her beauty hints, Gawyn and his jokes. Was this how Rand wanted her? Would he actually see her, if she wore dresses and simpered at him like a brainless chit?

 _He has no right to expect it_ , she thought furiously. It was all his fault. She would not be there now, wearing a fool dress and smiling like an idiot, if not for him. _I wear coat and breeches, and that is that! Maybe I’ll wear a dress once in a while—maybe!—but not to make some man look at me! I wager he’s staring at some Tairen woman with half her bosom exposed right this minute. I can wear a dress like that. Let’s see what he thinks when he sees me in this blue silk. I’ll have a neckline down to—_ What was she thinking? The man had robbed her of her wits! The Amyrlin Seat was keeping her here, useless, and Rand al’Thor was addling her brain! _Burn him! Burn him for doing this to me!_

The clash of swords came again from the distance, and she stopped as a horde of young men burst out of the trees ahead of her carrying spears and bared blades, Gawyn at their head. She recognized others from among those who had come to study with the Warders. Shouts rose somewhere else in the grounds, a roar of angry men.

“Gawyn! What is happening?”

He whirled at the sound of her voice. Worry and fear filled his blue eyes, and his face was a mask of determination not to give in to them. “Min. What are you doing—? Get out of the grounds Min. It is dangerous.” A handful of the young men ran on, but most waited impatiently for him. It seemed to her that most of the Warders’ students were there.

“Tell me what’s happening, Gawyn!”

“The Amyrlin was deposed this morning. Leave, Min!”

The bolts of silk fell from her hands. “Deposed? It can’t be! How? Why? In the name of the Light, why?”

“Gawyn!” one of the young men called, and others took it up, brandishing their weapons. “Gawyn! The White Boar! Gawyn!”

“I have no time,” he told her urgently. “There’s fighting everywhere. They say Hammar is trying to break Siuan Sanche free. I have to go to the Tower, Min. Leave! Please!”

He turned and set out at a run toward the Tower. The others followed, bristling with upraised weapons, some still shouting, “Gawyn! The White Boar! Gawyn! Forward the Younglings!”

Min stared after them. “You did not say what side you are on, Gawyn,” she whispered.

The sounds of fighting were louder, clearer now that she was paying attention, and the shouts and yells, the clash of steel on steel, seemed to come from every direction. The clamour made her skin crawl and her knees shake; this could not be happening, not here. Gawyn was right. It would be much the safer thing, much the smarter, to leave the Tower grounds immediately. Only there was no telling when or if she would be allowed back, and she could not think of much good she could do outside.

“What good can I do inside?” she asked herself fiercely.

But she did not turn back toward the gate. Leaving the silk where it lay, she hurried into the trees, looking for a place to hide. She did not think anyone would spit “Elmindreda” like a goose— shivering, she wished she had not thought of it that way—but there was no use in taking foolish chances. Sooner or later the fighting had to die down, and by that time she needed to decide what to do next.

* * *

Siuan had seen the dungeons of the White Tower many times, but never from this perspective. She spat blood on the hard, cold floor. It splattered lividly across the stone, impractically white like much else in the Tower.

“The Aes Sedai with al’Thor is Moiraine Damodred, is it not? There is no point in dissembling. I already know she has been working with him. Tell me the truth.” Elaida did not raise her voice, nor did those dark eyes shift at all. They remained as hard as stones.

Though her lips were still numb from the blow, Siuan sneered at her. “You know, and yet you ask. You are a fool, Elaida.”

“How long have you known he was—” The Red sister cut off. Even for a woman as hard as her, admitting what Rand was was not easy. Siuan knew that herself.

That was a weakness she had overcome, however, and one she moved to exploit now. “The Dragon Reborn? If you can’t even acknowledge that the shark exists, how do you expect to fight it off? Bloody fools!” She raked the assembled Aes Sedai over the coals of her eyes. Most of them were Red, but it could be hoped that even some of those might see sense. “Repent this idiocy! Release me and I will be lenient!”

Elaida’s fists tightened. “I have told you, Siuan. You are no longer the Amyrlin! The Hall of the Tower has declared it so! You pass no judgements here. Now answer my question.”

“I might even be persuaded to have mercy on _you_ , Elaida. Oh, you’ll howl for this, make no mistake, but I might spare your life, at least.”

The woman hissed. Embracing _saidar_ , she lashed out with a net of Air that battered Siuan to the ground. Elaida came and stood over her. “What will it take to get the truth through that thick skull of yours?”

One of the Reds, a round woman named Galina, laughed suddenly. “I know a tried and tested way to cure such arrogance.”

Elaida turned her hammer-like face on her, and then back to Siuan. “It may serve,” she said, with a hint of reluctance. Stiff as ever, she lifted her red skirt high enough to pull down her underwear.

Too stunned to get up off the ground, Siuan glared up at her, red-faced with fury. _Is that the game you want to play?_ She considered spitting her rage at the traitor, or calling out her lack of morals. That might turn some of her conspirators against her. Instead she lay still, her eyes on Elaida’s as the woman came to stand over her.

Down the Red sister came, her strong legs holding her steady in her crouch. She held her skirts aside as she moved to press her dark-furred sex against Siuan’s face. “Perhaps this will teach you your place,” she said. By then her pussy was close enough to hide Siuan’s smile from sight.

She used her tongue to trace the contours of Elaida’s body, an act which softened the Red’s face. But only slightly, and only for a moment. It didn’t take Siuan long to find the most sensitive spot with her tongue. And what she could reach with her tongue ... she could reach with her teeth!

Elaida howled so loudly that some of the watching Aes Sedai jumped. She grabbed Siuan by the hair and smashed the back of her head against the hard stone, once, twice. She might have done it a third time but Siuan was too dazed to notice. It went beyond pain and into numbness. The pain would come later, she knew.

She’d lost her grip on Elaida, too. The woman curled up on the floor beside her, as red of face as of dress, clutching her precious parts while her followers looked on. Some looked scornful, and Galina wore an amused expression. “A first-timer, it would seem,” she tittered to that fox-faced smirker, Katerine. “Men have it so much easier, the wretched scum. No teeth down below, so they just push them down and shove it in.”

Beautiful young Azula had watched it all with the aloof expression she had perfected even before being raised to the Accepted. Before the arrival of Elayne, and later Nynaeve, she had been the strongest initiate the Tower had discovered in centuries. The Reds had crowed about securing her for their Ajah for years after her raising. She spoke now, her voice an amused drawl. “Theoretically, there are ways _saidar_ could be used to replicate that feat.” In demonstration, the Kaltori rolled her wrist aristocratically, and brought into being above her hand a thick, semi-transparent red rod woven of Air and Spirit.

“Unravel that!” Elaida snapped. She got back to her feet, still red of face, still in pain, but refusing to stay down. “We are not some disgusting, Light-forsaken men to use such things! This is Tar Valon you stand in.”

Siuan had never thought she’d have reason to be grateful for the prim sensibilities of the Tar Valoni but she was, she had to admit, glad to see Azula allow her rod to unravel. She noted the flat look in those light brown, almost amber, eyes as she did it, too. Elaida’s hold on the conspirators was not strong even among the Red Ajah.

“Still feeling smug are you? Even now.” When she looked, Elaida was glaring down at her, her face even harder than usual. “You won’t be feeling that way for much longer, Siuan, I promise you. I know a way to rid you of that arrogance forever.”

* * *

She could still hear sporadic sounds of fighting. If she had the brains of a goose she would have been going the other way. Even sporadic fighting with the One Power was something a smart woman would avoid. But Min crept closer to the Tower gates. From her vantage point, hidden in the trees, she had seen Aes Sedai running for the walls, fleeing the White Tower, possibly even fleeing Tar Valon altogether. She knew she should have taken their example, but here she was, going the other way.

 _Burn me for a fool!_ She had to do it, though. There was still a chance to fix things.

There were no guards on the gates here either. That gave her pause. Cautiously, she eased the gate open and slipped inside. There was a dead Aes Sedai lying of the floor of the front hall. She was alone. No Accepted came to greet her and offer directions. No Aes Sedai came to tend to their fallen sister. All was quiet. Min’s heart pounded against her chest.

Stepping closer, she saw the dead woman’s face, and winced. Adine Canford had often been entrusted with tasks for the Amyrlin. Min didn’t know her well, but she knew that if she was being left here unattended things had not gone well for Siuan.

The door was right there. She could turn and run at any time. But Min pressed on into the Tower.

Chaos greeted her. Dead servants. Dead soldiers. Dead Warders. And even dead Aes Sedai. Here was her viewing come true, as they always did. Having seen it coming was no accomplishment at all. Having seen it coming did not prevent Min’s stomach from heaving at the sight of all those broken bodies, their precious blood spilled all over the once pristine Tower. Some of the dead she knew, most she did not. Here was Vasha with her Warder dead at her side. There was proud Piava, lying alone. Others, so many others.

Despite the chaos, she was still shocked to see grey-haired Anlee among the fallen. She had been a Sitter in the Hall of the Tower, one of the most powerful women in the world. But now she sprawled upon the floor of a hallway in a pool of her own blood.

“What do you think you’re doing here?” a voice demanded.

Min jumped, an embarrassing squeak escaping her lips.

She didn’t know the woman who confronted her, but she knew an Aes Sedai face when she saw one, even when the right side of it was covered in blood. Min stared, though not for the reason someone might normally stare at a woman as pretty and as buxom as this one. The Aes Sedai’s right eye was missing. There was only a red hole where it had been, without even a patch to cover it up. The injury must have been recent. Why was the woman not in a sick bed?

“Answer me, girl!”

“Yes, Aes Sedai. I’m sorry, Aes Sedai!” Elmindreda squeaked. Min had no time to be dismayed at how easily she slipped back into the guise. “I was just looking for Juilaine Sedai, Aes Sedai. She sent me to do some shopping for her.” She pulled in her shoulders and made her eyes big, while holding up her satchel by way of proof.

The tall, blocky man standing behind the Aes Sedai glanced over at her briefly, but only briefly. Then he went right back to menacing the empty hallway with his bared sword. “I have seen this one about the Tower, Beatrix Sedai. She is often with Juilaine.”

“As you say, Aedwin,” the green-clad sister sighed. “In these troubled times we cannot be too careful. Come with me, girl. I will take you to Juilaine.”

Not daring to refuse, Min padded along in the Aes Sedai’s wake. It wasn’t up to the Brown Ajah quarters that Beatrix led her, but off towards the Hall of the Tower, from which the Aes Sedai governed Tar Valon and, some said, the world. Min had never been inside it before. When a vaguely familiar Aes Sedai appeared as if from nowhere, took one look at Beatrix and glared so furiously, she feared she would never even get there.

“Traitor! You won’t get away with this!” Rosil called.

Beatrix halted, raised her chin, and declared, “I am no traitor. The law has been followed. Siuan Sanche is Amyrlin no more. It is you who fight against this—who break our laws!—who are the traitors!”

Unimpressed, the Yellow sister raised her hand threateningly. Min had no idea what happened between the two women, but whatever it was it was over quickly. A red line suddenly appeared across Rosil’s neck. Her eyes bulged in the half a heartbeat before her lifeblood began flooding out of her. Elmindreda tore her eyes away. She heard the Aes Sedai crumple to the ground but refused to look.

“A sad business. And something you should not have seen,” Beatrix said. Despite her soft words, her face was hard. “But that is Juilaine’s problem to deal with. Come along.”

There were Aes Sedai standing sentry beside the dark doors that led to the Hall of the Tower, with the Flame of Tar Valon inlaid in silver. One of those sentries was Yuna. She stood with her hands folded at her waist, outwardly composed, but Min saw tears in her mismatched eyes.

Beatrix led the way up a ramp of silver-streaked white stone into the Hall of the Tower, which proved to be a large, circular room with a domed ceiling far above. Twenty-two chairs were arrayed in a circle underneath that dome, upon raised platforms. Most were cushioned in the colours of the seven Ajahs, and grouped in threes, but one stood alone, carved in vines and painted in the colours of all the Ajahs. The Amyrlin Seat. No-one sat in it now. Min wondered who would, if not Siuan.

The Sitters, those who remained in the Hall, would be the women to decide that. Juilaine was among them now, but she broke off her conversation when Beatrix called her name. Lips thinning, Juilaine gave some excuses and came to meet them.

“What are you thinking, coming here, Min? Whatever passes between us, you have no business in this Hall!” she said in a low hiss.

“I didn’t know where else to go. There are people dying all over the place,” she said. The woman’s rebuke was annoying, but that was nothing compared to what she felt at knowing she’d been part of this coup. Min stamped that annoyance down, though. She could not afford to let Juilaine know what she felt, or what she meant to do.

Juilaine’s hard stare drove Beatrix away, even if it didn’t make the one-eyed Green drop her gaze in the slightest. “I know, sweetling,” she said once they were alone. “That’s why I wanted you out of the Tower for the day. Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you. You just wait for me in my room, okay?”

 _Blood and ashes! Did I play the part of Elmindreda that well?_ She was treating her like a simpleton! Well, perhaps that was a good thing, just then. Min chewed her lip daintily, just the way she’d been shown, and made her voice plaintive. “Are you sure it’s safe, though? The Sanche woman knows the Tower better than anyone. And she was never as gentle as you. What if she sees me? Do you even know where she is?”

“Did she—? Never mind. You don’t need to say it. You won’t have to worry about her ever again, Min. She’s down in the deep dungeons now, with Aes Sedai standing guard outside her cell. She can’t do any more harm, to you or to Valgarda with her pet Dragon.”

“Oh. That’s good,” Elmindreda said, sighing a little sigh. _Fuck! How am I supposed to get past Aes Sedai guards?_ Min cursed to herself, trying not to grind her teeth. What could she do? And who could she call on to help?

* * *

In the pitch blackness of the cell, Siuan opened her eyes, stirred, winced, and was still. Was it morning yet outside? The questioning had gone on for a long time. She tried to forget pain in the luxury of knowing she was still breathing. The rough stone beneath her scraped her welts and bruises, though, those on her back. Sweat stung all of them—she felt a solid mass of pain from knees to shoulders—and made her shiver in the cold air, besides. _They could have left me my shift, at least_. Elaida had abandoned the notion of raping her into submission, but had been more than happy to inflict her with the indignity of being stripped naked before the interrogation ended and she was dragged down here. The air smelled of old dust and dried mould, of age. One of the deep cells. No-one had been confined down here since Artur Hawkwing’s time. Not since Bonwhin.

She grimaced into the dark; there was no forgetting. Clamping her teeth, she pushed up to a sitting position on the stone floor and felt around her for a wall to lean against. The stone blocks of the wall were cool against her back. _Small things_ , she told herself. _Think of small things. Heat. Cold. I wonder when they’ll bring me some water. If they will_.

She could not help feeling for her Great Serpent ring. It was no longer on her finger. Not that she expected it; she thought she remembered when they had ripped it off. Things had grown hazy after a time. Thankfully, blessedly hazy. But she remembered telling them everything, eventually. Almost everything. The triumph of holding back a scrap here, a bit there. In between howling answers, eager to answer if only they would stop, even for a little while, if only ... She wrapped her arms around herself to stop her shudders; it did not work very well. _I will remain calm. I am not dead. I must remember that above everything else. I am not dead_.

“Mother?” Leane’s unsteady voice came out of the darkness. “Are you awake, Mother?”

“I’m awake,” Siuan sighed. She had hoped they had released Leane, put her out of the city. Guilt stabbed her at feeling a bit of comfort from the presence of the other woman sharing her cell. “I am sorry I got you into this, daugh—” No. She had no right to call her that, now. “I am sorry, Leane.”

There was a long moment of silence. “Are you ... all right, Mother?”

“Siuan, Leane. Just Siuan.” Despite herself she tried to embrace _saidar_. There was nothing there. Not for her. Only the emptiness inside. Never again. A lifetime of purpose, and now she was rudderless, adrift on a sea far darker than this cell. She scrubbed a tear from her cheek, angry at letting it fall. “I am not the Amyrlin Seat anymore, Leane.” Some of the anger crept into her voice. “I suppose Elaida will be raised in my place. If she hasn’t been already. I swear, one day I will feed that woman to the silverpike!”

Leane’s only answer was a long, despairing breath.

The grate of a key in the rusty iron lock brought Siuan’s head up; no-one had thought to oil the works before throwing Leane and her in, and the corroded parts did not want to turn. Grimly she forced herself to her feet. “Up, Leane. Get up.” After a moment she heard the other woman complying and muttering to herself between soft moans.

In a slightly louder voice, Leane said, “What good will it do?”

“At least they won’t find us huddling on the floor and weeping.” She tried to make her voice firm. “We can fight, Leane. As long as we are alive, we can fight.” _Oh, Light, they Stilled me! They_ Stilled _me!_

Forcing her mind to blankness, she clenched her fists, and tried to dig her toes into the uneven stone floor. She wished the noise in her throat did not sound so much like a whimper.

* * *

Min set her bundles on the floor and tossed back her cloak so she could use both hands on the key. Twice as long as her hand, it was as rusty as the lock, just like the other keys on the big iron ring. The air was cold and damp, as though summer did not reach this far down. It was a struggle to keep from looking at the two Aes Sedai lying snoring nearby, the remains of their supper splattered across the ground. When she’d gingerly fished the keys off that one woman’s belt, she’d been half-certain she would rear up and attack her.

“Hurry, child,” Laras muttered, holding the lantern for Min, peering both ways down the otherwise dark stone hall. Whatever it was she had slipped into the guards’ supper looked to be working wonderfully. It was hard to believe that the woman, with all her chins, had ever been a beauty, but Min surely thought her beautiful now.

Fighting the key, she shook her head. There had been no-one else she could think to turn to but Laras. Even so, she still could not get over her shock when the woman reluctantly announced she would help. _A venturesome lass after her own heart indeed. Well, I hope she can—how did she put it?—keep me out of the pickling kettle_. The bloody key would _not_ turn; she threw all of her weight into trying to twist it.

In truth, she was grateful to Laras in more ways than one. It was doubtful she could have readied everything by herself, or even found some of it, surely not this quickly. Besides which ... Besides which, when she slipped out of Juilaine’s room and went to enlist the cook she had already begun telling herself she was a fool even to think of doing this, that she should be on a horse and off for Tear while she had the chance, before someone decided to add her head to those decorating the front of the Tower. Running away, she suspected, would have been the sort of thing she would never have been able to forget. That alone had made her grateful enough not to object in the slightest when Laras added some pretty dresses to what she herself had already packed. The rouges and powders could always be “lost” somewhere. _Why won’t this bloody key turn? Maybe Laras can—_

The key shifted suddenly, twisted with a snap so loud that Min feared something had broken. But when she pushed at the rough wooden door, it opened. Snatching up the bundles, she stepped into the bare stone cell—and stopped in confusion.

The lantern light revealed two women clad only in dark bruises and red welts, shielding their eyes from the sudden light, but for a moment Min was not sure they were the right two. One was tall and coppery-skinned, the other shorter, sturdier, more fair. The faces looked right—almost right—and untouched by whatever had been done to them, so she should have been certain. But the agelessness that marked Aes Sedai seemed to have melted away; she would have had no hesitation at all in thinking these women were just six or seven years older than herself at most, and not Aes Sedai at all. Her face heated with embarrassment at the thought. She saw no images, no auras, around either; there were always images and auras around Aes Sedai. _Stop that_ , she told herself.

“Where—?” one of the two began wonderingly, then paused to clear her throat. “How did you get those keys?” It was Siuan Sanche’s voice.

“It _is_ her.” Laras sounded disbelieving. She poked Min with a thick finger. “Hurry, child! I am too old and slow to be having adventures.”

Min gave her a startled look; the woman had _insisted_ on coming; she would not be left out, she had said. Min wanted to ask Siuan why the pair of them suddenly looked so much younger, but there was no time for frivolous questions. _I’m too bloody used to being Elmindreda!_

Thrusting one of her bundles at each of the naked women, she spoke rapidly. “Clothes. Dress as quickly as you can. I don’t know how much time we have. We drugged the guards’ supper but I do not know how long they’ll sleep.” She leaned back through the door to peer worriedly down the hall toward the guardroom. “We had best hurry.”

Siuan had already undone her bundle and begun to put on the clothes it contained. Except for a linen shift, they were all plain woollens in shades of brown, suitable for farm women come to the White Tower to consult the Aes Sedai, though the skirts divided for riding were a little unusual. Laras had done most of the needlework; Min had mostly just stuck herself. Leane was also covering her nakedness, but she seemed more interested in the short-bladed knife hanging from her belt than in the clothes themselves.

Three plainly dressed women had a chance, at least, of leaving the Tower without attracting notice. A number of petitioners and people seeking help had been caught inside the Tower by the fighting; three more creeping out of hiding should be hustled into the street at worst. So long as they were not recognized. The other women’s faces might help, too. No-one was likely to take a pair of young—young-seeming, at least—women for the Amyrlin Seat and the Keeper of the Chronicles. _Former Amyrlin and former Keeper_ , she reminded herself.

Siuan winced as she tugged on thick stockings. The legs that she’d once bid Min put her face between were looking very battered now. Eyeing Laras, she pushed her feet into the sturdy shoes. “It is good to see some do not believe the charges against me. Whatever they are.”

The stout woman frowned and lowered her chins, giving herself a fourth. “I am loyal to the Tower,” she said sternly. “Such matters are not for me. I am only a cook. This foolish girl has had me remembering too much of being a foolish girl myself. I think—Seeing you—It is time for me to remember I am not a willowy girl any longer.” She pushed the lantern into Min’s hands.

Min caught her stout arm as she turned to go. “Laras, you won’t give us away? Not now, after all you have done.”

The woman’s wide face split in a smile, half-reminiscent, half-rueful. “Oh, Elmindreda, you do remind me of me when I was your age. Foolish doings, and near to getting myself hanged, sometimes. I will not betray you, child, but I must live here. When Second is rung, I will send a girl with wine for the guards. She will come running back in a tizzy and I will dutifully alert the sisters that something scandalous has happened. If they have not wakened or been discovered before then, that will give you more than an hour.” Turning to the other two women, she suddenly wore the hard scowl Min had seen directed at undercooks and the like. “You use that hour well, hear! They mean to stick you in the scullery, I understand, so they can haul you out for examples. I’d not care one way or the other—such matters are for Aes Sedai, not cooks; one Amyrlin is the same as another, to me—but if you get this child caught, you can expect me to be striping your hides from sunup to sundown whenever you’re not head-down in greasy pots or cleaning slop jars! You will wish they had cut off your heads before I am done. And don’t think they’ll believe I helped. Everyone knows I keep to my kitchens. You mark me, and jump!” The smile popped back onto her face, and she pinched Min’s cheek. “You hurry them along, child. Oh, I am going to miss dressing you. Such a pretty child.” With a last vigorous pinch, she waddled out of the cell at a near trot.

Min rubbed her cheek irritably; she hated it when Laras did that. The woman was as strong as a horse. Near to _hanging_? What kind of “lively girl” had Laras been?

Leane had to stretch in order to gingerly pull her dress over her head, an act which made her flat chest look even flatter. Despite that, and the bruises and welts which marred her skin, she was an attractive woman in her way. Once the dress was in place, she sniffed loudly, scowling. “To think she could speak to you in that manner, Mother! I am surprised she helped at all if she feels that way.”

“But she did help,” Min told her. “Remember that. And I think she’ll keep her word not to give us away. I am sure of it.” Leane sniffed again.

Siuan swung her cloak around her shoulders. “It makes a difference, Leane, that I have no more claim to that title. It makes a difference when tomorrow you and I might be two of her scullery girls.” Leane clasped her hands to keep them from shaking and would not look at her. Siuan went on calmly, if in a dry tone. “I also suspect Laras will keep her word about ... other things ... so even if you don’t care whether Elaida hangs us up like a pair of netted sharks for the world to see, I suggest you move yourself. Myself, I hated greasy pots when I was a girl, and I don’t doubt I still would.”

Leane sullenly began doing up the laces of the country dress.

Siuan turned her attention to Min. “You may not be so eager to help us when I tell you we’ve both been ... Stilled.” Her voice did not shake, but it was stiff with the effort of saying the word, and her eyes looked pained, and lost. It was a shock to realize her calm was all on the surface. “Any one of the Accepted could tie the pair of us into a running sheepsfoot, Min. Most of the Novices could.”

“I know,” Min said, careful to keep her tone clear of the smallest hint of sympathy. Sympathy now might break what self-control the other women had left, and she needed them in control of themselves. “It was announced at every square in the city, and posted wherever they could nail up a notice. But you are still alive.” Leane gave a bitter laugh, which she ignored. “We had best go. The guards might wake, or somebody check on them.”

“Lead, Min,” Siuan said. “We are in your hands.” After a moment Leane gave a short nod and hurriedly donned her cloak.

That was a heady thing to hear, coming from that woman. It was a daunting thing, too, but it gave Min hope that her other reason for doing this—other than saving two women who deserved saving—might yet see satisfaction. “Alright. But before we leave, I need to know where the Horn is. We have to get it back, now more than ever. Rand needs it not to be in the hands of his enemies.”

Siuan winced. “If I could give it to you, I might, despite the danger. Fishguts, but I might at that! But I can’t. No woman who can’t channel would ever be able to put her hands on it. And that includes me, now.”

Disappointment washed over her. How were they supposed to get it back from the Aes Sedai, then, if only the Aes Sedai could touch it, and the Aes Sedai had turned against them? Min sighed deeply, but nodded her acceptance. The Horn would be used at Tarmon Gai’don, according to the Prophecies, and no-one had more experience with prophecies than she did. It would work itself out, somehow. Putting the Horn out of her mind, she hurried Siuan and Leane through the far door, all thick planks and wide iron straps, up the narrow, stone stairs. They had to keep moving. Passing for petitioners would not save them from questioning if they were seen coming from the cells.

They saw no more guards, nor anyone else, as they climbed out of the bowels of the Tower, but Min still found herself holding her breath until they reached the small door that let into the Tower proper. Cracking it just enough to poke her head through, she peeked both ways down the corridor.

Gilded lamp stands stood against frieze-banded walls of white marble. To the right two women moved swiftly out of sight without looking back. The sureness of their steps marked them Aes Sedai even if she could not see their faces; in the Tower, even a queen walked hesitantly. In the other direction half a dozen men stalked away, just as clearly Warders, with their wolfish grace and cloaks that faded into the surroundings.

She waited until the Warders were gone, too, before slipping through the doorway. “It’s clear. Come on. Keep your hoods up and your heads down. Act a little frightened.” For her part, it was no pretence. From the silent way the two women followed her, she did not think they needed to pretend either.

The halls of the Tower were seldom full, yet now they seemed empty. Occasionally someone appeared for a moment ahead of them, or down a side corridor, but whether Aes Sedai or Warder or servant, all were hurrying, too intent on their own affairs to notice anyone else. The Tower was silent, too.

Then they passed a crossing hallway where dark blotches of dried blood flecked the pale green floor tiles. Two larger patches stretched off in long smears, as if bodies had been dragged away.

Siuan stopped, staring. “What has happened?” she demanded. “Tell me, Min!” Leane gripped the hilt of her belt knife and peered around as if expecting an attack.

“Fighting,” Min said reluctantly. She had hoped the two women would be out of the Tower grounds, even out of the city, before learning of this. She herded them around the dark stains, prodded them on when they tried to look back. “It began yesterday, right after you were taken, and did not stop until maybe two hours ago. Not completely.”

“You mean the Gaidin?” Leane exclaimed. “Warders, fighting _each other?_ ”

“Warders, Aes Sedai, the guardsmen, everyone. It started when some men who came claiming to be masons—two or three hundred of them—tried to seize the Tower itself right after your arrest was announced.”

Siuan scowled. “Danelle! I should have realized there was more to it than not paying attention.” Her face twisted more, until Min thought she might begin crying. “Artur Hawkwing could not do it but we did it ourselves.” Edge of tears or not, her voice was fierce. “The Light help us, we have broken the Tower.” Her long sigh seemed to empty her of breath, and anger, too. “I suppose,” she said sadly after a moment, “I should be glad that some of the Tower supported me, but I almost wish they had not.” Min tried to keep her face expressionless, but those sharp blue eyes seemed to interpret every flicker of an eyelash. “Or did they support me, Min?”

“Some did.” She had no intention of telling her how few, not yet. But she had to prevent Siuan thinking she still had partisans inside the Tower. “Elaida didn’t wait to find out if the Blue Ajah would stand for you or not. There isn’t a Blue sister still in the Tower, not alive, I know that.”

“Sheriam?” Leane asked anxiously. “Anaiya?”

“I don’t know. There are not many Greens left, either. Not in the Tower. The other Ajahs split, one way and another. Most of the Reds are still here. As far as I know, everybody who opposed Elaida has either fled or else they are dead. Siuan ...” It seemed odd, calling her that—Leane muttered angrily under her breath—but calling her Mother would only be a mockery now. “Siuan, the charges posted against you claim you and Leane arranged Mazrim Taim’s escape. Logain got away during the fighting, and they’ve blamed that on you, too. They don’t quite name you Darkfriends—I suppose that would be too close to Black Ajah—but they do not miss by much. I think everyone is meant to understand, though.”

“They won’t even admit the truth,” Siuan said softly, “that they mean to do exactly what they pulled me down for.”

“Darkfriends?” Leane murmured in bewilderment. “They named us ...?”

“Why would they not?” Siuan breathed. “What would they not dare, when they dared so much?” They hunched their shoulders in their cloaks and let Min lead them as she would. She just wished their faces did not look so hopeless.

As they drew nearer an outside door, she began to breathe more easily. She had horses hidden in a wooded part of the grounds, not far from one of the western gates. There was still the question of how easy it would be to actually ride out, but once they reached the horses she would feel the next thing to free. Surely the gate guards would not stop three women leaving. She kept telling herself that.

The door she sought appeared ahead—a small, plain-panelled door, letting onto a path not much used, just opposite where this hall met the broad corridor that ran all the way around the Tower—and Elaida’s face caught her eye, sweeping down the outer corridor toward her.

Min’s knees thudded onto the floor tiles, and she huddled, head down and face hidden by her hood, heart trying to pound through her ribs. _A petitioner, that’s all I am. Just a simple woman, with nothing to do with what’s happened. Oh, Light, please!_ She raised her head just enough to peek under the edge of her hood, half-expecting to see a gloating Elaida staring down at her.

Elaida swept by without a glance in Min’s direction, the broad, striped stole of the Amyrlin Seat around her shoulders. Alviarin followed, wearing the stole of the Keeper of the Chronicles, white for her Ajah. A dozen or more Aes Sedai passed at Alviarin’s heels, mostly Reds, though Min saw two yellow-fringed shawls, a green one and a brown. Six Warders flanked the procession, hands on hilts and eyes wary. Those eyes swept across the three kneeling women and dismissed them.

They were all three kneeling, Min realized, and realized, too, that she had almost expected Siuan and Leane to launch themselves at Elaida’s throat. Both women had lifted their heads just enough to watch the procession make its way on down the corridor.

“Very few women have been Stilled,” Siuan said, as if to herself, “and none have survived long, but it is said that one way to survive is to find something you want as much as you wanted to channel.” That lost look was gone from her eyes. “At first I thought I wanted to gut Elaida and hang her in the sun to dry. Now I know I want nothing—nothing!—so much as the day I can tell that leech of a woman that she’ll live a long life showing others what happens to anyone who claims I am a Darkfriend!”

“And Alviarin,” Leane said in a tight voice. “And Alviarin!”

“I was afraid they’d sense me,” Siuan went on, “but there is nothing for them to sense, now. An advantage to having been ... Stilled, it seems.” Leane jerked her head angrily, and Siuan said, “We must use whatever advantages we can find. And be glad for them.” The last sounded as if she were trying to convince herself.

The final Warder disappeared around the distant curve, and Min swallowed the lump in her throat. “We can talk of advantages later,” she croaked, and stopped to swallow again. “Let us just go to the horses. That has to have been the worst.”

Indeed, as they hurried out of the Tower into the noonday sun, it seemed the worst must have passed. A column of smoke rising toward a cloudless sky in the east of the Tower grounds was the only sign of old trouble. Groups of men moved in the distance, but none gave a second glance to the three women as they scurried past the library, which was built like towering waves frozen in stone. A footpath led deeper into the grounds and westward, into a wood of oaks and evergreens that could have stood far from any city. Min’s steps lightened when she found the three saddled horses still tied where she and Laras had left them, in a small clearing surrounded by leatherleaf and paperbark.

Siuan went immediately to a stout mare two hands shorter than the others. “A suitable mount for my present circumstances. And she looks more placid than the other two; I was never a good rider.” She stroked the mare’s nose, and the mare nuzzled into her palm. “What is her name, Min? Do you know?”

“No. You’ll have to name her.” Min’s Wildrose snuffled her hand as she prepared to mount.

“Why not name her Elayne. Then you could ride her to her death.” Gawyn stepped from behind a wide-trunked paperbark, one hand on the long hilt of his sword. The blood streaking his face made exactly the pattern Min had seen in her viewing, her first day back in Tar Valon. “I knew you must be up to something, Min, when I saw you sneaking about.” His red-gold hair was matted with blood, his blue eyes half-dazed, but he walked toward them smoothly, a tall man with a catlike grace. A cat stalking mice.

“Gawyn,” Min began, “we—”

His sword was out of its scabbard, flicking back Siuan’s hood, sharp edge laid against the side of her throat, all faster than Min could follow. Siuan’s breath caught audibly, and she was still, looking up at him, outwardly as serene as though she yet wore the stole.

“Don’t, Gawyn!” Min gasped. “You must not!” She took a step toward him, but he flung up his free hand without looking at her, and she stopped. He was as tight as coiled steel, ready to burst out in any direction. She noticed Leane had shifted her cloak to hide one hand and prayed the woman was not fool enough to draw her belt knife.

Gawyn studied Siuan’s face, then slowly nodded. “It is you. I was not sure, but it is. This ... disguise cannot—” He did not appear to move, but a sudden widening of Siuan’s eyes spoke of a keen edge pressing harder. “Where is my sister? What have you done with her?” Most frightening to Min, with that blood-masked face and half-glazed eyes, with his body tensed almost to quivering and his hand upflung as if he had forgotten it, he never raised his voice or put any emotion into it. He only sounded tired, more tired than she had ever heard anyone sound in her life.

Siuan’s voice was nearly as neutral. “The last I heard from her, she was safe and well. I cannot say where she is, now. Would you rather she was here, in the middle of this feeding frenzy?”

“No Aes Sedai word games,” he said softly. “Tell me where she was, straight out, so I know you speak the truth.”

“Illian,” Siuan said without hesitation. “In the city itself. She is studying with an Aes Sedai named Mara Tomanes. She should still be there.”

“Not Tear,” he murmured. For a moment he appeared to think that over. Abruptly, he said, “They say you are a Darkfriend. Black Ajah, that would be, would it not?”

“If you really believe that,” Siuan said calmly, “then strike off my head.”

Min almost screamed as his knuckles whitened on his sword hilt. Slowly she reached out and rested her fingers against his outstretched wrist, careful not to make him think she meant to do anything more than touch. It was like resting her fingers on rock. “Gawyn, you know me. You can’t think I would help the Black Ajah.” His eyes never wavered from Siuan’s face, never blinked. “Gawyn, Elayne supports her and everything she’s done. Your own sister, Gawyn.” His flesh was still stone. “I swear it Gawyn. Elayne believes in her.” His wrist trembled under her fingers.

His eyes flickered to her, then back to Siuan. “Why shouldn’t I drag you back by the scruff of your neck? Give me a reason.”

Siuan met his stare with a good deal more calm than Min felt. “You could do it, and I suppose my struggles wouldn’t give you much more trouble than a kitten’s. Yesterday, I was one of the most powerful women in the world. Perhaps the most powerful. Queens and kings would come if I summoned them, even if they hated the Tower and all it stood for. Today, I’m afraid that I may have nothing to eat tonight, and that I’ll have to sleep under a bush. In the space of one day I’ve been reduced from the most powerful woman in the world to one hoping to find a farm where I might earn my keep in the fields. Whatever you think I have done, isn’t that a fitting punishment?”

“Perhaps,” he said after a moment. Min took a deep breath of relief as he resheathed his sword in a flowing motion. “But that is not why I will let you go. Elaida might take your head yet, and I cannot allow that. I want what you know to be there, if I need it.”

“Gawyn,” Min said, “come with us.” A Warder-trained swordsman might be useful in the days to come. “That way, you’d have her ready to hand to answer your questions.” Siuan’s gaze flickered to her, not really leaving Gawyn’s face and not exactly indignant; she pressed on anyway. “Gawyn, Elayne believes in her. Can’t you believe, too?”

“Do not ask more than I can give,” he said quietly. “I will take you to the nearest gate. You would never get out without me. That’s all I can do, Min, and it is more than I should. Your arrest has been ordered; did you know that?”

Min paled. She hadn’t known. She’d thought Juilaine could protect her. It seemed not. Or perhaps she hadn’t even tried. She supposed it didn’t matter either way.

Gawyn’s eyes swung back to Siuan. “If anything happens to them,” he said in that expressionless voice, “to Min or my sister, I will find you, wherever you hide, and I will make sure the same happens to you.” Abruptly he stalked a dozen paces away and stood with his arms folded, head down as if he could not bear to look at them any longer.

Siuan half-raised a hand to her throat; a tiny line of red on the fair skin marked where his blade had rested. “I’ve been too long with the Power,” she said, a trifle unsteadily. “I had forgotten what it is like to face someone who can pick you up and snap you like a thread.” She peered at Leane then, as if seeing her for the first time, and touched her own face as though unsure what it looked like. “From what I have read it is supposed to take longer to fade, but perhaps Elaida’s rough treatment had something to do with it. A disguise, he called it, and it may serve for one.” She clambered awkwardly onto her horse’s back, handling the reins as if the mare were a spirited stallion. “Another advantage, it seems, to being ... I have to learn to say it without flinching. I have been Stilled.” She said the words slowly and deliberately, then nodded. “There. If Leane is any guide, I’ve lost a good fifteen years, maybe more. I’ve known women who would pay any price for that. A third advantage.” She glanced at Gawyn. He still had his back turned, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Along with a certain loosening of the tongue, shall we say? I had not thought of Mara in years. A friend of my girlhood.”

“Will you age like the rest of us, now?” Min asked as she climbed into her saddle. Better than commenting on the lie. Better just to remember that she could lie now. Leane mounted the third mare with smooth skill and walked her in a circle, testing her step; she had surely been on a horse before.

Siuan shook her head. “I really don’t know. No Stilled woman has ever lived long enough to find out. I intend to.”

“Do you mean to go,” Gawyn asked harshly, “or sit there talking?” Without waiting for an answer, he strode off through the trees.

They heeled their mares after him, Siuan pulling her hood well forward to hide her face.

Disguise or no, it seemed she was taking no chances. Leane was already shrouded as deeply in hers as she could be. After a moment, Min imitated them. Elaida wanted her arrested? That had to mean that she knew “Elmindreda” was Min. How long had the woman known? How long had Min bee walking around thinking herself hidden while Elaida watched and smirked at her for a fool? It was a shivery thought.

As they caught up to Gawyn at a gravelled path, twenty or more young men appeared, striding toward them, some perhaps a few years older than he, others little more than boys. Min suspected some of those last did not have to shave yet, at least not regularly. All carried swords at their belts or on their backs, though, and three or four had breastplates. More than one sported a bloody bandage, and most wore clothes spotted with blood. Each had the same unblinking stare as Gawyn. At the sight of him they stopped, clapping right fists to chests. Without slowing, Gawyn acknowledged the salute with a nod, and the young men fell in behind the women’s horses.

“The students?” Siuan murmured. “They also took part in the fighting?”

Min nodded, keeping her face expressionless. “They call themselves the Younglings.”

“A fitting name.” Siuan sighed.

“Some are no more than children,” Leane muttered.

Min was not about to tell them that Warders from the Blue and Green Ajahs had planned to free them before they were Stilled, and might have succeeded if Gawyn had not roused the students, “children” too, and led them into the Tower to stop it. The fighting had been among the deadliest, student against teacher and no mercy, no quarter.

The tall, bronze-studded Alindrelle’s Gate stood open, but guarded heavily. Some guards wore the Flame of Tar Valon on their chests; others had workmen’s coats, and mismatched breastplates and helmets. Guardsmen, and fellows who had come disguised as masons. Both sorts looked hard and resourceful, used to their weapons, but they kept apart, eyeing each other distrustfully. A grizzled officer stood out from the Tower guardsmen with his arms folded and watched Gawyn and the others approach.

“Writing materials!” Gawyn snapped. “Quickly!”

“Well, you must be these Younglings I’ve heard of,” the grizzled man said. “A fine bunch of bloody young cockerels, but I’ve had orders to let no-one leave the Tower grounds. Signed by the Amyrlin Seat herself. Who do you think you are to countermand that?”

Gawyn raised his head slowly. “I am Gawyn Trakand of Andor,” he said softly. “And I mean to see these women leave, or you dead.” The other Younglings moved up behind him, spreading out to face the guards with hands on swords, unblinking, perhaps not caring that they were outnumbered.

The grizzled man shifted uneasily, and one of the others muttered, “He’s the one they say killed Hammar and Coulin.”

After a moment, the officer jerked his head toward the guardhouse, and one of the guardsmen ran inside, returning with a lapdesk, a small red stick of sealing wax burning in a brass holder at one corner. Gawyn let the man hold the desk while he scribbled furiously.

“This will let you past the bridge guards,” he said, letting a pool of red wax drip beneath his signature. He pressed his signet ring into it firmly.

“You killed Coulin?” Siuan said in a cold tone fitting her former office. “And Hammar?” Min’s heart sank. _Be quiet, Siuan! Remember who you are now, and be quiet!_

Gawyn spun to face the three women, his eyes like blue fire. “Yes,” he grated. “They were my friends, and I respected them, but they sided with ... with Siuan Sanche, and I had to—” Abruptly he shoved the paper he had sealed into Min’s hand. “Go! Go, before I change my mind!” He slapped her mare, then darted to slap the other two as Min’s horse leaped through the open gates. “Go!”

Min let her horse cross the great plaza surrounding the Tower grounds at a quick trot, Siuan and Leane right behind her. The plaza was empty, and so were the streets beyond. The ring of their horses’ hooves on the paving stones echoed hollowly. Whoever had not already fled the city was hiding.

She studied Gawyn’s paper as they rode. The blob of red wax bore the imprint of a charging boar. “This just says we have permission to leave. We could use it to board a ship as well as at the bridges.” It seemed smart to be going a way no-one knew, not even Gawyn. She did not really think he would change his mind, but he was brittle, ready to shatter at the wrong blow.

“That might be a good idea,” Leane said. “I always thought Galad was the more dangerous of those two, but I am no longer sure. Hammar, and Coulin ...” She shivered. “A ship would take us farther, faster than these horses can.”

Siuan shook her head. “Most of the Aes Sedai who fled will have crossed the bridges, for sure. That is the quickest way out of the city if someone might be chasing you, quicker than waiting while a ship’s crew casts off. I must stay close to Tar Valon if I’m to gather them in.”

“They won’t follow you,” Leane said in a monotone freighted with meaning. “You have no right to the stole any longer. Not even to the shawl or the ring.”

“I may no longer wear the stole,” Siuan replied just as flatly, “but I still know how to ready a crew for a storm. And since I cannot wear the stole, I must see they choose the right woman in my place. I’ll not let Elaida get away with calling herself the Amyrlin. It has to be someone strong in the Power, someone who sees things the right way.”

“Then you mean to go on aiding this ... this _Dragon!_ ” Leane snapped.

“What else would you have me do? Curl up and die?”

Leane shuddered as if she had been struck in the face, and they rode in silence for a time. All of those fabulous buildings around them, like wind-sculpted cliffs and waves and great flights of birds, loomed frighteningly with no people in the streets save themselves, and one lone fellow who came darting around a corner up ahead, scuttling from doorway to doorway as if scouting their way for them. He did not lessen the emptiness, only emphasized it.

“What else can we do?” Leane said eventually. She rode slumped in her saddle now like a sack of grain. “I feel so ... empty. Empty.”

“Find something to fill it up,” Siuan told her firmly. “Anything. Cook for the hungry, tend the sick, find a husband and raise a house full of children. Me, I mean to see Elaida does not get away with this. I could almost forgive her, if she truly believed I had endangered the Tower. Almost, I could. Almost. But she has been filled with envy since the day I was raised Amyrlin instead of her. That drives her as much as anything else, and for that I mean to pull her down. That is what fills me, Leane. That, and the fact that Rand al’Thor must not fall into her hands.”

“Perhaps that will be enough.” The coppery-skinned woman sounded doubtful, but she straightened. The contrast between her obvious experience and Siuan’s precarious seat on the shorter mare made her look as if she must be the leader. “But how can we even begin? We have three horses, the clothes on our backs, and whatever Min has in her purse. Hardly enough to challenge the Tower.”

“I am glad you did not decide on a husband and home. We will find other—” Siuan grimaced. “We will find Aes Sedai who fled, find what we need. We may have more than you think, Leane. Min, what does that pass Gawyn gave us say? Does it mention three women? What? Quickly, girl.”

Min glared at her back. Siuan had been peering at the darting man ahead, a large, dark-haired fellow, dressed well but plainly in sombre browns. The woman sounded as if she were still Amyrlin. _Well, I wanted her to find her backbone, didn’t I?_

Siuan turned to stare at her with those sharp blue eyes; somehow they seemed no less intimidating than before. “ ‘The bearers are authorized to depart Tar Valon on my authority’,” Min quoted hastily from memory. “ ‘Who impedes them will answer to me’. Signed—”

“I know his name,” Siuan snapped. “Follow me.” She heeled Bela’s flanks, nearly losing her seat when the shaggy mare lumbered to a slow gallop. She hung on, though, bouncing awkwardly and drumming her heels for more speed.

Min exchanged one startled look with Leane, and they were both galloping after her. The man looked back at the sound of running hooves and began to run himself, but Siuan cut her horses in front of him; he bounced off the mare with a grunt. Min reached them just in time to hear Siuan say, “I did not think to meet you here, Logain.”

Min gaped. It _was_ him. Those despairing eyes and that once handsome face framed by dark hair curling to his broad shoulders were unmistakable. Just who they needed to find. A man the Tower wanted very likely as much as Siuan.

Logain slumped to his knees as though his fatigued legs would not hold him any longer. “I cannot harm anyone now,” he said tiredly, staring at the paving stones. “I just wanted to get away, to die somewhere in peace. If you only knew what it was like to have lost ...” Leane sawed her reins angrily as he trailed off; he began again without noticing. “The bridges are all guarded. They will let no-one across. They did not know me, but they would not let me cross. I have tried them all.” Abruptly he laughed, wearily, but as if it were very funny indeed. “I have tried them all.”

“I think,” Min said carefully, “we should be going. He probably wants to _avoid those who must be looking for him_.” Siuan shot her a look that almost made her rein her horse back, all icy eyes and hard chin. It would not have been dreadful if the woman had retained a little of the uncertainty she displayed previously.

Raising his head, the big man looked from one of them to the next, a slow frown forming. “You are not Aes Sedai. Who are you? What do you want of me?”

“I am the woman who can take you out of Tar Valon,” Siuan told him. “And perhaps give you a chance to strike back at the Red Ajah. You would like a chance to get back at those who captured you, wouldn’t you?”

A shudder passed through him. “What must I do?” he said slowly.

“Follow me,” she replied. “Follow me, and remember that I am the only one in the entire world who will give you your chance of revenge.”

From his knees he studied them with his head tilted, examining each face, then pushed himself to his feet, his eyes fixed on Siuan. “I am your man,” he said simply.

Leane’s face looked as incredulous as Min felt. What use under the Light could Siuan possibly have for a man of doubtful sanity who had once falsely proclaimed himself the Dragon Reborn? At the least he might turn on them to steal one of their horses! Eyeing the height of him, the breadth of his shoulders, Min thought they had better keep their belt knives handy. Suddenly, for a moment, that flaring halo of gold and blue shone about his head, speaking of glory to come as surely as it had the first time she had seen it. She shivered. Viewings. Images.

She glanced over her shoulder toward the Tower, the thick white shaft dominating the city, whole and straight, yet broken as surely as if it lay in ruins.

Despite the sun, she shivered again. _What’s done is done_. She glanced at the two Aes Sedai— former Aes Sedai—both now studying Logain as though he were a trained hound, ferocious, possibly dangerous, but useful. Siuan and Leane turned their horses toward the river, Logain striding between. Min followed more slowly. _Light, I hope it was worth it_.


	84. Nighttime Meetings

“How many mistakes do you think you can afford to make before it all unravels? As a _ta’veren_ you are afforded some measure of protection, but only a measure of it. You cannot blunder around unthinkingly and expect there to be no consequences. I have years of experience in dealing with matters like this. Years of training. If you would only explain what it is you are trying to do, I could tell you whether it is likely to succeed and how to go about it.”

Moiraine’s patience was growing thin. He could tell it even through her Aes Sedai composure. She wasn’t alone in her frustrations. Lan, riding at her side, remained as unmovable as a statue, but the Wise Ones walking nearby were all set faces and downturned mouths, even his aunts, who had invited themselves along when he broke camp at Iron Hold. For that matter, Dani and Ilyena didn’t look very happy either, though that last might have had something to do with the way Mat had been smiling at Ilyena earlier.

Rand remained unmoved by Moiraine’s efforts. He’d known her too long not to know what would happen if he shared his plans with her. She would just try to sabotage them and replace them with her own. That he had made mistakes was true. That he would make more was inevitable. But at least they would be _his_ mistakes. If she knew how to win Tarmon Gai’don, she would not need him to do it. His stern-faced refusal to respond made her hiss. Yanking Aldieb’s reins roughly, she fell back towards Theodrin and the other Accepted, following behind.

He got the usual dirty looks from the others, none of whom approved of the way he was with Moiraine. Aviendha was the only one not to mirror Lan’s hard stare, for some reason. She looked more worried than disapproving as she marched along two steps behind the cluster of Wise Ones.

As silence fell he caught a few words of Dani and Ilyena’s conversation. “... surprisingly assured. You’d think he had reason to be ...”

“He is a buffoon,” Ilyena snapped in response.

Rand ignored that. He was used to people thinking ill of him. He noticed the hard way Dani was staring at her friend, though, and wondered.

The cluster of Maidens that trotted around them—and they had to trot to match Rand’s pace, for he had no intention of letting Couladin sow any more mischief than he could avoid—the Maidens were protecting the Wise Ones as surely as they were him, so there were quite a few of them, some familiar, some not. One of the familiar ones lowered her _shoufa_ and came closer, giving Lan a respectful nod as he dropped back to ride with Moiraine, and giving Rand a warm smile that brought back fond memories.

“I see you, Rand,” Branwen said, and waited for his response. As he gave it, he noted the way the Wise Ones gazes sharpened at hearing her use his first name alone. Even Aviendha’s blue-green eyes narrowed dangerously. It gave Branwen pause, but did not silence her. “Now that they say it, I have noticed that you are oft silent and reclusive. What troubles you?”

He hesitated, looking between the various Aiel women. Was this some kind of trick? Branwen had been good to him, and more than good. He wanted to say something friendly in response. Not to share his plans—definitely not that!—but at least to treat her sympathy as it deserved. But for all their show of disapproval, theses were exactly the kind of answers the Wise Ones were always trying to tease out of him. “The Dark One. He always troubles me,” he said in the end, if only because it was the safest thing to say. Learning of some of the other things troubling him just then might well have caused the women to draw knives and attack, even his aunts.

Branwen shrugged the Father of Lies off as if he was no more than a bit of bad weather. “That war is eternal. I would not let it put a frown on your face. Be joyous instead! There will be much honour to be won in the days and years ahead.”

Rand smiled wryly. Every time he thought he was growing too used to being among the Aiel, every time he worried he might be about to become one in truth instead of only in blood, one of them would go and say something like that, and he would realise the truth. He was not Aiel. Winning honour in battle was the farthest thing from his mind. “I hope you find what you are looking for, Branwen,” he said calmly, and a bit sadly.

The sun was touching the horizon by then, but Rand pressed on as long as he dared. Moiraine was right about the _ta’veren_ thing. He couldn’t afford to rely on it too much. If he tried to ride through the night, one of his fellow wetlanders might have an accident or the peddlers might break a wheel on their wagons. That would be disastrous. So he called for a halt earlier than he would have liked.

As the camp was being raised around them, he asked Amys if they would have lessons that night but she said no. The Wise Ones had other matters to discuss. That he was not invited to join them in that discussion was plain but he still felt compelled to point out what day it was. He did not need her permission to enter _Tel’aran’rhiod_ but somehow it felt rude not to tell her that he meant to. She didn’t look happy about it, and she and Seana were quick to point out that he still had a lot to learn, but they didn’t try to stop him. That was good. They would have failed, and he had already done enough to get on their bad side lately.

There was no sign of Raine but Dani was still nearby, brushing down her horse rather vigorously. Ilyena, for all her coldness, was being slower and gentler with her white mare.

“Are you meeting with Nynaeve tonight?” he asked.

“I think it’s Elayne this time,” she said, almost sulkily. It gave him pause. She was many things but never sulky.

“Sooo ...”

“Go ahead. We both know you want to,” Ilyena cut in. Her face was hidden behind her horse’s neck but she sounded angry.

“Do we? Do we know? I don’t! I don’t know anything right now!” Dani yelled.

Rand’s brows rose. He had the feeling he’d walked into something he shouldn’t have walked into. “Ah ... You don’t need to come if you don’t want to,” he said, backing away. “I can bring them up to speed myself.”

Dani sniffed. “Like you brought Moiraine up to speed earlier? I’ll be there. In the usual spot.”

He left quickly, seeking out the tent that had been given him. He didn’t bother seeking Raine. If there were to be no lessons that night then there was no need for her to attend.

Falling asleep was easy after a forced march, and entering _Tel’aran’rhiod_ was just as easy for him now. He might well have much still to learn, as the Wise Ones had said, but his control had grown in a most satisfying way in these past weeks. He envisioned himself back in the Heart of the Stone, and that was where he “woke” from his dream into the World of Dreams.

Elayne was already there, standing among the thick redstone columns with _Callandor_ glittering not far away. She looked beautiful in a red and white gown of such elaborateness that he doubted anyone had ever seen her wear it outside of the palace in Caemlyn, or here in their shared dream.

He smiled at her. “It’s good to see you safe and sound. How are things going in Tarabon? Is everyone well?”

Elayne had her hands folded at her waist. She looked and spoke in a withdrawn manner than made Rand worry. “We escaped Tarabon with no casualties on our side. Our mission was a resounding success, thanks primarily to Nynaeve’s strength and courage. She ... is watching over my sleeping form now. To make sure nothing harmful happens.”

“That’s good,” he said, while wondering why the thought of Nynaeve looking out for her was cause for concern. The Wisdom was a good person to have guarding your back, in Rand’s experience.

“What of you, Rand? Are you well?” Elayne asked. When he looked into those deeply blue eyes of hers, he saw a touch of wariness.

“I’m fine,” he said at once, and then hesitated. Was he? Ever since leaving Iron Hold, Tam had been in the company of that young Maiden, Aca. Rand had noticed the way his father smiled at her. He’d noticed the way she addressed him, too, leaving off the al’Thor part as few Aiel did. He didn’t know what to think. Aca was about his age. Was he supposed to call her mother? And what did it mean for he and Tam, that he’d pushed him into meeting his Aiel relatives and then shacked up with someone else? “I went to Iron Hold. Turns out I have a pretty big family. Or rather, Janduin did. He was the Aiel chief that ... that slept with my mother. My blood mother, not Kari, my ...” He blew out a breath. “Blood and ashes. It’s all so complicated. Did Dani tell you any of this?”

“She mentioned Janduin and Shaiel, yes. Theirs is an interesting tale. I wondered over it. How did you find your visit to this Iron Hold? I hope they were suitably welcoming.”

He hesitated. “Yes and no. Family is, I’m told, pretty complicated.”

“Any relationship involving great intimacy and intense feelings can be so,” she said warily. “We can sometimes find ourselves saying and doing things we regret.”

“That’s true.”

“Have you done anything you regret lately, Rand?”

“Yes,” he said immediately. Regret was a constant companion.

Elayne sighed in relief. “As have I. It need not colour our future, however. We can, I hope, put it behind us.”

Rand was confused. But her smile was making dimples in her cheeks, and it was hard to concentrate all of a sudden. “I can think of something else I’d like to put behind you,” he heard himself say.

Elayne giggled. “How uncouth! You should not say such things so bluntly, Rand. It is not proper.”

He stepped closer and brushed his thumb across the red roses blooming in her cheeks. “I think any chance of me being proper is long gone.”

She leant into his touch. “It is not the worst thing in the world, I shall allow.”

Leaning down, he brought his lips to within an inch of hers. “What else will you allow?” he murmured.

“More than I should ...” she said, as she sighed into his embrace. They kissed, the touch of her lips making him tingle all over. He found his hands tangled in her hair but could not remember putting them there. It had not been that long since they’d spoken, not really, but he had missed her even so.

Elayne wended her way past his coat and shirt to seek out his stomach with her gentle fingers, then boldly sent them questing downwards, past his belt and into his breeches. Rand groaned against her mouth when she touched the stiffening member that awaited her there. She giggled, dimpling that smile up at him.

That was when Dani spoke.

“Couldn’t you arrange this sort of encounter for another time? You bloody well know we have a meeting tonight. Are you deliberately taunting me? I don’t need to see this stuff!”

Red-faced, Elayne sprang away from him. Rand turned to face the Domani a bit more slowly, but he couldn’t be sure his own face was not as red. She had a point. She had told him not ten minutes ago that she’d be coming. _You really need to start thinking with your head, and not your ... head, al’Thor_. He still hadn’t spoken to the peddlers about that shopping he’d meant to do. Something kept coming up, usually something involving naked people.

“No offense was intended, Dani. We merely got a little distracted,” said Elayne. Rand envied her composure. The best he could do was nod agreement.

Shaking her head exasperatedly, Dani sighed over their antics. “Shall we get to it, then? Since we last spoke we’ve left Cold Rocks Hold for Iron Hold ...”

Rand listened as she related her tale to Elayne. There was little he could have added, and most of those additions would have been personal details that didn’t really qualify as news. By far the more interesting was the tale Elayne told, of a city flooded with refugees from the wars he had started simply by existing. She spoke of tracking the Black Ajah through said city, all the way to the ruler’s palace, which she and the others had sneaked into in order to steal their prizes out from under their noses. They’d even “stolen” the ruler herself, though Elayne didn’t seem to think her any great prize. Dani made much of the deaths of Temaile and Eldrith but that was nothing to the gasp she let out when Elayne relayed her next bit of news.

“Nynaeve defeated Moghedien!?”

Elayne nodded. “Though the Forsaken escaped, alas. We didn’t manage to retain the _angreal_ we found in the exhibition, but the seal remains safe in our care. And that hateful _a’dam_ , too. We will toss that overboard once the ship we are on is farther out to sea.”

“The _a’dam_ , I assume you mean, not the seal,” Rand said hastily. He hadn’t even known there was a male version of that thing. The mere thought of one being used on him made him want to sick up.

“Of course. We are hardly going to throw the seal away. Do not be silly, Rand,” Elayne said.

“That is good,” he said with a relieved sigh. It could all unravel just as easily as Moiraine had said, Light help them all.

Dani was grinning fiercely. “I wish I had gone with you. All we’ve done is fight off the occasional raid from the Shadow. You women took the fight right to them, and got some righteous vengeance in the process!”

Elayne made an earnest attempt at a modest smile, but came up just a bit short. “I was worried for a time but I must admit that things went better than anticipated.”

“It certainly sounds that way,” Rand said. His own pervy procrastinations seemed all the more foolish in comparison.

“Don’t sound _too_ enthusiastic,” Dani said flatly. “Are you one of those people who has to have all the glory for himself?”

He frowned at her. “What glory?” Had she not read the Prophecies? There was nothing of glory in what he did.

“Give over, you two,” said Elayne. “We must fight as one if we are to have hope of victory in this war.”

Dani lowered her eyes, cheeks colouring. “If you say so ...” She made a great show of shrugging casually, while not quite looking at either of them. “Well, I guess that’s that, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rand.”

“Sleep tight,” he said. Elayne stood by his side with an utterly bland look on her face that he didn’t think was fooling anyone.

Dani hesitated, rubbing at her fingers and still refusing to meet his eyes. He thought she might have had something to say but she never said it. She just shook her head to herself and then disappeared from the dream.

As soon as she was gone Rand put his arm around Elayne’s shoulders. “I really am glad you’re safe.”

She leaned into his embrace. “I’m glad _we’re_ safe.”

Holding her, Rand allowed his awareness to expand beyond his own form, as the Wise Ones had shown him. He anchored himself to her with the most delicate of mental threads. It told him nothing of what she thought or felt, it simply tied them together for a moment. He teased out her desires rather than her fears, and let her take them where she willed.

The world blurred around them. The Heart of the Stone disappeared, and in its place there was a city of white stone under a warm sun. He only needed to look around for a moment to recognise it as Tanchico. The sun itself was more surprising than the city. There was a time he would have regarded it as oppressively hot. After having spent time in the Waste, it felt like a pleasant spring day.

“Did you like it?” he asked. When Elayne raised her brows, more at the question than at the change in location, he hastened to add. “Tanchico, I mean. Other than the danger, did you enjoy yourself?”

“It was certainly more interesting than the Royal Palace in Caemlyn. And I do like being out and about, having adventures with no-one bustling around scolding me for being improper. I am finding, however, that it is more the company that makes the adventure than it is the locale. Tear would not have been my favourite place to visit, but with _you_ there ...”

They were alone on the cobbled streets of Tanchico, but the innate eeriness of an empty city barely registered on Rand’s awareness. Elayne’s dress had shifted as she spoke. Gone was the elaborate Andoran gown, and in its place was a clinging dress, all of one piece and colour. Green silk, it was, but it could have been purple tree bark for all he cared. The way it moulded itself to Elayne’s curves ... her hips, her legs, her breasts, her belly ... There was an almost transparent veil across the lower half of her face. The eyes above it widened when they saw how he was looking at her. They went even wider when he took her by the hand and strode off towards the nearest alleyway.

“I want you,” he told her roughly, as he pushed her up against the wall between two rundown houses.

“Here? I ... I couldn’t. I—” Elayne’s chin was raised so high that the veil was getting in her mouth. She didn’t look very ladylike when she spat it out, but that just made Rand smile.

He couldn’t kiss her while she was wearing that thing, but he could hold her close. So that was what he did, pressing their bodies together. “You gave me a scare, with that letter. I thought you’d had your fill of me.”

Her arms went around him, holding tight. “Never.”

He pressed his hips, and what had grown there, against her. “Never?”

Elayne giggled. “Well. Sometimes.”

Emboldened, Rand traced her curves as closely as that dress was. When he dared to touch her breast, he felt her heart racing. “Good,” he murmured as he took hold of her skirt and pulled it up.

“Rand, we can’t, not here. It’s so dirty ...” she objected, but all the while her hands were clutching at him. This was, he reminded himself, where _she_ had wanted to be, not where he had chosen to take them.

When he cleared enough of the silk to be able to touch the softer skin beneath it, he picked her up by the waist and pushed her against the wall. By will alone he freed his manhood to jut up beneath her. “I have to have you,” he growled.

Elayne’s feeble protests were given the lie by the way her slender legs wrapped themselves around him. Smiling, Rand searched for and found her entrance. She gasped when her wetness closed around his tip, looking frantically around them at the alley and street that no-one would wander down. She was holding him so tightly, breathing so rapidly, flowing so hotly, that he wasted no time before pushing all the way inside her.

Her clenched teeth and the veil across her face were not enough to stop the sweet cry she let out then. It spurred Rand on and he began to fuck her in earnest, there in that dirty alleyway. Though red in the face, the Daughter-Heir let him do as he wished with her. If anything, she seemed to be enjoying it even more than he was.

That didn’t stop her from moaning complaints. “How dare you? What if someone saw us like this. No, don’t stop. You brute. What would people say?”

“I’ve given up on caring what people think. Most people anyway. I care what you think. The rest can burn,” he told her.

She clung to him tightly. “Truly? I want not to care either. I want you. The rest ... the rest shouldn’t matter.” Her hand went to his bottom, clutching him, pushing him inside her. “It _doesn’t_ matter. Fuck me, Rand.”

So he did. He fucked her in that dirty alley while her silk dress rubbed against the rough stone wall, and her sweet cries echoed down the empty streets. Her body felt good but her acceptance of him and the naked release he saw on her veiled face felt even better. He pinned her there and fucked her hard, until her nails dug into his ass and she screamed her pleasure out for all the World of Dreams to hear.

Rather than pursue his own orgasm, Rand preferred to lean back and watch her being wracked by pleasure. She glared at him when she saw his smirk. Or tried to, at least. That dimpled smile spoiled the effect.

“You uncouth bully. How dare you make me do such things?” she groaned.

“ _Make_ you!?”

“Yes. Make me,” she said firmly. He laughed aloud and, though she hid her face against his neck, he could hear her laughing, too.

“You know, just for that I might have to ‘make’ you do something _really_ naughty ...” he said, his cock still lodged deep inside her.

The veil did nothing to hide her curious excitement when she looked at him. “What do you mean? If it is more of this, I shall not object. I want us both to—Wait. It cannot be time—” Whatever else Elayne wanted to say he did not get to hear, for mere seconds after her eyes went wide she disappeared from _Tel’aran’rhiod_ entirely.

Blinking, Rand was left standing alone in the alley, his erect manhood standing up, wet and lonely and already growing cold. “Well. Burn me,” he swore at the empty city around him. “That’s a bloody disappointment if ever there was one.”

He lingered in Tanchico a little longer, hoping Elayne would come back, but she never did. He had half a mind to try to find Lanfear, just to make sure things were still on track between them. Just for that. Realising that willingly seeking out one of the Forsaken was a sign of having much less than half a mind, he concentrated inwardly, willed himself back into his body, and woke from the World of Dreams into a normal dream.

It was an odd little dream. Elayne was there in the bed with him, but she was fully clothed in the same gown he’d seen her in earlier. She sat atop him, her dress covering his whole body like a bedsheet. She wasn’t moving, though, just smiling. It came and went with a constant regularity, that smile. Dimples. No dimples. Dimples. No dimples. It was such a simple thing but it never occurred to Rand’s sleeping mind to want more until he looked from her dimples to her eyes and realised that there was only flat, pale skin where Elayne’s eyes and brows should have been.

“You can never defeat the Great Lord,” she rasped, before leaning down to him, her sharp teeth seeking his throat.

Rand woke with a gasp, heart racing. He huffed in annoyance. For all its strangeness, _Tel’aran’rhiod_ was better than a normal dream in many ways. At least he had a chance to control things there. In his dreams, his rotten mind held sway completely, making even lovely things vile.

He was so annoyed that he didn’t notice he was not alone until Raine spoke. “Elayne!? Is she all you think about? Day and night, it’s that ...” He tracked the voice to a dark shape crouched at the edge of his blankets. He couldn’t see her features, just the golden light of her eyes burning down on him.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled foolishly, rubbing at his eyes. She slept here most nights, when he was not in a hold.

“Me? Why, I ... I heard you cry out,” Raine said, hurt and offense loud in her voice. “You know I hear just about everything, and I ... I thought you were in trouble ... But obviously you were just having a bad dream ... a nightmare about ... I don’t know ... Elayne? Or was it a nice dream? It was hard to tell. I’ll let you get back to it, then, shall I? Have fun!”

Growling her supposed well wishes, Raine stalked from the tent, the moonlight briefly showing her bunched fist as she let herself out. For all her vaunted hearing, she didn’t come back when he called after her.

Sighing, Rand reached for his coat.


	85. Going Native

Dani didn’t know where she was going. It was cold. It was dark. And she knew it was dangerous to be wandering the Aiel Waste while unable to see what manner of critter was creeping around. But she wandered anyway. She couldn’t share the tent with Ilyena tonight, not if she really had slept with Cauthon, which she hadn’t done a very convincing job of denying. So she wandered through the tents with her saddlebags slung over her shoulder. Perhaps the Maidens or the Wise Ones would put her up for the night, if only she could find their tents among the army of others. And army was the word for it, too. Rand was calling in every Taardad he could. It made her worry about what might happen when they reached Alcair Dal.

Still, if she couldn’t tell their tents apart, the Maidens themselves were easy enough to spot, if not to tell apart in the night. It was only by their voices that she could recognise them when she approached, falsely if politely claiming to see them.

“I see you,” Adelin claimed. Dani wondered if her eyesight was good enough for that to be true, or if she was just talking big.

“You missed a fine opportunity earlier, Daniele Rulonir,” Amili said. “Bets were placed on whether the Four Holes sept could meet Rand al’Thor’s challenge and arrive in time. They arrived fully a day earlier than expected.”

“A day earlier than expected ... by some,” Luaine said proudly. She was a member of that sept, if Dani recalled correctly. “I won handsomely. Others had cause to curse their poor judgement.”

“Feel free to rub it in. Typical Taardad,” Nici sulked.

“Did you lose some of your, ah ... gatherings from Tear,” she asked delicately. She didn’t think the Aiel would appreciate her calling it loot, but that was what it was.

“No, but it was really embarrassing. I had to name who I would do it with if I ever did it.”

The other Maidens laughed. “There are much more important things than gold and silks with which to bet, Daniele Rulonir,” Adelin said.

“I suppose that is so,” she allowed. “And I won’t ask who it was you named, Nici.” She wouldn’t have even if she did not already have a pretty good idea who it was.

“I made no wagers with you. Why would you ask something that invites the dance?” Nici said, sounding genuinely confused. And genuinely willing to use her spears should the situation in question have actually come to pass.

Dani froze, and not just from the cold. There was a great deal about the Aiel’s culture that interested her, but some of it was harsh enough to justify their dark reputation. She was saved from pursuing their discussion further by the sight of a pair of golden eyes, glowing in the dark. If anyone could lead her past any lurking critters to the comfort of the Wise Ones’ tents, it was Raine Cinclare.

“Well, congratulations on your winnings and commiserations on your losses. I’ll see you all tomorrow,” she said, waving uselessly at them.

Raine saw her coming, of course, and stopped to await her. Those eyes guided her steps, like twin lighthouses in a dark sea. Except, while lighthouses were supposed to warn off ships, Raine’s eyes called Dani to her.

“Hey. What brings you out at this hour?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Raine said, sounding almost as sulky as Nici. She seemed to regret it, though, for she quickly added, “I’m just taking some air. Cold air. In the dark.” A heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, Dani. I don’t know why I lied. I just didn’t want to stay with Rand, is all.”

She frowned. “Did he do something to you?” He _was_ a male channeler, at the end of the day.

“No, no. Nothing like that. He just annoyed me.”

“He can be a bit of a jerk at times. “ So far as she knew, he still hadn’t apologised for not taking care of her when she collapsed from the heat. If she had been Dani’s girl, she certainly would not have left her alone in the care of others.

“I don’t think that’s fair at all,” Raine said. “He’s the nicest boy I know. He just has a lot on his mind. Oh, there’s so much pain and confusion in him. He’s tearing himself apart even without the awful Shadow to goad him on.”

Dani shivered. “Well, you would know better than me about that.”

“Are you cold? My tent isn’t far. You can come with me,” Raine said.

Such simple words. And such an innocent offer. But it left Dani standing still and silent in the night for a long time. “I’d like that ...” she said at last.

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you the way,” Raine said. She took Dani’s hand without hesitation and led her off. Dani let herself be led, surprised at how easy it was to trust Raine not to steer her wrong. The girl’s hand was as cold as hers but, by the time they were ducking between the low flaps of a tent, they had warmed each other nicely.

It felt so nice, in fact, that Dani was reluctant to let go, even when Raine spoke of the need to light a lamp. She embraced _saidar_ instead, letting the glory of the One Power flow into her. All her senses were enhanced by its presence, sight included. It made it easy to see the lamp Raine spoke of. A small net of fire was all it took to wake it, and fill the small tent with its light.

Raine blinked in the sudden light. Only belatedly did it occur to her that the sudden shift might be painful to those sharp eyes of hers, but Raine did not rebuke her. “Sometimes I forget how powerful you are,” was all she said.

Dani smiled shyly. “That’s sweet of you to say but I’m actually the weakest of all the women Nynaeve recruited.”

Her confession didn’t change Raine’s regard at all. “You are still practically divine to me.”

It was strange how quickly a woman could warm up, just from being indoors. Looking around, she found Raine’s tent to be a pretty basic thing. Her saddlebags were sitting open, showing a fine green gown and a ragged dress bundled beside each other. She must have fished her pretty yellow frock out of it earlier, for she hadn’t been wearing it during the day’s march. Spare knives were scattered around, most of them almost as long as those the Aiel carried. A smaller one sat on the plate that held the remains of her supper—meat alone from the looks of it. A little wooden statuette of a wolf caught Dani’s eye, if only because it was an oddly pretty thing to be in among all that mess.

“Nice place you have,” she said dryly.

“Oh. Thank you,” said Raine. Then her eyes narrowed, and she sniffed at Dani suspiciously.

“Hey! I know you said you like the way I smell, but stop that!” she teased.

“I wasn’t—That’s not—Never mind. Come into my den.”

She was tempted to ask if she’d ever said that to Rand, but managed to repress the urge. Depositing her bags by the entrance, she found a spot on the blankets and sat down. On Raine’s bed. It felt far too forward, especially when Raine sat beside her, but there really was nowhere else to sit.

They were still holding hands. Raine hadn’t released her, and Dani didn’t want to let go, not unless the other girl did first. But she didn’t, so they just sat there, growing warmer. “I had a fight with Ilyena, so I was going to look for the Wise Ones’ tents and ask if I could sleep there,” she said, as she ran her thumb across the back of Raine’s hand.

“Oh.” Raine chewed on her lip for a moment before continuing. “You could sleep here if you like.”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

She shook her head, darted a brief look at Dani, and said, “No. I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“Thanks. You’re really sweet.”

It was a surprising delight to see the feral girl smile so shyly. “So are you.”

Dani dragged her saddlebags over so she could get her nightdress. As she was pulling it out, she disturbed the rest of the contents, causing the horn toy with all its straps to fall out. She hastily snatched it up and stuffed it back in the bag, but a glance flicked Raine’s way made plain that she had noticed it. The confusion the sight of the thing had caused in her fellow Accepted was nowhere to be seen on Raine. Her red brows rose high at the recognition, and her fair cheeks coloured.

Dani pulled the blankets over herself, and undressed in their shelter. She refused to look at Raine. It could be hoped that, if she just pretended it hadn’t fallen out, Raine would pretend not to have seen it.

The girl certainly held her silence long enough. She sat on her heels, quiet and still, as Dani undressed. Only once she’d pulled the nightdress on did Raine climb under the covers. She didn’t bother removing her frock.

“Aren’t you going to take that off?” Dani asked. “It’s so cute. It would be a shame to get it all wrinkled or torn.”

Raine blinked at her. “Oh. Don’t sleep in dress. I knew that once ... I think.” The blankets moved as she struggled out of her dress. As she pulled it over her head, the shifting covers briefly revealed her pretty little breasts to Dani’s eyes, pale, pink-tipped delights that would fit in her hands perfectly.

She found herself swallowing to wet a throat made dry by something other than the harsh environment of the Waste. There was a feeling in the air, and elsewhere. Potentials. Possibilities.

Temptations.

Raine didn’t bother with a nightdress, just settled down on the bedding at Dani’s side. A warm presence, so close she could have wrapped her arm around her without needing to move an inch. Did she want her to? Did Dani want to? She liked the girl. She liked her a lot. She was so interesting. And so pretty. Attractive, yes. _Burn me, I want her bad_. She shouldn’t, though. Ilyena’s potential infidelity was no justification for ... for what she was imagining, burn her. Was it? No. Was it?

“It’s cold,” Raine said in a timid little voice. She scootched over a bit. It would have been mean not to put her arm around the girl. That was why she did it. It was. Her head came to rest on Dani’s shoulder. Her small body was pressed right up against her. And her arms went around her neck, one forearm brushing across her breasts on the way.

Any hope that she hadn’t noticed the little sound Dani made at that touch was quashed by Raine’s question. “What’s wrong?”

“So much. But so much is right, too,” she whispered, as much to herself as Raine.

Raine breathed deep, sniffing the air. “Oh.”

Something about that “oh” made Dani’s face feel very hot. They lay there in pregnant silence for a moment, before Raine touched her lips to Dani’s neck and kissed her gently.

Her arm tightened around her instinctively as shivers ran all the way down Dani’s body. _I should stop this_ , she thought, but when she turned to face the girl laying beside her their lips brushed against each other and all thought of stopping ended forever.

Raine’s gentle kisses changed on the instant, becoming something wild and hungry. She was shorter and skinnier than her, but Dani still found herself pushed down on the bed by the girl’s passionate embrace. Rough hands grabbed at her hair and her breasts. A tongue fenced aggressively with hers. Small teeth found her lip and bit down.

And with that, what had been exciting and pleasurable became painful. Dani pushed her away. “Oww! You ... you bit me!”

Raine was instantly contrite. “I-I’m sorry, Dani! I lost my head. You got me too worked up ...”

“It’s alright. It wasn’t that sore. Just surprising,” she said as she pulled the girl back into her arms.

But Raine didn’t go back to kissing her, unfortunately. Instead, she started toying with that leash she always wore, the one dangling from her dark collar. “I can’t control myself sometimes. I become a beast instead of a girl. But I want to be a girl. I think. Especially with you.”

Dani petted her short hair. “You don’t have to be anything but yourself. I like you just the way you are.”

“Really?”

She smiled. “Really.”

Raine chewed on her lip. “You wouldn’t prefer me on my knees? You could hold my leash for a bit, and use that toy of yours on me ...” When Dani only stared at her, wide-eyed, she went on. “I would like that, I think. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about hurting you.”

Heart hammering, it took Dani a while to respond. “That sounds ... like a lot of fun.” It was an understatement. She’d had to clutch at the blanket to avoid touching herself over the image Raine’s voice brought to her mind.

She reached for her bag again. She’d meant to do it coolly, maturely, suavely, but somehow she found herself tossing her belongings on the ground as she searched out the strapon toy. When she finally found it and turned back, she found Raine up on her hands and knees, naked and waiting.

Her body was slender and lean, with the wiry muscles of one who had spent a lot of time travelling on hard rations. Her pale flesh just made the fiery red hair stand out all the more, both that on her head, and that on the sex that she was presenting to Dani.

“Burn me,” she breathed. She wanted it to do it, as well. That fiery hair called out to her hands. Perhaps that was why she had such a hard time strapping the toy around her hips, but when her trembling hands had tightened the final strap Raine was still waiting for her.

She shuffled into place behind Raine, and took hold of her slender hips. She wanted to put it in her and listen to her moan, but a plaintive voice stopped her. “Take off your dress, Dani. I want to watch you as you’re taking me.”

It was night in the Aiel Waste, but Dani was inured to the cold even after dragging her nightdress over her head and tossing it aside. The warm blood being pumped through her by her racing heart saw to that. All the more so when Raine handed her the end of her leash, fixed those golden, wolf-like eyes on her and said, “You are so beautiful.”

“Not half so beautiful as you,” Dani said through a tight throat.

If Raine meant to say more, she did not get the chance, for Dani positioned the end of her toy at the girl’s slick entrance and moved her hips forward, driving it into her. She had meant to go slow but, on feeling herself being penetrated, Raine pushed back against her, taking the makeshift cock deep inside her sweet little pussy. Biting her lip, Dani watched that pussy spread around her toy. It looked so beautiful. The noises Raine was making tickled her ears. She wanted to hear more, and she knew just how to make that happen.

Holding her hips steady, she began to move the cock in and out of her, riding her nice and hard. Though willingly leashed and moaning in pleasure, Raine still saw fit to protest weakly. “Ohhh ... stop ... don’t ...,” she’d say as Dani rode her. “Stop ... no ... more ...” She did get more, though. She got the cock deep inside, and Dani’s hand on her breast, squeezing and kneading. Far from complaining, Raine craned her neck in search of a kiss. She got that, too.

“You’re so sexy, Raine. I’ve wanted this for so long,” she said. It was true. Truer than she had ever realised, in fact.

“Me too,” Raine said, as she began rocking her hips even harder.

Dani clutched at her own breast as she rode Raine. She fondled the cheeks of the cute little bottom wiggling before her. The sights and the sounds were wonderful but the toy itself wasn’t doing very much for her. She was so aroused but, no matter how she ground herself against the other end of the thing lodged in Raine’s privates, she could not find the relief she craved. Perhaps once she had brought her to climax she would use the toy on her instead. _I’d like that. Burn me, I’d let her go as wild as she wanted_.

“I want you to use it on me, too, Raine,” she moaned.

“Oh, Dani, you’re so naughty,” she giggled. “Have I gotten you all excited?”

She clutched her own breast again, pinched the nipple tight and groaned out, “Light, yes.”

She was still clutching at her breast and Raine’s bottom when a sudden gust of cold air signalled the tent flap being pushed aside.

“Raine. About earlier, I—”

Rand stopped dead. The flap fell back into place behind him as he knelt in the entry, staring at them both.

She watched his gaze travel from Raine’s shocked face across her naked body, the once swaying breasts gone still now that the girls had frozen in place. He saw the way their hips were joined, and his eyes widened in recognition. Other than the toy she wore, Dani was as naked as Raine. His gaze moved up her like a slow touch, from her spread legs to the soft flesh of her bottom, bound by straps. On it went, to the breast she still clutched and the dark nipple held between her fingers. He licked his lips, cheeks reddening. His eyes moved past her neck, where surely he could see the racing of her pulse, to the dark-haired head, frozen staring his way. Only when his eyes met hers did Dani feel free to speak.

“She said I could!”

She had no idea why she said that. Her brain was as frozen as her body.

Surprisingly, despite who they had been caught by, Raine was a lot less nervous. “You don’t mind do you, Rand? She’s almost pack. And I thought she’d make a great part of the _harem_. We are going to have a _harem_ , aren’t we? I hope so.”

“A _h-harem_!?” Dani stammered. Aiel customs were interesting but ... that? She ... she couldn’t. Could she?

Rand looked back and forth between them. Even kneeling like that, he was huge, broad of shoulder and of chest. For some reason, despite knowing he could channel, it was the swordhilt that pointed towards her that made Dani’s heart race. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice rough with passion. “But the Prophecies ... I don’t think marriage is in my future.”

Was he including her in that statement? His expression didn’t shift when he looked from Raine to her, and he and Raine were ... _Light!_ Her body was responding in a way she’d never expected. _Oh, Light!_

“Don’t think about that. Just think about now,” Raine urged. She reached a hand out towards him. “Join us. Dani wants the same thing as me. And I want this ...” She moved back and forth on the bed then, running the lips of her pussy along the fake cock.

Rand looked a question at Dani, but she jerked her gaze away. She didn’t know what to think, or what to feel. This was Raine’s tent. If she wanted Rand instead of her she should leave. Or did she mean ...? What did she want? What did Dani want?

“Burn me, Raine. That’s beautiful,” Rand said.

His words set her to shaking her hips while Dani knelt frozen behind her. She didn’t even dare look as he moved around behind, but she could hear and imagine. She’d seen him naked before so she could picture what was being revealed when his coat fell to the floor. She even knew what the jungle of a buckle being undone presaged, aside from the fire that seemed to engulf her ears. What was he going to do back there? Push her aside, or ...? Or? What if ...?

Light, she was so wet. Her heart was beating so hard she feared she would faint. What did she want to happen? She liked the boy. She liked him a lot. He was so interesting. And so pretty. Attractive, yes. _Burn me, I want him bad as well_. The Aes Sedai would be furious. They might even expel her from the White Tower. There were so many reasons she shouldn’t want him. Yet, when his hands touched her shoulders and his lips pressed against her neck, Dani melted.

She could feel something long and hard touching her bottom. It moved, found her crevice, and slid downwards until its wet tip brushed against her tender parts. Somehow, Dani’s hand was atop Rand’s and she was craning her neck to allow him to kiss it more. Raine was watching them, her golden eyes gleaming with affection and acceptance.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rand murmured between kisses. The tip of his cock was resting against her pussy, waiting, eager but unmoving. “If it’s just Raine you want, there are ways ...”

She had to answer. She had to. And, at last, she’d figured out what her answer was. “I want you both, Light save me. Put it in me, Rand.”

He did as she’d told him, that most powerful of men. His strong hands squeezed her breasts as his cock parted her lower lips and delved into her most intimate of places. Dani screamed in pleasure as she felt herself being slowly penetrated by him. No matter how many reasons she could list for why it was wrong, it felt so incredibly right.

“Burn me for a fool,” Rand groaned as he took her. “I should know better but ... you are just so much more than an Aes Sedai ...”

Such a strange thing to say! There was nothing in the world above the Aes Sedai, least of all she who was barely strong enough to be admitted to the Tower. And yet, with Raine before her and Rand behind her, their fiery passions bringing a red sheen to her skin, Dani felt more exalted than she ever had in all her years of training.

She was so enraptured by it all, in fact, that as soon as the tip of Rand’s sword touched the end of her sheath she came explosively. Dani screamed and whimpered, growling, grunting. Her whole body went wild, shaking and twitching. For all her loss of control, she was held in place by the bodies that sandwiched her, a grinning Raine half turning to watch, while Rand’s hands busied themselves, stroking her all over, drawing out her pleasure as her shuddering pussy explored its sudden intruder lovingly.

“Blood and ashes, Raine. You must have gotten her really worked up,” he said.

Raine giggled. “It looks that way!”

She wanted to tell them to stop teasing her, but she was coming far too hard for words. Her knees could not hold her up, so the other two did, their hips moving against hers as they rode her all the way through her orgasm.

Rand let her rest afterwards, sitting back on his heels so she could collapse in his lap. Sitting like that should have been cause for embarrassment but Dani was beyond shame just then. She’d come so fast, after only the barest of touches. She’d heard some of the more raucous Maidens making fun of men who had done that. She’d never imagined it might happen to her.

Rand wasn’t laughing, though. His arms were around her, his lips against her neck once more. “So much more ... I should know better, but ...” His arms tightened, hugging her almost painfully. It felt as if that squeezing was pushing warmth into her heart. The almost metallic tattoos that marked him as the Aiel chief of chiefs gleamed in the lamplight. She found herself holding those arms, and imagining a future she might have.

The toy had popped out of Raine when Dani collapsed but it didn’t stay out for long. She turned around and came at her, eyes gleaming hungrily. Dani could only stare in admiration as she crouched before her, spread her legs and took the toy inside herself once more.

“Did you like that, Dani? It looked like you did,” she growled. “That’s my man. So it’s my cock, in a way. Do you like having my cock inside you?”

Still staring at the girl bouncing in her lap, it took Dani a moment to find the words. “I do. It feels so good,” she confessed, not even trying to dissemble as an Aes Sedai should. Not that any Aes Sedai would ever let herself get into a situation like this.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Rand murmured. He began moving inside her, slowly but that was more than enough to make her sensitive parts send alarms all through her body.

Watching them, Raine went even wilder. Her hips moved at an alarming pace, one that forced Dani to imagine what it would feel like to bounce on Rand’s huge thing at that speed. She thought she might break. Even the slow way he was stroking her now had her feeling incredibly full.

She wasn’t the only one alarmed by Raine’s behaviour. Rand reached past her to take the shaking girl’s hand. Her eyes snapped open at his touch, the wild hunger in them faded a bit. She whined, tossing her head, but slowed down. With trembling hands, she pulled the leash over her shoulder and offered it to him.

“Hold me down, Shadowkiller. I need to ... I NEED it!” she growled.

Dani thought she might have understood Raine’s dilemma. Rand certainly seemed to think that he did. He accepted the leach she offered him, smiling confidently. “It’s alright, Raine. Go wild. We’ll be here when you get back. And you will be back, won’t you?”

“YES!” she said, but whether it was an answer or just a gasp of passion was unknowable, for she started bouncing again, even more wildly then before, if that was possible.

Rand held hard to the leash of the girl in Dani’s lap. “She worries the instincts of the wolves will take her over, you see. It’s a constant struggle for her. I help as I can. I hope you’ll do the same.”

Her hand closed around his, atop the leash. “I’ll certainly try.”

“I hoped you might.”

His face was close to hers. His lips, too ... She kissed them experimentally. Liked it. Kissed them again. Soon he was touching her face, turning her head towards him so he could kiss her deeper. She tried not to think about what was happening, but she couldn’t help but feel that nothing would be the same for her after this.

Raine’s sudden howl broke their kiss. They turned their eyes to her, saw her squatting atop Dani’s toy, her head raised to the roof of the tent. Her back was arched stiffly and her untrimmed nails were digging painfully into the flesh of Dani’s breasts. She winced, but it was Rand that pried Raine’s grip loose, taking her hands in his instead, letting her squeeze as hard as she liked.

After a while, Raine’s face softened. The wild gleam faded from her eyes, and she relaxed into Dani’s embrace. “That’s my girl,” Rand murmured, reaching around Dani to pet Raine’s hair.

“That’s _our_ girl,” Dani said, as she kissed her smiling cheek.

Raine smiled a dopey smile. “I _am_ a girl. And not a wolf,” she said, just before keeling over on to the bed.

Dani went with her, not wanting to give up that hug, or let the toy fall out. She felt Rand’s manhood moving inside her as he followed, sending spikes of pleasure through her body. She thought she might come again soon, if he kept that up, and he seemed intent on doing so, for no sooner were they down on the bed that he was positioning limbs. Raine’s legs he wrapped around Dani’s hips. Dani’s legs he pressed together, making the fit of him feel even tighter. She found herself lying atop Raine, their faces close together, when he began riding her in earnest. It didn’t hurt anything close to the way she had feared. It felt incredible.

His strong arms, with their glittering tattoos, rested on either side of her, corded with muscle as they supported the weight he was too considerate to add to that already resting atop little Raine. His strong cock forced her to cry out in pleasure each time he thrust it into her. Dani sought comfort in Raine’s arms, and found it there. Soft kisses brushed her face and brow as she took everything Raine’s man—their man?—had to offer. Their breasts were pressed together, firm nipples rubbing against soft flesh each time Rand’s thrusts pushed them against each other.

“Every time you move, she moves inside me. It’s like you’re fucking us both, Rand,” Raine moaned. Her arms were around Dani’s head, fingers combing through her long hair just as her own brushed through Raine’s short locks.

Rand’s hips slapped against her bottom, adding to the pleasure in which she was drowning. She could feel his hard chest pressing up against her narrow shoulders. It was all too much. She was going to come again. She could feel it. She could feel it! “This is impossible! This can’t be happening to me!” Dani called as a second climax, every bit as hard as the first, slammed into her.

“Burn me, Dani, that’s so hot,” Rand gasped.

Raine laughed softly. “That’s my Shadowkiller. Wring her dry. Make it so she never wants to leave us.”

His weight did rest atop them then, if only so that he could lean down to press his lips to Raine’s. “You really like her, don’t you?” he said softly.

She nodded, that shy look reappearing on her face despite what they were doing. “I think I might love her.”

 _Creator. Have mercy upon me_ , Dani prayed. Hard in the grip of her orgasm, she didn’t think she would be able to form any words of her own, which was why she was as surprised as they when some burst from her. “I love you, too.” Or was it “two”. Light help her, she feared it might have been.

Despite all he had seen and done that night, it was those words that finally drove Rand wild. He clutched her to him, his arms so tight around her chest and waist that she didn’t think she could have escaped even if she had wanted to. The fear that his cock would break her if he used it in earnest proved unfounded, for he ravaged Dani’s body for what felt like a long time, driving her into a Raine that she suspected came again in the midst of it all. Dani wasn’t broken by it at all. If anything, she felt more whole than she ever had.

When he finally stilled atop her, his cock pressing deep inside and his grip crushingly tight, he gritted out her name, rested his forehead against her back, and flooded her insides with a shocking heat. She was already as wet as she’d ever been, but now she felt wetter. _His seed_ , she realised. _He’s coming in my womb_. She could get pregnant from that, if she wanted to. All she would have to do was not drink any heartleaf tea tomorrow. The thought was not as terrible as she would have expected it to be. She’d still drink the tea, but ... it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world. _A harem, huh?_ It might not be so bad, if these were the kind of people she would share it with.

Rand’s arms were trembling. His great strength seemed to have flowed out of him with his seed. She had made him weak, so when he eased himself out of her pussy and fell over beside the two of them, Dani followed him right away. She felt she had to take responsibility for him, that she had to protect him somehow. She didn’t move to do it with _saidar_ , though. It was with her body that she shielded him, placing herself between him and the cold darkness beyond the tent flaps. She toy was still strapped around her waist. She should probably remove it. But the arm Rand wrapped around her was too hard to shrug off, no matter how gentle and tired its grip. It felt nice to press against his side, even with the toy in the way.

Raine seemed to agree, from the way she was settling in on his other side. She reached over and took hold of Dani’s hand. “I’m glad you are with us, Dani. I hope you stay.”

“I’m glad, too,” Dani said. That part was easy. How could she not be, after all that? But the rest ...? If only Ilyena would ... _Light, Rulonir! All four of them! How greedy can you be, woman?_ Seeing Rand get away with all he got away with, and hearing of so many happy Aiel _harem_ marriages, must have driven her mad. But she could no longer deny that it was an exciting thought. “I don’t know what the future holds, though,” she finished softly.

Rand’s arm tightened around her. “Even I don’t. And they wrote my future three thousand years before I was born. But I know this. I don’t want to let you go.” Light help her, the honest truth was that she didn’t want him to.

Face resting against the other half of his broad, hairless chest, Raine nodded agreement. Dani hid her eyes behind her lids, lest she be blinded by the beauty of them, and didn’t open them again until morning had come.


	86. Payback

For Elayne’s part, she woke in the cabin they had rented aboard the _Veiled Lady_ feeling not at all rested. The things Dani had said troubled her more than she had let on. Grey Men attacking Rand. Rand hurrying the Taardad Aiel toward Alcair Dal, apparently in violation of all custom, sending out runners to bring more septs. Dani hadn’t said it while Rand was standing there—not in so many words—but Elayne could hear the frustration in her voice and guess its cause. He was confiding his intentions to no-one, the Aiel were jumpy, and Moiraine was ready to bite the heads off nails. Moiraine’s frustration would have been some relief to Nynaeve—she had hoped he could escape that woman’s influence somehow—but it was more of a worry to Elayne. If she couldn’t be there to give Rand advice in these matters, then she would have at least liked to think he would listen to Moiraine. There was nothing she could do about that, however, not yet.

That was not the only reason she felt restless, however. A certain ... heat was upon her. One that her reunion with Rand had not lessened in the way it should have.

At first she thought everything in the cabin was just as it had been when she went to sleep. The narrow bed on which she lay, the tidy furnishings, the single hooded lamp as firmly attached to the wall near the bed as the bed itself was. Nynaeve watching over her. But then she blinked herself back to awareness, saw the paddle Nynaeve was slapping lightly against her palm and grew concerned. There had been some crazy talk of revenge after their last check in with Rand, she recalled.

Elayne tried to sit up but found that her legs wouldn’t move properly. She tried to rub the sleep and confusion from her eyes but found that her hands were tied behind her back.

“What in the Light is going on!?” she demanded.

Nynaeve sniffed. “Did you think I had forgotten? Or that I couldn’t hear you moaning his name in your sleep?”

“Now see here! We didn’t do anything wrong. And even if we had, you have no right to tie me up like this. Release me at once!”

But Nynaeve just sniffed again. Stern-faced, she took hold of Elayne’s white shift—twin to the one she was wearing—and twitched it up her body, exposes her legs and hips ... and her bottom.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Elayne whispered, heart hammering.

“Protest all you want, girl. You know you have this coming.” She punctuated her words by slapping Elayne’s tender cheeks. She only used her hands, and she hit rather lightly, but it was still enough to make Elayne yelp.

Encouraged by the sound, Nynaeve shifted Elayne’s legs out of the way so she could sit down on the bed, and then arranged those legs across her lap. Outraged by the casual way she was being manhandled—or womanhandled, she supposed—Elayne tried to embrace _saidar_ , only to find herself shielded. “You cannot do this to me,” she said.

It turned out to be a rather foolish thing to say, for not only did Nynaeve slap her bottom again, she brought that paddle she’d been holding to bear against her, too. “Tie _me_ up, will you? Use those tentacle things on me? Call me names? And think you would get away with it?”

A particularly hard slap made Elayne gasp out, “I’m sorry! I was only playing! You enjoyed it, didn’t you?”

“Are you implying I’ve been corrupted by perverted ways?” Nynaeve said angrily.

“I didn’t say that!”

But the woman was deaf to her words. “You little brat!” The tolerable pattering she’d been getting turned into a vigorous drumming. Elayne kicked her heels as best she could with her legs tied together as her bottom heated up painfully. Another part of her was heating up, too, but at least no-one but she could tell. She hoped it would remain that way.

She hoped in vain.

Setting the paddle aside, Nynaeve reached between Elayne’s thighs to touch the tender parts that hid there, and discovered the secret hidden with them. To her great consternation, the woman had not even the decency to be surprised to find her wet. She felt soft fingers stroking along her outer folds, rubbing her, waking her even more.

“Don’t touch that,” she protested feebly, but Nynaeve ignored her. She bit her lip to stop herself from making any noises but her heavy breathing still sounded loud in the cramped cabin. Nynaeve’s finger found her entrance but, maddeningly, did not slip inside.

“I’ve tied your legs together too tightly,” she muttered. “Push your hips up like a good girl.”

Elayne refused to be humiliated in such a way. She did. She even shook her head, vigorously tossing her red-gold curls from side to side. Yet somehow her back ended up arching and her hips ended up being thrust out and a finger ended up sneaking in to touch the most tender part of her. It was all her hips’ fault. They had betrayed her of their own accord.

Nynaeve slapped her bottom again, making pain and pleasure mix so confusingly within her. “This is supposed to be a punishment, girl. You aren’t supposed to be enjoying it so much,” she said.

“I am not!”

That lie got her another, harder, slap.

“Really? So if I check those pretty breasts of yours, I will find your nipples nice and calm, will I?” Elayne didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, for fear of what would happen if Nynaeve did as threatened. Which she did. Abandoning her pussy for now, she pushed the shift up even further and reached around to explore Elayne’s chest. She tried to hide herself but it was hopeless. With her hands tied behind her like that, all she could do was lie there red-faced and waiting for Nynaeve to discover the truth. She felt hands on her breasts, squeezing, searching fingers spidered across the sensitive flesh, seeking for and finding her nipples, her engorged, outthrust nipples. “As I thought,” Nynaeve said. Elayne groaned in embarrassment.

She groaned even louder when one of those hands returned to her pussy. With no dignity left to shield, she lay across Nynaeve’s lap, making wanton noises as the older woman made free with her body, squeezing her breast and fingering her dripping sex. Part of her still felt she should try to salvage some sliver of dignity from this encounter but, when she felt her orgasm building, Elayne’s hips ground wantonly against the hand of her tormentor. Those damned, treacherous hips.

She came hard. She was able to muffle some of the sounds by pressing her face into the bed, but Nynaeve still knew what she’d done to her. The woman’s giggles taunted her as she twitched her way through the lashing pleasure.

When it was done Elayne’s bottom got another patting, if a lighter, fonder one. She was too stunned to object. Nynaeve wiggled out from under her and lay on their bed, arranging the pillows as if for sleep.

Elayne struggled over on her side. “Aren’t you going to untie me?”

Nynaeve stilled looked stern. “Why would I do that? You started this.”

She shifted about as best she could but, with her arms and legs bound like that, it was impossible to get comfortable. “Nynaeve, please. I can’t sleep like this!”

“I suppose I could do you the favour of untying you,” Nynaeve allowed, “... if you did a favour for me first.”

“Wh-what d-do you, what do you mean?”

In response, Nynaeve wordlessly pulled the neck of her shift aside far enough to pull out a breast, a breast with a quite visible nipple. “Come here,” she said quietly. Elayne hesitated but, under that dark-eyed stare, she somehow found herself wiggling gracelessly across the bed. Once she was close, Nynaeve took hold of the back of her head and fed her breast to her.

Elayne sucked. Bound and helpless, she sucked on that nipple like a hungry baby. She could tell Nynaeve was enjoying it from the sounds she made and the way her hand stole towards her crotch.

Said hand stopped short, though, and eyes that had drifted closed in pleasure snapped open again. “I can think of another use for that naughty mouth of yours,” she breathed.

Perhaps Elayne should have held out, made some show of defiance, but no sooner had Nynaeve said it than she was struggling her ungainly way down the bed. She had thought, once her face was level with the other woman’s waist, that she would move the shift out of the way, but when she looked up Nynaeve was just lying there with her hands folded behind her head, watching.

Red-faced, Elayne was forced to move the shift upwards using only her teeth. As an added humiliation, she had to toss her head at it to move if fully away once she managed to wriggle into place between Nynaeve’s legs.

When her tongue quested out to test Nynaeve’s sex, she found the woman wet and eager. So eager that her thighs clamped around Elayne’s head, holding her in place. Warm, wet pussy became her world, as she licked and lapped at Nynaeve, occasionally thrusting her tongue in as far as she could to touch the hot flesh inside. It was almost a struggle to breathe, and sweat misted Elayne’s skin, but she licked on. It would have been hard to stop with her limbs bound like that, even if she had wanted to.

What she would not have admitted to anyone, not on threat of death, was that she didn’t want to stop at all. When Nynaeve began to moan loudly and arch her back, Elayne redoubled her efforts. She didn’t even object when the woman took a painful hold of her hair, she just kept licking while Nynaeve came in her face.

She stayed down there for some time, while both women gasped for breath, if for very different reasons. “I think you’ve atoned enough,” Nynaeve eventually groaned. The nimbus of _saidar_ surrounded her for a brief moment, and the ropes tied around Elayne’s arms and legs were severed by a thin thread of Air.

There was relief in that release, both physical and mental. Elayne felt almost as if a dream had ended, and she could be herself again. The shield that had denied her access to _saidar_ was gone, as well. Even so, she did not try to avenge herself in any way. She just crawled up the bed to lay her head upon Nynaeve’s chest, the soft breast on which she’d suckled so embarrassingly now making for a delightful pillow. She could hear Nynaeve’s heartbeat. That was nice. Even nicer was the way she hugged her and stroked her hair as she drifted off to sleep.


	87. The Traps of Rhuidean

The One Power still filled him with life and vileness. Wrapped in the void, his rain-soaked body felt like a distant thing. Yet at the same time he was aware of every stir of furnace air, every grain of dust, every minute crack in the hard-baked clay. Already the sun was baking away the moisture, sucking it from his shirt and breeches. He was in the Waste, in the valley below Chaendaer, not fifty steps from fog-shrouded Rhuidean. The doorway was gone.

Rand didn’t understand what he had done, but it had required a lot of Power to make it work. He had copied the weaves he’d seen left behind after the recent attacks but he didn’t truly know what he had done, how he’d made one place link to another so far away just by picturing it and channelling. That was the trouble. The Forsaken had all the knowledge; all he had was desperation. _I don’t know enough. Yet_.

He did not have long to wonder over it, however, for he saw a figure in the distance, a man it seemed, in a red coat and red boots. Rand needed no closer look to be sure it was Asmodean. The dark-haired man stood at his ease, one hand on a hip, pensively fingering his chin as he considered the wall of fog between them and Rhuidean. A spill of white lace dripped from his neck; more half-hid his hands. His high-collared red coat seemed shinier than silk satin, and was oddly cut, with tails hanging almost to his knees.

Asmodean turned his head, and Rand gaped. The Forsaken could change their faces—or at least make you see a different face; he had seen Lanfear do it—but these were the features of Jasin Natael, the gleeman. He had been sure it would be Kadere, with his predatory eyes that never changed.

Asmodean saw him at the same moment and gave a start. Suddenly a huge sheet of fire, like a thin slice from a monstrous flame, swept toward Rand, a mile high and a mile wide.

He channelled at it desperately; just as it was about to strike him, it suddenly burst into shards, hurtling away from him, winking out. Yet even as the fiery curtain vanished it revealed another rushing at him. He shattered that, exposing another, splintered the third to reveal a fourth. Asmodean was getting away, Rand was sure of it. He could not see the Forsaken at all for the flames. Anger slid across the surface of the void, and he channelled.

A wave of fire enveloped the crimson curtain sweeping toward him and rolled on, carrying it away, not a thin slice, but wild, billowing gouts as if whipped by stormwinds. He quivered with the Power roaring through him; anger at Asmodean clawed at the surface of the void.

A hole appeared in the erupting surface. No, not a hole exactly. Asmodean was in the middle of it, running towards Rhuidean, but as the flaming wave washed forward it slid together again. The Forsaken had built some sort of shield around himself.

Rand made himself ignore the distant anger outside the void. It was only in cold calm that he could touch _saidin_ ; acknowledging anger would shatter the void. The billows of fire ceased to exist as he stopped channelling. He had to catch the man, not kill him.

Asmodean was almost to the wall of fog. Rand sprinted after him. The old, half-healed wound in his side began to throb, a vague awareness. But if he was aware of it at all, wrapped inside _saidin_ , the wound was close to breaking open. _Ignore it_. The thought floated across the void inside him. He did not dare lose this race, not if it killed him.

The Forsaken would not escape him. He adjusted his clothes as he ran, tucking the carved little man and his sword firmly in place, ran to the fog and in. Grey blindness enveloped him. The Power filling him did nothing to make him see better here. Running blind.

Abruptly he threw himself down, sliding the last stride out of the fog onto gritty paving stones. Lying there, he stared up at three bright ribbons, silver-blue in the strange light of Rhuidean, stretching to left and right, floating in the air. When he stood, they were at the level of his waist, chest and neck, and so thin that they vanished edge-on. He could see how they had been made and hung, even if he did not understand it. Hard as steel, sharp enough to make a razor seem a feather. Had he run into those, they would have sliced through him. A tiny surge of the Power, and the silver ribbons fell in dust. Cold anger, outside the void; inside, cold purpose, and the One Power.

The bluish glow of the fog dome cast its shadowless light on the half-finished, slab-sided palaces of marble and crystal and cut glass, the cloud-piercing towers, fluted and spiralled. And down the broad street ahead of him ran Asmodean, past dry fountains, toward the great plaza at the heart of the city.

Rand channelled—it seemed oddly difficult; he pulled at _saidin_ , wrenched at it until it raged into him—he channelled, and thick bolts of jagged lightning shot from the dome-clouds. Not at Asmodean. Just ahead of the Forsaken, gleaming pillars of red and white, fifty feet thick and a hundred paces high, centuries old, exploded and toppled across the street in rubble and clouds of dust.

From huge windows of coloured glass, images of majestically serene men and women seemed to look at Rand in reproof. “I have to stop him,” he told them; his voice seemed to echo in his own ears.

Asmodean paused, starting back from the collapsing masonry. The dust drifting toward him never touched his shiny red coat; it parted around him, leaving clear air.

Fire bloomed around Rand, enveloped him as the air became flame—and vanished before he was even aware of how he did it. His clothes were dry and hot; his hair felt singed, and baked dust fell at every step as he ran. Asmodean was scrambling over the broken stone blocking the street; more lightning flashed, raising gouts of shattered paving stone ahead of him, ripping open crystal palace walls to rain ruin before him.

The Forsaken did not slow, and as he vanished, lightning flashed from the glowing clouds toward Rand, stabbing blindly but meant to kill. Running, Rand wove a shield around himself. Shards of stone bounded from it as he dodged crackling blue bolts, leaped over the holes they tore in the pavement. The air itself sparkled; the hair of his arms lifted with it, the hair on his head stirred.

There was something woven into the barrier of shattered columns. He hardened the shield around himself. Great tumbled chunks of red and white stone exploded as he reached to climb, a burst of pure light and flying stone. Safe inside his bubble, he ran through, only vaguely aware of the rumble of collapsing buildings. He had to stop Asmodean. Straining—and it took strain—he threw lightning ahead, balls of fire ripping up out of the ground, anything to slow the red-coated man. He was catching up. He entered the plaza only a dozen paces behind. Trying to increase his speed, he redoubled his efforts at slowing Asmodean, and fleeing, Asmodean fought to kill him.

The _ter’angreal_ and other precious things the Aiel had given their lives to bring here were hurled into the air by lightning, tossed wildly by spinning whirlwinds of fire, constructs of silver and crystal shattering, strange metal shapes toppling as the ground shivered and broke open in wide rents.

Searching wildly, Asmodean ran. And flung himself at what might seem the least significant thing in all that litter. A carved white stone figurine perhaps a foot long, lying on its back, a man holding a crystal sphere in one upraised hand. Asmodean closed his hands on it with an exultant cry.

A heartbeat later, Rand’s hands grasped it, too. For the barest instant he stared into the Forsaken’s face; he looked no different than he had as a gleeman, except for a wild desperation in his dark eyes, a somewhat handsome man in his middle years—nothing at all to say he was one of the Forsaken. The barest instant, and they both reached through the figure, through the _ter’angreal_ that linked to the male half of the Choedan Kal, one of the two most powerful _sa’angreal_ ever made.

Vaguely Rand was aware of a great, half-buried statue in far-off Cairhien, of the huge crystal sphere in its hand, glowing like the sun, pulsing with the One Power. And the Power in him surged up like all the seas of the world in storm. With this surely he could do anything; surely he could even have Healed that dead child. The taint swelled as much, curling ’round every particle of him, seeping into every crevice, into his soul. He wanted to howl; he wanted to explode. Yet he only held half what that _sa’angreal_ could deliver; the other half filled Asmodean. Back and forth they struggled, tripping over scattered and broken _ter’angreal_ , falling, neither daring to let go of the figure with even one finger for fear the other would pull it away. Yet as they rolled over and over, banging now against a redstone doorframe that somehow still stood, now against a fallen crystal statue lying on its side unbroken, a nude woman clasping a child to her breast, as they fought for possession of the _ter’angreal_ , the battle was fought on another level, too.

Hammers of Power large enough to level mountains struck at Rand, and blades that could have pierced the earth’s heart; unseen pincers tried to tear his mind from his body, ripped at his very soul. Every scrap of Power he could draw went to hurl those attacks away. Any one could destroy him as if he had never been; he was sure of it. Where they went he could not be sure. The ground bounded beneath them, shaking them as they struggled, flinging them about in a writhing tangle of straining muscle. Dimly he was aware of vast rumbles, of a thousand whining hums like some strange music. The glass columns, quivering, vibrating. He could not worry about them.

Spinning that gateway had taken a lot out of him, as had his efforts to delay Asmodean, and the running he had done on top of it. He was tired, and if he could even know it inside the void, then he was near exhaustion. Tossed by the quaking earth, he realized he was no longer trying to pull the _ter’angreal_ from Asmodean, only to hold on. Soon his strength would go. Even if he managed to retain his grip on the stone figure, he would have to let go of _saidin_ or be swept away by the rush of it, destroyed as surely as Asmodean would do it. He could not pull another thread through the _ter’angreal_ ; he and Asmodean were equally balanced, each with half of what the great _sa’angreal_ in Cairhien could draw. Asmodean panted in his face, snarling; sweat dripped from the Forsaken’s forehead, ran down his cheeks. The man was tired, too. But as tired as he?

“Aigis. Defend me,” Asmodean rasped.

Shockingly, a young woman appeared beside them, a woman so small he could have carried her in the palm of one hand, standing on the shattered ground inches from the straining men. She was perfectly pretty, with large blue eyes and fair hair cut short. But it was at her arms and legs that Rand stared, for they were attached to her body only by the thinnest of dark, metallic joints. She was obviously not human, but what she was was beyond Rand’s ken. Falling debris passed through her as though she wasn’t really there at all, despite the evidence of his eyes.

“I do not understand your order, _mia’cova_ ,” the strange “girl” said. “I have already activated all available _ter’angreal_. I am afraid I cannot assist you further.”

“Who are you? Are you a Darkfriend? You don’t have to serve them, girl. I can free you, just tell me where you are,” Rand gasped, desperate to find some way to shift the balance between him and Asmodean.

She looked at him quizzically. “Is your question directed at me? I am not a girl ... I am Aigis, and I am here.”

“The shield. Expand it! Push Lews Therin away!” Asmodean called.

Aigis’ eyes, already disproportionately large in her head, got even bigger. “You are ... Forgive me, Carneira Sedai, but I must and will do as commanded.”

No weaves formed between the two men but Rand felt something invisible pushing against him, trying to force him back. Succeeding, too. Gritting his teeth, he tightened his grip on the _ter’angreal_ , heaving it towards him, trying to keep it away from that expanding bubble. Asmodean was not strong enough to prevent Rand from pulling away, but his white-knuckled grip on the _ter’angreal_ did not falter.

“Further! Now!” Asmodean ordered.

“This is its maximum range. I am sorry ... I have failed. A machine is worthless if it cannot fulfil its purpose,” said Aigis.

The suddenly flailing earth did not move her at all, but it heaved Rand and Asmodean about like ragdolls. He found himself on top for an instant, and just as quickly spun Asmodean up, but in that brief moment Rand felt something pressed between them. The carving of the fat little man with the sword, still tucked into his waistband. An insignificant thing next to the immense Power they drew upon. A cup of water compared to a vast river, to an ocean. He did not even know if he could use it while linked to the great _sa’angreal_. And if he could? Asmodean’s teeth bared. Not a grimace, but a weary rictus of a smile; the man thought he was winning. Perhaps he was. Rand’s fingers trembled, weakening around the _ter’angreal_ ; it was all he could do to hold on to _saidin_ , even linked as he was to the huge _sa’angreal_.

“I will do it myself, then,” the Forsaken said. He didn’t sound happy about it, but he looked very convinced that whatever he was planning would win him the day.

Abruptly, to Rand’s eyes, what seemed to be black threads, like fine steel wires, ran off from the man, disappearing into the north. Those Rand had surely seen before, around Ishamael. He had spent no little time wondering at their purpose. Tam had taught him the void as an aid to archery, to be one with the bow, the arrow, the target. He made himself one with those black wires. He barely saw Asmodean frown. The man must be wondering why his face had grown calm; there was always calm in the moment before the arrow was loosed. He reached through the small _angreal_ in his waistband, and more of the Power flowed into him. He did not waste time on exulting; it was such a small flow beside what he already contained, and this was his final blow. This would use his final strength. He formed it like a sword of Power, a sword of Light, and struck; one with the sword, one with the black wires.

Asmodean’s eyes went wide, and he screamed, a howl from the depths of horror; like a struck gong the Forsaken quivered. For an instant there seemed to be two of him, shivering away from each other; then they slid back together. He fell over on his back, arms flung out in his now dirty, tattered red coat, chest heaving; staring up at nothing, his dark eyes looked lost.

As he collapsed, Rand lost his hold on _saidin_ , and the Power left him. He had barely enough strength to clutch the _ter’angreal_ to his chest and roll away from Asmodean. Pushing himself to his knees felt like climbing a mountain; he huddled around the figure of the man with his crystal sphere.

The earth had stopped moving. The glass columns still stood—he was grateful for that; destroying them would have been like obliterating the history of the Aiel—but _Avendesora_ , that had lived three thousand years in legend and truth, _Avendesora_ blazed like a torch, and as for the rest of Rhuidean ...

The plaza looked as if everything had been picked up and flung about by a mad giant. Half the great palaces and towers were only heaps of rubble, some spilling into the square; huge toppled columns marred others, and fallen walls, and empty gaps where huge windows of coloured glass had been. A rift ran the whole way across the city, a split in the earth fifty feet wide. The destruction did not end there. The dome of fog that had hidden Rhuidean for so many centuries was dissipating; the underside no longer glowed, and harsh sunlight poured through great new gaps. Beyond, Chaendaer’s peak looked different, lower, and on the other side of the valley some of the mountains were definitely lower. Where one mountain had stood, a fan of stone and dirt stretched across the north end of the valley.

_I destroy. Always I destroy! Light, will it ever end?_

Asmodean rolled onto his belly, pushed to hands and knees. His eyes found Rand, and the _ter’angreal_ , and he made as if to crawl toward them.

Rand could not have channelled a spark, but he had learned how to fight before his first nightmare of channelling. He lifted a fist. “Don’t even think about it.” The Forsaken stopped, swaying wearily. His face sagged, yet despair and desire warred across it; hate and fear glittered in his eyes.

“Incoming,” Aigis announced calmly.

No sooner had she spoken than Lanfear moved into Rand’s view, surveying the devastation. “I do like to see men fight, but you two cannot even stand. You have made a thorough job of it. Can you feel the traces? This place was shielded in some way. You did not leave enough for me to say how.” Dark eyes suddenly bright, she knelt in front of Rand, peering at what he held. “So that is what he was after. I thought they were all destroyed. Only half remains of the single one I have seen; a fine trap for some unwary Aes Sedai.” She put out a hand, and he clutched the _ter’angreal_ tighter. Her smile did not touch her eyes. “Keep it, certainly. To me it is no more than a figurine.” Rising, she dusted her white skirts though they did not need it. When she realized he was watching her, she stopped searching the rubble-strewn plaza with her eyes, made her smile brighter. “What you used was one of the two _sa’angreal_ I told you of. The Choedan Kal. Did you feel the _immensity_ of it? I have wondered what it must be like.” She seemed unaware of the hunger in her voice. “With those, together, we can displace the Great Lord of the Dark himself. We can, Lews Therin! Together.”

“Help me!” Asmodean crawled toward her unsteadily, his upraised face painted in dread. “You don’t know what he has done. You must help me. I would not have come here if not for you.”

“What has he done?” she sniffed. “Beaten you like a dog, and not half so well as you deserve. You were never meant for greatness, Asmodean, only to follow those who are great.”

Somehow Rand managed to stand, still holding the stone-and-crystal figure to his chest. He would not continue on his knees in her presence. “You _Chosen_ ”—he knew taunting her was dangerous, but he could not stop himself—“gave your souls to the Dark One. You let him attach himself to you.” How many times had he replayed his battle with Ba’alzamon? How many times before he began to suspect what those black wires were? “I cut him off from the Dark One, Lanfear. I cut him off!”

Her eyes widened in shock, staring from him to Asmodean. The man had begun to weep. “I did not think that was possible. Why? Do you think to bring _him_ to the Light? You’ve changed nothing about him.”

“He is still the same man who gave himself to the Shadow in the first place,” Rand agreed. “You told me how little you _Chosen_ trust one another. How long could he keep it secret? How many of you would believe he didn’t do it himself somehow? I am glad you thought it impossible; maybe the rest of you will as well. You gave me the whole idea, Lanfear. A man to teach me how to control the Power. But I won’t be taught by a man linked to the Dark One. Now I don’t have to be. He may be the same man, but he doesn’t have much choice, does he? He can stay and teach me, hope I win, help me win, or he can hope the rest of you don’t take the excuse to turn on him. Which do you think he’ll choose?”

Asmodean stared wild-eyed at Rand from his crouch, then thrust out a pleading hand toward Lanfear. “They will believe you! You can tell them! I would not be here except for you! You must tell them! I am faithful to the Great Lord of the Dark!”

Lanfear stared at Rand, too. For the first time ever that he had seen, she looked uncertain. “How much _do_ you remember, Lews Therin? How much is you, and how much the shepherd? This is the sort of plan you might have devised when we—” Drawing a deep breath, she turned her head to Asmodean. “Yes, they will believe me. When I tell them you went over to Lews Therin. Everyone knows you will leap wherever you think your best chance lies. There.” She nodded to herself in satisfaction. “Another little present for you, Lews Therin. That shield will allow a trickle through, enough for him to teach. It will dissipate with time, but he’ll not be able to challenge you for months, and by that time he will have no choice but to remain with you. He was never very good at breaking through a shield; you must be willing to accept pain, and he never could.”

“NOOOOOO!” Asmodean crawled toward her. “You cannot do this to me! Please, Mierin. Please!”

“My name is _Lanfear_!” Rage twisted her face to ugliness, and a shockwave exploded out from the man. For a brief moment, Aigis floated in the air between the two Forsaken with her strange arms outstretched. Then she winked out of existence and the man she had been defending lifted into the air, spread-eagled; his clothes pressed to him and the flesh of his face distorted, spread out like butter under a rock.

“The pitiful leftovers of your _valdarhei_ cannot protect you from me!” Lanfear snarled. Asmodean’s shirt billowed outwards, and a silver chain burst forth. Past Lanfear it flew, to land on the ground not far from Rand. As it skittered to a halt, he saw three silver medallions attached to it; on one was carved a harp, on another a lute, and on the third was an elaborate shield with a woman’s face upon it. Aigis’ face.

The still, metal eyes of that medallion glowed into life, and the fluid form of Aigis came into being once more in the air above it. She looked at the Forsaken and lowered her head. “I have failed not to obey, and I have failed to obey,” she said sadly.

With a shaking hand, Rand picked up the medallion. Aigis fit in his palm just as easily as he’d imagined. She looked up at him and said, “Can you free me as you said? If anyone could it would be you, Lews Therin Sedai.”

“You do not serve them willingly,” Rand whispered. But why then? He’d need to know that before he could even begin to dream of granting her wish. And before even that, he’d need to save someone else. Forsaken or not, Rand could not let Lanfear kill Asmodean, but he was too tired to touch the True Source unaided; he could barely sense it, a dim glow just out of sight. For an instant his hands tightened on the stone man with the crystal sphere. If he reached through to the huge _sa’angreal_ in Cairhien again now, that much of the Power might destroy him. Instead, he reached through the carving in his waistband; with the _angreal_ , it was a feeble flow, a hairthin trickle compared to the other, but he was too weary to pull more. He hurled it all between the two Forsaken, hoping to distract her if nothing else.

A bar of white-hot fire ten feet tall streaked between the pair in a blur surrounded by arcing blue lightning, searing a deep groove across the square, a smooth-sided gash glowing with melted earth and stone; the fiery shaft struck a green-streaked palace wall and exploded, the roar buried in the rumble of collapsing marble. On one side of the melted slash, Asmodean dropped to the pavement in a shuddering heap, blood trickling from nose and ears; on the other, Lanfear staggered back as if struck, then rounded on Rand. He swayed with the effort of what he had done, and lost _saidin_ once more.

For a moment rage engorged her face as deeply as it had for Asmodean. For a moment Rand stood on the brink of death. Then fury vanished with startling abruptness, buried behind a seductive smile. “No, I mustn’t kill him. Not after we have gone to so much effort.” Moving closer, she reached up to stroke the side of his neck, where her bite from the dream was still healing; he had not let Moiraine know of it. “You still bear my mark. Shall I make it permanent?”

“Did you harm anyone at Alcair Dal, or in the camps?”

Her face never stopped smiling, but her caress changed, fingers suddenly poised as if to rip out his throat. “Such as who? Surely not the insipid _Tuatha’an_ , or the half-beast. Is it the Aiel jade? The red-skinned strumpet?” A viper. A deadly viper who loved him— _The Light help me!_ —and he did not know how to stop her if she decided to bite, whether him or someone else.

“I don’t want anyone hurt. I need them yet. I can use them.” It was painful saying that, painful for the amount of truth in it. But keeping Lanfear’s fangs out of Dani and Moiraine, away from Aviendha and anyone else close to him, that was worth a little pain.

Throwing back her beautiful head, she laughed like chiming bells. “I can remember when you were too softhearted to use anyone. Devious in battle, hard as stone and arrogant as the mountains, but open and softhearted as a girl! No, I did not harm any of your precious Aes Sedai, or your precious Aiel. I do not kill without cause, Lews Therin. I do not even hurt without cause.” He was careful not to look at Asmodean; white-faced, drawing jagged breaths, the man had pushed up on one hand, using the other to wipe blood from his mouth and chin. Lanfear didn’t look at him either, but she sneered an order at him nonetheless, while peering down at the medallion in Rand’s hand. “Order your _Sysan Odiva_ to shut down, and do not reactivate it without my permission. Do it, or I will kill you.”

“Now hold on—” Rand began, but Asmodean spoke right over him, his voice wet with fear.

“Aigis. Deactivate yourself until further notice.”

“I will do as commanded,” Aigis said, and immediately winked out of existence again. The glowing blue eyes on the medallion went dark.

Lanfear laughed tauntingly. “Oh, do not pout so, Lews Therin. I cannot trust you with access to one of those. Not yet. Not when you are already proving so cunning. You will have to find a way to ... convince me.” He knew what she meant by that. Hopefully she would take his lack of a smile for exhaustion.

Turning slowly, Lanfear surveyed the great square. “You have destroyed this city as well as any army could have.” But it was not the ruined palaces she stared at, though she pretended; it was the broken square with its jumbled litter of _ter’angreal_ and who knew what else. The corners of her mouth were tight when she turned back to Rand; her dark eyes held a spark of suppressed anger. “Use his teachings well, Lews Therin. The others are still out there, Sammael with his envy of you. Demandred with his hate, Rahvin with his thirst for power. They will be more eager to bring you down, not less, if—when—they discover you hold that.”

Her gaze flickered to the foot-tall figure in his hands, and for an instant he thought she was considering taking it from him, too. Not to keep the others from his back, but because with it he might be too powerful for her to handle. Right then he was not certain he could stop her if she used nothing but her hands. One instant she was weighing whether to leave the _ter’angreal_ in his possession, the next measuring his tiredness. However much she talked of loving him, she would want to be far from him when he regained enough strength to use the thing. Briefly she scanned the plaza again, lips pursed; then abruptly a door opened beside her, a door into what seemed a palace chamber, all carved white marble and white silk hangings.

“Which one were you?” he said as she stepped toward it, and she paused, looking over a shoulder at him with an almost coy smile.

“Do you think I could stand to be fat, ugly Keille?” She ran hands down her rounded slimness for emphasis. “Isendre, now. Slim, beautiful Isendre. I thought if you suspected, you would suspect her. My pride is strong enough to support a little fat, when it must.” The smile became a baring of teeth. “Isendre thought she was dealing with simple Friends of the Dark. I would not be surprised if right now she is frantically trying to explain to some angry Aiel women why a large quantity of their gold necklaces and bracelets are in the bottom of her chest. She actually did steal some of them herself.”

“I thought you said you didn’t harm anyone!”

“Now your soft heart shows. I can show a tender, woman’s heart when I choose. You’ll not be able to save her being welted, I think—she deserves that for the least of the looks she gave me—but if you return quickly, you can prevent them sending her off with one waterskin to walk out of this blighted land. They are quite hard on thieves, it seems, these Aiel.” She gave an amused laugh, shaking her head in wonder. “So different from what they were. You could slap a Da’shain’s face, and all he did was ask what he had done. Slap again, and he asked if he had offended. He would not change if you continued all day.” Giving Asmodean a contemptuous sidelong look, she added, “Learn well and quickly, Lews Therin. I mean us to rule together, not to watch Sammael kill you or Graendal add you to her collection of handsome young men. Learn well and quickly.” She stepped into the chamber of white marble and silk, and the doorway seemed to turn sideways, narrowed, vanished.

Rand drew the first deep breath he had taken since her appearance. Mierin. A name remembered from the glass columns. The woman who had found the Dark One’s prison in the Age of Legends, who had bored into it. Had she known what it was? How had she escaped that fiery doom he had seen? Had she given herself to the Dark One even then?

Asmodean was struggling to his feet, unsteady and nearly falling again. He no longer bled, but blood still traced thin lines from his ears down the sides of his neck, made a smear across his mouth and chin. His filthy red coat was torn, his white lace ripped and snagged. “It was my link to the Great Lord that allowed me to touch _saidin_ without going mad,” he said hoarsely. “All you have done is make me as vulnerable as you. You might as well let me go. I am not a very good teacher. She only chose me because—” His lips writhed, trying to pull the words back.

“Because there isn’t anyone else,” Rand finished for him and turned away. He hung the silver chain around his own neck. If it was valuable enough that Lanfear did not want him to have it then it was something he had no intention of letting go of.

On tottering legs Rand crossed the broad square, picking his way through the litter. He and Asmodean had been flung halfway around the forest of glass columns from _Avendesora_. Crystal plinths lay against fallen statues of men and women, some broken in chunks, some not even chipped. A great flat ring of silvery metal had been flipped up on chairs of metal and stone, strange shapes in metal and crystal and glass, all mixed in a heap with shattered bits, a black metal shaft like a spear standing upright, improbably balanced on the pile. The entire plaza was like that.

Out from the great tree, a little searching among the jumble found what he sought. Kicking aside pieces of what seemed to be spiralled glass tubes, he shoved a plain-carved chair of red crystal aside and picked up a foot-tall figurine, a robed woman with a serene face, worked in white stone, holding up a clear sphere in one hand. Unbroken. As useless to him, or to any man, as its male twin was to Lanfear. He considered breaking it. One swing of his arm could shatter that crystal globe on the paving stones, surely.

“She was looking for that.” He had not realized Asmodean had followed him. Wavering, the man scrubbed at his bloody mouth. “She will rip your heart out to put her hands on it.”

“Or yours, for keeping it secret from her. She _loves_ me.” _Light help me. Like being loved by a rabid wolf!_ After a moment he put the female statue in the crook of his arm with the male. There might be a use for it. _And I don’t want to destroy anything else_.

Yet as he looked around, he saw something besides destruction. The fog was almost gone from the ruined city; only a few wispy sheets remained to drift among the buildings still standing beneath the sinking sun. The valley floor tilted sharply to the south now, and water spilled out of the great rent across the city, the gash that went all the way down to where that deep hidden ocean of water lay. Already the lower end of the valley was filling. A lake. It might reach nearly to the city eventually, a lake maybe three miles long in a land where a pool ten feet across drew people. People would come to this valley to live. He could almost see the surrounding mountains already terraced with crops growing green. They would tend _Avendesora_ , the last chora tree. Perhaps they would even rebuild Rhuidean. The Waste would have a city. Perhaps he would even live to see it.

Even with the _angreal_ , the round little man with his sword, Rand didn’t feel strong enough to make another gateway yet. He didn’t want to admit that, though, so they walked on, surveying the destruction. It grieved him to see it, but Asmodean walked with a faint sneer on his face. Still the same man who had given himself to the Dark One. His calculating, sideways glances were reminder enough of that, if Rand needed any.

They only spoke twice as they walked. Once Rand said, “I cannot call you Asmodean.”

The man shivered. “My name was Joar Addam Nesossin,” he said at last. He sounded as if he had stripped himself bare, or lost something.

“I can’t use that either. Who knows what scrap holds that name somewhere? The idea is to keep someone from killing you for a Forsaken.” And to keep anyone from knowing he had a Forsaken for teacher. “You will have to go on being Jasin Natael, I think. Gleeman to the Dragon Reborn. Excuse enough for keeping you close.” Natael grimaced, but said nothing.

A little later, Rand said, “The first thing you’ll show me is how to guard my dreams.” The man only nodded, sullenly. He would cause problems, but they could not be as large as the problems of ignorance. This tense alliance with Lanfear had proven useful but that did not mean Rand wanted her having access to his unguarded thoughts. He didn’t think Lanfear would respond well to learning how little he wanted anything to do with her. But she would have to learn sooner or later, wouldn’t she? The only alternative would be to marry her, and play the part she so crazily thought to cast him in. To be, or pretend to be, her devoted lover while she tried to take over the world in the Dark One’s name. That obviously couldn’t happen, so how was he supposed to deal with her?

He brooded on that for some time, finding no answers but recovering some measure of his strength. When he finally felt strong enough to attempt the gateway again, he barely managed to make it form, a silver edged doorway opening onto the ledge at Alcair Dal. Blanking his face, he stepped through with a Forsaken following just behind.

The rain had stopped, though the evening-shadowed floor of the canyon was still sodden, churned to mud by Aiel feet. Fewer Aiel than before, perhaps as many as a fourth fewer. But not fighting. Staring at the ledge, where Moiraine and Dani, Aviendha and the Wise Ones had joined the clan chiefs, who stood talking with Lan and Loial. Mat was squatting a little distance from them, hat brim pulled down and black-hafted spear propped on his shoulder, Merile and Raine pacing worriedly nearby, Adelin and her Maidens standing around them. They all gaped as Rand stepped out of the doorway, stared more when Natael followed in his tattered shiny red coat and white lace. Mat jumped to his feet with a grin, and Aviendha half-raised a hand toward him. The Aiel in the canyon watched silently.

Before anyone could speak, Rand said, “Adelin, would you send someone out to the fair and tell them to stop beating Isendre? She is not as big a thief as they think.” She looked startled, but immediately called Branwen’s name.

The handsome woman smiled wryly at Rand. “You are too dramatic for your own good, Rand al’Thor. Whatever your destiny, I hope you will not know a great fall,” she said as she trotted by.

“How did you know about that?” Dani exclaimed, at the same time Moiraine demanded “Where have you been? How?” Her wide dark eyes darted from him to Natael, her Aes Sedai calm nowhere in evidence. And the Wise Ones ...? Sun-haired Melaine looked ready to drag answers out of him with her bare hands. Bair scowled as though she meant to switch them out. Amys shifted her shawl and ran fingers through her pale hair, unable to decide whether she was worried or relieved. Even Seana’s smile was tinged with anger, and his aunts looked like they wanted to skin him.

Renay handed him his coat, still damp. He wrapped it around the two stone figures. Moiraine was considering those, too. He did not know if she even suspected what they were, but he intended to hide them as best he could from anyone. If he could not trust himself with _Callandor_ ’s power, how much less with the great _sa’angreal_? Not until he had learned more of how to control it, and himself.

“What happened here?” he asked, and the Aes Sedai’s mouth tightened at being ignored. Dani did not look much more pleased.

Merile and Raine had almost reached him but they stopped in their tracks, smiles fading at the formality in the air.

The Maidens seemed to feel it, too. “Hard words were exchanged. Fools said and did foolish things,” Ayla said solemnly. “And now it is my honour to be first to address you as _Car’a’carn_.”

“What do you mean exactly?”

It was Shyala who answered, even more solemnly. “You already know. You have been given a great gift. The experience of an entire people. It will take time for your mind to process this information. In time, it will help you understand the visions of Rhuidean. And the minds of the Aiel.”

Rand grimaced slightly. There was too much awe in the way she was looking at him. He wanted it to be different with the Aiel, and so far it had been. Being looked at like that made his skin crawl.

Thankfully, Rhuarc remained Rhuarc. “The Shaido have gone, behind Sevanna and Couladin,” he explained practically. “All who remain acknowledge you as _Car’a’carn_.”

“The Shaido were not the only ones who fled.” Han’s leathery face twisted sourly. “Some of my Tomanelle went as well. And Goshien, and Shaarad, and Chareen.” Jheran and Erim nodded almost as dourly as Han.

“Not with the Shaido,” tall Bael rumbled, “but they went. They will spread what happened here, what you revealed. That was ill done. I saw men throw away their spears and run!”

 _He will bind you together, and destroy you_.

“No Taardad left,” Rhuarc put in, not pridefully but as a simple statement of fact. “We are ready to go where you lead.”

Where he led. He was not done with the Shaido, with Couladin, or Sevanna. Scanning the Aiel around the canyon he could see shaken faces, for all they had chosen to stay. What must those who had run be like? Yet the Aiel were only a means to an end. He had to remember that. _I have to be even harder than they_.

Jeade’en waited beside the ledge with Mat’s gelding. Motioning Natael to stay close, Rand climbed into the saddle, coat-wrapped bundle secure under his arm. Mouth twisted, the once Forsaken came to stand by his left stirrup. Adelin and her remaining Maidens leaped down to form around them, and surprisingly, Aviendha climbed down to take her usual place on his right. Merile and Raine clambered onto their horses, while Mat jumped to Pips’ saddle in one bound.

“Interesting. Interesting,” Loial rumbled, jotting away in his book. “What will you do next, Rand?”

Friend or no, Rand wasn’t about to answer that. He looked back up at the people on the ledge, all of them watching, waiting. “It will be a long road back.” Bael turned his face away. “Long, and bloody.” The Aiel faces did not change. Dani half stretched out a hand toward him, eyes pained, but he ignored her. “When the rest of the clan chiefs come, it begins.”

“It began long ago,” Rhuarc said quietly. “The question is where and how it ends.”

For that, Rand had no answer. Turning the dapple, he rode slowly across the canyon, surrounded by his peculiar retinue. Aiel parted in front of him, staring, waiting. The night’s cold was already coming on.


	88. End Prophecy

And when the blood was sprinkled on ground where nothing could grow, the Children of the Dragon did spring up, the People of the Dragon, armed to dance with death. And he did call them forth from the wasted lands, and they did shake the world with battle.

—from _The Wheel of Time_ by Sulamein so Bhagad,

Chief Historian at the Court of the Sun, the Eleventh Age

The End

of the Sixth Book of

The Wheel Turns Anew


End file.
